Twin Demons Chapter 22: Other Plans, a Spider-Man + Daredevil Crossover fanfic

TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy

Author's Notes

The letters to Peter's parents and the flashbacks are drawn, almost verbatim, but not quite, from: Peter David, Spider-Man, The Official Novelization of the Film (New York, Random House Publishing Group, 2002), pp. 54-55, 93-94, 101-02, 115-16, 132, 146-49, 164, 171, 306-08, 310.

Flash Thompson's acknowledgment of Peter's victory comes from the episode in the '67 series entitled, The Origin of Spider-Man, in which a biker says, "That cat's a tiger," after watching Peter Parker knock down a streetlight with his bare hands. Spider-Man 's vow "never to shirk his duty again" also comes from that episode. Aunt May's line about Peter's heart being in the right place comes from the very next episode in that series, the one entitled, King-Pinned.

"All glory is fleeting." - General George S. Patton, Jr.

The liquor store scene draws its inspiration from Chapter 20 of Brother, Love and Adversity, by Jenn 1, in which a young mother who had just been rescued by Spider-Man was more afraid of him than of her captors. Thanks, Jenn.

Fallon was the fight fixer who told Matt Murdock's father, Jack "The Devil" Murdock, to take a fall. See Greg Cox, Daredevil (New York: Penguin-Putnam, Inc. 2003)pp. 50-51.

The prophetic nightmare in Peter's journal was inspired by a scene in the film Papillon, © 2005 by Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved, in which Henrí "Papillon" Charriére, played by Steve McQueen, hallucinates while in solitary confinement.

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." - John Lennon

"He has forgotten both of us. You lost him when he went to seek his God. I lost him when he found his God." Moses's wife, Sephora, to Queen Nefretiri in The Ten Commandments, © 1956 by Paramount Pictures Corporation, all rights reserved.

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.

XXII

OTHER PLANS

"I don't understand," a shocked May Parker murmured as she read about her nephew's life-changing encounter with a spider. "How could a thing like this have happened?"

Mary Jane didn't understand how it happened either. Science was never her forté, and Midtown High's four-year science requirement was not a point in her favor. But she had surmised enough to formulate a hypothesis as good as any theory a competent biologist might offer. "Columbia was doing some sort of genetic experiments with spiders, cross-breeding them in order to bring out their best traits," she explained tentatively. "One of them got out of its case. It must have somehow passed its DNA on to Peter when it bit him."

May shifted uneasily as she rolled her eyes. "It almost sounds like voodoo."

Mary Jane had to admit that the old woman was right on that score. She closed her eyes for an instant, remembering how Peter had timidly approached her, Konica in hand . . .

"Can I take your picture? I need one with a student in it."

"Don't make me look ugly," she playfully warned him.

"Impossible," he scoffed as he took aim.

How ironically appropriate that she, Mary Jane Watson, would be the one to have the last conversation with the old, "normal" Peter Parker.

"Ben and I had no idea that anything was wrong with him," Aunt May recalled, snapping M.J. out of her daydream. "He came home from that field trip and went straight to his room, telling us that he didn't feel well. We didn't hear a peep out of him all night. The next morning, he seemed fine. Better than fine, actually."

Then came the fight. A chill ran down Aunt May's spine as she read Peter's account of how he had turned Flash Thompson's face into a mass of black and blue jelly, putting an end to years of unrelenting bullying with one single right to the jaw . . .

I didn't just beat Flash. I clobbered him, and it was no effort at all.

From all the times Peter had come home from school in tears, May figured that it was long overdue. Still, she had a hard time coming to terms with the tremendous strength her nephew now possessed.

"You know, M.J., Peter could've crippled that boy. Or worse."

"I know," Mary Jane acknowledged, remembering how three of Flash's friends and a couple of teachers had practically carried him to the nurse's office. Fortunately, it had not been as bad as it looked. Although Flash had bled quite a bit and had lost a few teeth, there was no permanent disfigurement. But when he came by that night to show off his new car , the whole left side of his face was blown up, as if he had the mumps. "That Parker's a tiger," she remembered Flash mumbling, a tone of respect in his thickened voice.

M.J and Aunt May continued through the journal, intrigued as they read how Peter had experimented with his new powers for the rest of that day . . .

Dear Mom and Dad,

This is unbelievable! Not only did I get really strong, but I can fly too. Not like Superman or anything like that. But hey, leaping across rooftops and swinging on a vine between buildings is pretty darn close. Please pass along my thanks to God when you get the chance. He really came through for me, big time.

I sure wish Mary Jane could see me now. Wait a minute. I take that back. She'd probably freak. I know I would.

Wow, Mary Jane sighed, he was thinking about me even then. She felt both awed and humbled at being the object of the embryo god's affections. He was probably right, — she might very well have freaked if she had seen him jump fifty feet through the air. But then again, she had seen him do some pretty amazing things that day, like catching her when she slipped in the cafeteria, rescuing her food at the same time. And of course, his agility in dodging Flash's fists was nothing short of incredible.

But in those first hours of his new life, Peter was a far cry from the human dynamo that he would soon become. He had been on an emotional roller-coaster, his moods zigzagging between elation with his newfound abilities and fear at the metamorphosis his body was undergoing . . .

What if that spider's DNA fused with mine? I could wind up turning into a six-foot arachnid, sprouting extra legs, watching my skin turn brown and peel away, my face decay, and my body parts fall off, like I had leprosy or something.

That notion seemed so outlandish that Mary Jane had to giggle. But at the time, Peter had barely understood what was happening to him. The possibility of such a dreadful transformation must have seemed frighteningly real. Fortunately though, his paranoia quickly passed as he tried out his newly-formed web-shooters. His first attempts to control them were so clumsy they were downright hilarious . . .

I set up two empty glass bottles on a bookcase and tried to hit them with a web strand. Didn't even come close. . . . I managed to cover nearly every object in my room with webbing except for the freakin' bottles.

"That must have been a sight to behold," laughed Mary Jane as she imagined Peter splattering Albert Einstein's face with milky goo. But he had apparently gotten the hang of it in no time, developing pinpoint accuracy in a matter of hours.

As Aunt May was about to turn to the next entry, M.J. suddenly remembered a paragraph near the beginning of the passage they were looking at. She had almost missed it. "Can we go back for a minute?"

XXXXXXXXXX

" . . . I'm singing in the rain . . . just singing in the rain . . ."

Peter hummed to the muzak piping through the Safeway as he rolled Aunt May's shopping cart out the door. It was so loaded down with groceries that he had to hold onto three of the bags with one hand to keep them from falling off.

He could not remember the last time he felt so good about his life. For the second time, his aunt had acknowledged his bona fides as a true blue, all-American hero. The girl he had been madly in love with since time began would soon be his wife. And he had been cited for bravery by no less that the President of the United States.

" . . . what a glorious feeling . . . I'm ha-ha-happy again . . ."

But, like fireworks, glory fades very quickly.

He had barely gone a few steps when the world around him once again slowed to a snail's pace. It did not take long for the cause to materialize. Two thieves, wearing ski masks and black jackets, had burst out of a liquor store across the street, gym bags in one hand, pistols in the other.

"Awww crap," he groaned as he let go of the cart and made for the nearest alley. He heard a splat as the grocery bags he was holding fell from their precarious perch and crashed onto the sidewalk. Damn . . . I should've packed those eggs in the middle.

Once again in full regalia, Peter wasted no time closing in on his quarry. He watched in astonishment as the robbers stopped running and pocketed their guns, making no effort to hide in an alley or otherwise conceal themselves. Instead they swaggered arrogantly down the street, overconfident, oblivious to who was tracking them from overhead. What schmucks, Peter laughed silently, staging a robbery in the middle of the day, in front of numerous witnesses. He relished the prospect of making short work of them.

Neither of the robbers heard the double-thwipp sound made by the rapid firing of weblines. In mere seconds, they found themselves separated from their spoils and hanging from a lamp post, held in place by extremely thin, but powerful gossamer strands.

"I'll take those, gentlemen," Spider-Man said as he scooped up the gym bags, leaped across the street, and headed back toward the liquor store. The webbing would hold them in place for a few hours, he guessed, plenty of time for someone to call the cops. In the meantime, he would return the stolen cash and get back to Aunt May's without losing much time, except that he would have to replace the groceries that were damaged.

He went into the store and extended the bags to the proprietor, expecting an expression of gratitude.

The reaction he got was quite different . . . and totally unexpected.

"Back off, asshole," the swarthy, overweight, liquor store owner shouted. "I ain't got nothin left for yooz to take!"

"Hey," an utterly stunned Spider-Man started to say, "I'm just trying to . . ."

"I said GET BACK!" the proprietor screamed in a very thick New York accent. "Or, God help me, I'll blow yaw fuckin head right off!" Backing up the man's threat was a Smith and Wesson Model 60 revolver pointed right at the webslinger's face.

Spider-Man could not believe that this paranoid booze peddler thought he was going to get robbed again. Shock gave way to anger, both at the man for holding a gun on him, and at the steady torrent of negative publicity that was most likely generating the man's reaction.

"Just put da money on da countah!" the proprietor barked, "and don't try nuttin funny eedah."

"Either," an exasperated Spider-Man corrected.

"What . . .?"

"Hey Jack!" someone yelled as the front door burst open. It was one of the proprietor's long-time customers as well as a frequent drinking buddy, a paunchy, middle-aged man with thinning hair. "Did you see what . . ." The paunch clammed up as soon he saw the unfolding confrontation, but the distraction gave Spider-Man the fraction of a second he needed. Before the command to pull the trigger could leave the proprietor's brain, he found his hand pinned to the counter top, revolver and all. He never even heard the thwipp.

"It's not polite to point a gun at anyone," Spider-Man lectured the now-immobile proprietor as if he were a charm school master teaching etiquette to children. Although he tried not to be intimidating, he took a certain grim pleasure watching the man stew in his own fear. "In case you don't read the newspaper, I'm one of the good guys."

Then he saw the open Daily Bugle on a chair behind the counter. "Oh, you do read the newspaper. Never mind."

He dropped the gym bags on the counter. "When I cut you loose, you're going to call 9-1-1 and tell the police to send a squad car to pick up the package that's waiting for them, courtesy of your Friendly-Neighborhood Spider-Man. Do you think you can remember that?"

The proprietor was too shocked to answer. His confusion stemmed from the sharp contradiction between his actual experience with the webslinger and his expectation.

"He's right, Jack," the paunch said from behind Spider-Man's back. "I saw the whole thing. They didn't even get two blocks away before Spider-Man here let 'em have it."

"I should make you write 'I'm sorry that I pulled a gun on Spider-Man' on the blackboard one hundred times," Peter quipped with a bit of edgy sarcasm as he opened up the bags to show the proprietor that he really intended to return the money. "But since I don't see a blackboard, I'll settle for an apology."

The proprietor, at heart a decent and law-abiding fellow, recognized the face-saving opportunity that he was being offered. "I . . .I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard.

"Apology accepted." Spider-Man promptly fulfilled his end of the bargain. But as he ripped apart the webbing, he took the revolver from the man's hand, opened up the chamber, and let the bullets drop onto the floor behind the counter. "Don't believe everything you read," he warned as he handed the now empty gun back to its owner. "Oh, and don't touch the bags. You'll make the cops' job a lot harder if they find your fingerprints."

As he made his way out the door, the paunch followed him.

"Thanks for not bein too hard on Jack," the man said as he approached Spider-Man a little nervously. "He don't mean no harm. He just reads all that shit about you in the Daily Bugle."

"No problem," Spider-Man replied as he was getting ready to take off. But something in the customer's gravelly voice made him hesitate for a moment.

"You saved my daughter's butt, you know," the customer continued. "I just wish you could save her from that loser she's gettin' herself involved with."

"Can't help you there, pal," Spider-Man said absentmindedly, not really paying much attention. The man was sloppily dressed, his shirttails sticking out of his dirty slacks. To Peter, he looked the part of an alcoholic, although he didn't appear to be inebriated now. He was probably some wino whose teenager he had rescued from a tenement fire.

The customer watched Spider-Man get ready to take off. "Um, before you go, can I shake your hand?"

Sure, why not, Spider-Man thought, his spider-sense not registering anything amiss. At least the guy's a fan. As he extended his arm, he got his first good look at the paunch's face.

He froze, unable to move a muscle.

XXXXXXXXXX

I'm starting to realize how much she's hurting . . . M.J. deserves to be happy. She deserves to have a guy who will treat her right, give her nice things, and show her a good time. She's had such a crummy home life . . . I think the only reason she still hangs with Flash is to keep her dad off her back.

Right on the money, an amazed Mary Jane thought. She recalled having this same conversation with Harry Osborn on the day she visited the loft, the day she and Harry began dating. She had gone there to see Peter, but had gotten swept up by Harry's tender expressions of sympathy, expressions that she finally realized were not his. Like Cyrano De Bergerac, Peter had all but written Harry's pick-up lines for him. The proof was right there, in front of her.

Looking back, Mary Jane felt ashamed at how malleable she had been in those days. Her old man had really done a first-rate job on her over the years, grinding her sense of self-worth into the dust, leaving her vulnerable to the whims of people and events around her. Reading this passage had kindled her anger, not only at her father, but also at her own docility in the face of his abuse. "What I would've given to see Peter knock that drunken slob into the middle of next week," she grumbled.

But as soon as those words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

"Mary Jane Watson!" Aunt May snapped. M.J. was taken aback by the sharpness in the old woman's tone, so much so that the journal fell out of her lap and onto the floor. "You should never show such disrespect to your father!"

M.J. paused to collect herself. She did not want to lose the affections of the woman whom she regarded as her second mother. "I'm sorry Aunt May. I know I shouldn't say things like that, but he treated my mom and me like garbage the whole time I was growing up." She was close to tears. "The stress he put us under with his drinking and his constant put-downs was the reason mom got sick. I'm sure of it."

May was already thinking that she had reacted a bit too harshly. She gently took M.J.'s hands. "Don't you think I know that, dear? You mother and I talked quite a lot over the years. Believe me, I know what kind of a person your father is. But remember, he's still with us, and that's something you should never take for granted."

Mary Jane quickly realized where Aunt May was coming from as she met the old woman's piercing gaze. The loss of a spouse put things into perspective in ways that nothing else ever could. May lightly caressed Mary Jane's cheek. "The thing that separates us human beings from animals is that we can change if we really want to."

"He'll never change, Aunt May," Mary Jane replied bitterly. "He's always been pissed off at the world."

May furrowed her brow. "Any idea why?"

Mary Jane had to think for a minute as she combed the recesses of her memory. "He used to be a boxer. From what Mom told me, he was a good amateur, but his pro career went nowhere. I think he once said something about taking a dive for some guy named Fallon, but I can't remember. He never really talked about it." Something else had come to mind as well, something that Aunt May, bless her wonderful heart, needed to be educated about . . .

"Anyone can get in a lucky punch," Phil Watson sneered. "Flash was probably taking it easy on him."

"No way, Dad. Peter just . . . just took him down. Flash did everything he could and never laid a hand on him."

"Sound to me like Flash needs work on his technique. Maybe I'll give him a few pointers when he stops by."

Mary Jane was shocked and angry. "What do you mean, you'll give him a few pointers?" she shouted. "You want to give Flash some tips on how to pound Peter into the ground?" She stomped toward the stairs. "I don't want to go out with Flash tonight."

That got her father riled up. "You'd better get something through that ditzy head of yours right now, girl. Flash Thompson is the luckiest break you ever fell into. I've seen that boy play football. He's going to be All-American. He's going to make a ton of money. You could do a lot worse than being married to someone like him."

"Damned right," Mary Jane had snapped back, finding within herself the courage to stand up to her abusive father for the first time. "I could be married to someone like you!"

"He came this close to beating me." M.J. held her thumb and forefinger less than half and inch apart. "And he would have if my mom didn't stop him."

"I see," Aunt May responded in a low voice. "And then what happened?"

A tear escaped from one of her eyes. "He wouldn't let up on me . . ."

"This girl is such an idiot!" Phil Watson shouted to his wife. "She's got a future tied up in a perfect bow, and instead she worries about a loser like Peter Parker!"

"He's not a loser!" Mary Jane cried out defiantly.

"And you would know!" her father barked back, trembling with rage. "You go out with Flash or don't bother coming back . . ."

May gave Mary Jane a much-needed, heartfelt hug. "I know how hard he made your lives, M.J. But in time, you'll feel differently. For better or worse, that man is going to be your children's only living grandfather." Her not-so-subtle message to M.J. was that she should leave open the possibility of one day forgiving her father.

"It's going to take a long time for me to get there," Mary Jane sighed, struggling to reconcile May's words of wisdom with the years of suffering that she and her mother had endured. She could not dismiss the old woman's suggestion entirely. When Phil showed up at her ill-fated wedding, he at least admitted that he was a lousy father. And he had implicitly encouraged her to bolt when it became clear to him that she was not in love with John. Perhaps it was the beginning, or at least the beginning of a beginning.

But her expression remained firm. "It'll have to come from him."

"I think you might be surprised." Aunt May pointed out as she picked the diary up off the floor and opened it to the last paragraph of the entry they had been reading . . .

Oh, and by the way, I hate to bother you about stuff like this, but I just had this really weird dream . . . I'm on trial in the middle of the desert. My lawyer bailed on me, so I'm left facing the judge and the jury all by myself. The jurors have no eyes. I don't even know what I'm being charged with. I keep shouting, "I'm innocent, I'm innocent." But no one believes me and I get convicted. Think you can drop God a line and ask him what he's trying to tell me?

Mary Jane wondered why the old woman's hand was starting to shake.

XXXXXXXXXX

"For the life of me, I'll never understand that girl," Phil Watson spouted off to Spider-Man as if talking to a sympathetic bartender. "She dumps three guys who could've given her the world. And for what? A scrawny little twerp who ain't going nowhere, who's got loser with a capital L written all over him."

Peter tried to separate himself from his future father-in-law without making it appear obvious. He had good reason. His last encounter with Mr. Watson had been seared into his memory, like his brain had been branded with a hot iron . . . So I go over and start heading up their front walk, and before can even knock, the door opens and there's M.J.'s father. And he just looks at me with pure contempt. I try to ask if Mary Jane can hang out, but he stares at me and says, "She's got a boyfriend. And even if she didn't, I wouldn't let her see some faggot like you." And then he slams the door in my face. In . . . my . . . face . . .

But it was not in Peter's nature to nurse a grudge. Despite the insults he had taken from Phil Watson, both past and present, he felt neither anger nor annoyance toward the man. Instead, he felt amused at the irony of hearing him praise Spider-Man even as he heaped scorn upon the webslinger's alter-ego. He wondered whether he should just yank off his mask and enjoy watching the guy have a coronary.

Faking a cough to hide his mirth, Peter placed a clenched fist over his mouth.

"You got a cold or something?" Phil Watson asked sympathetically.

"Uh, yeah," Peter replied, somewhat surprised by Watson's expression of concern. "It's been a rough week."

"You must have a lot of them." He clapped a hand onto Spider-Man's shoulder. "Want some advice?"

Peter recoiled slightly at Watson's touch. Not really . . . The jerk had a smug air of self-importance that really grated on his nerves.

"Quit this hero stuff and make some real money," the off-duty alcoholic went on, oblivious to Peter's reaction. "The Jets could sure use a decent quarterback. You could easily whip them losers into Super Bowl champs. I guarantee that even Mr. Jameson would love ya."

"Already been there," Peter replied coolly, already knowing how futile it would be to explain to this blithering idiot why Spider-Man could never exploit his talents for monetary gain. "But I'll take your suggestion under advisement."

Mistaking Spider-Man's attentiveness for a license to vent, Phil Watson started in on Mary Jane again. "You know why my dumb-ass daughter walks away from winners?" he sneered. "Because she can't measure up, that's why. And she knows it, too. She ain't no actress, that's for sure. She probably got that part by letting the director bang her. That's the only talent she's got."

Peter seethed beneath his mask, all traces of amusement vanishing in an instant. A low growl escaped his throat. He needed every ounce of willpower he had to hold back the urge to ram his fist through Phil Watson's face . . . How dare you talk about Mary Jane like she was a cheap whore! he raged silently. Your daughter happens to be the most wonderful, beautiful, fabulous, amazing, exciting woman in the whole world. She's got more talent in her pinky than you'll ever have in your entire life . . . "I have to go," he said with a forced neutrality. "But thanks . . . for sticking up for me."

"You betcha," Phil Watson fawned as he watched Spider-Man take off toward a high rise across the street, never knowing how close he had come to having his head handed to him.

Man, this dual-identity stuff drives me nuts sometimes, Peter sighed as he made his way across the rooftops, taking a few deep breaths and letting go of his temper. Phil Watson was one fan he did not want. Unfortunately that clown was going to be an unavoidable part of his life from now on. For Mary Jane's sake, he resolved to make the best of a bad situation. He thanked God that M.J. had the inner strength to survive living under that neanderthal's roof for as long as she had.

After traveling for ten blocks or so, Peter suddenly reversed course and meandered back to the Safeway. He hated to waste time with precautionary detours, but it was the only to keep witnesses from connecting dots he did not want connected. He quickly returned to the alley, changed, and hurried back to the spot near the Safeway entrance where he had left Aunt May's groceries.

His heart sank as he found himself confronting a new crisis.

The cart and everything in it was gone

XXXXXXXXXX

"ATTENTION AMATEUR WRESTLERS. THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS! FOR JUST THREE MINUTES IN THE RING! COLORFUL CHARACTERS A MUST. They want colorful characters? I'll give them one they'll never forget."

"It was him!" Aunt May gasped.

"Who?" Mary Jane looked questioningly at her.

"We were watching a wrestling match. The challenger, he . . . Oh Lord, no, no . . . called himself . . . Spider-Man." May was trembling violently now, her complexion turning pale.

Mary Jane instantly slammed the diary shut. "It's alright Aunt May," she said soothingly as she put a hand on the old woman's back to steady her.

Aunt May calmed down almost immediately. Her nephew's girlfriend was a remarkably comforting presence. "I'm fine, Mary Jane." She tried to wet her lips, but could not. "But I'm afraid I'll need to trouble you for a drink."

"You sure can, Aunt May. I'll get it right away." She hurried out to the kitchen and returned with a paper cup filled with cold water.

"Thank you, dear," May sipped it gratefully. "This has been very difficult for me, as I'm sure you know."

"We don't have to see anymore." M.J. did not want the old woman traumatized any further. She started to put the journal back in the valise.

"No." Aunt May grabbed her arm. "I think we need to go on."

"Are you sure?"

May sighed. "You need to know how much you're part of all this."

"I . . . I don't understand," an astonished M.J. replied, shifting so that she faced the old woman directly.

May endeavored to explain. "A few weeks ago, Peter told me what happened on the night my husband . . . left us. He said he needed to go to the New York Public Library to study. Which was odd, considering he always studied at home. He was going to take the subway into town, but I prodded Ben into driving him. We though that a father-son chat might shed some light on what was troubling him. Ben dropped him off at the library, but he never went inside."

"Where did he go?"

May suddenly felt her mouth go dry again. She took another sip of water. "He . . . he entered a . . . wrestling contest. He wanted to make some money so that he could buy a car. He thought it would get the attention of a certain young lady he had a crush on."

Mary Jane's eyes began to moisten as the lengths that Peter was willing to go to capture her affections became apparent. "We talked outside for a little while that night," she informed May, smiling at the memory of their uplifting conversation. "I told him I wanted to be an actress. He said I should go for it, the only one of my so-called 'friends' who ever did. Then Flash showed up in his new car, and I . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I would rather have stayed with Peter, but I didn't want to deal with my father . . ." She needed a Kleenex, which May quickly furnished. "Thanks, Aunt May," she replied gratefully, "did he win?"

"Yes, he did. We saw the whole thing on T.V. He looked so small next to the other man in that cage. But he used all sorts of tricks, and wound up laying that man on his ass." Mary Jane was sure that he heard a trace of pride in the old woman's voice at her nephew's exploits. May even managed a brief smile. "I remember thinking what an idiot that young man was, wasting his talents, acting like a gorilla . . . or should I say, a spider."

Mary Jane found it reassuring that Aunt May's sense of humor was still intact. "I take it that Peter got his money?"

"No. The man who ran the fights refused to pay him." Aunt May was starting to tremble again.

Mary Jane immediately took the old woman's hand, knowing instinctively that they were getting close to the heart of the story. "Aunt May," she asked gingerly, "Something happened to Peter after that, didn't it?"

May clenched her fist and squeezed her eyes shut until the wave of emotion had passed. "There . . . was . . . a . . . robbery . . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

Crawling along walls and jumping between buildings, Peter moved as quickly as he could, doing aerial surveillance of everything within a fifteen-block radius of the Safeway. Eighty dollars worth of groceries had gone down the tubes while he was out there trying to make the world safe for decent people. Yet, even he had to admit that there was a certain poetic appropriateness in Spider-Man himself being the victim of a theft.

Peter knew that he had already been gone for more than an hour, and that Aunt May and Mary Jane would start to wonder where he was. He did not have a lot of time. M.J. had to get back into the city in time to get ready for her 8:00 curtain.

How far could they have gotten? he wondered, despairing at why there was still no sign of the cart after nearly a half-hour. He was about to give up when he spotted a half-empty Safeway bag lying on the sidewalk in front of a small triangular park just off Queens Boulevard. Leaping across the wide street, he landed right beside the bag, which was steeped in a puddle of ruined eggs.

It was his, alright. And as soon as he caught up with whoever had taken Aunt May's groceries, he would show them what happens to those who steal from a helpless old lady.

He did not have to look much further. Twin egg streaks on the sidewalk, no doubt made by the cart's wheels, pointed toward the park. Sure enough, a group of about eight or nine men were gathered amidst the trees. One of them was pulling the bags out of the cart, opening them, and distributing the food to the others.

But as Spider-Man moved in for the assault, he suddenly lost his appetite for combat. He had encountered homeless people before, usually on the way to school. It was impossible not to in a large city like New York. True to his nature, he often gave them dollar bills, even when he did not have much money himself. But these people looked like concentration camp survivors. To a man, they were dressed in rags, and did not look like they had eaten or bathed in weeks. Their faces were sunken and hollow, their skin hanging off their bones in folds. Rusted shopping carts and old, torn blankets were scattered on the ground all around them.

Spider-Man slowly withdrew, trying to remain inconspicuous. He decided that he would change and return for the cart, so as not alarm then unnecessarily. He was just about clear of the grove when he heard a tree branch snap beneath his foot.

Startled, the homeless men turned in his direction, expressions of sheer fright twisting their faces.

"This ain't what it looks like," the man who was doling out the groceries pleaded. "We ain't had a thing to eat in days. Please man, don't do nuthin to us."

"It's alright." Spider-Man opened his palms in an I-come-in-peace gesture and slowly stepped forward. "I'm not going to hurt you guys. But I need the cart. It belongs to someone."

"Sure man, take it."

"Have the cold stuff first," Spider-Man cautioned as he retrieved the old lady cart. "It'll spoil very quickly if you don't. And make sure you cook the chicken thoroughly. Otherwise, you could get salmonella poisoning."

"Hey thanks, man." the apparent leader and spokesman for the group replied, extremely grateful that the webslinger had treated them with such kindness.

"There are shelters, you know," Spider-Man gently pointed out.

"Not for us," the leader replied grimly. "The city cut the budget for services. We was all turned away."

"I'm sorry," was all Spider-Man could say as he folded the cart and tucked it under his arm. And he was. He truly was.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was the same guy! It was the thief from the arena! I let that creep get away when I had the chance to stop him. He'd run past me with a bundle of cash that he'd taken off some guy who figured deserved it . . . because he stiffed me . . . It was my fault . . . all my fault . . . Oh, God . . . Uncle Ben . . . I'm so sorry . . .

Mary Jane sat silently on the edge of the bed, staring numbly at the journal, struggling to make sense of the history that she realized she was now a part of. She had finally discovered Peter's deepest, darkest secret, only to learn that she herself had been at its epicenter. She forced herself to read the next entry, written on the day of Ben Parker's funeral . . .

If anyone should have died, it was me. Aunt May and Uncle Ben gave me a loving home, fed me, clothed me, and raised me like I was their own son. And this is how I repaid them? I'm the one who had the opportunity to do something great with this power. But instead, I went on an ego trip and tried to hustle up some fast cash, and what happens? I'm left with the only father I've ever known lying in the cemetery. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.

She felt Aunt May's aged, but surprisingly soft hands once again touch her tear-stained cheeks. "Are you alright, M.J?"

Mary Jane suddenly turned her face away from May, deeming herself no longer worthy of being in the old woman's presence. "I feel so horrible," she whispered, her voice breaking as she reached for another Kleenex. "None of this would've happened if I had just gone with my feelings and let Peter know that I liked him. He would never have gone to that wrestling match and your husband would still be alive."

But May would have none of that. The last thing she wanted was for Mary Jane to fall into the same trap that had ensnared her. "Dear, listen to me," she urged as she lovingly enfolded her soon-to-be niece in a tender, motherly embrace. "I was the one who told Ben to drive Peter into the city that night. Peter'd been so withdrawn. All we wanted to do was to find out what was going on with him. The next thing I knew, Ben was gone, just like that." She snapped her fingers. "For two years, I'd been playing 'what if' games. What if I had kept my mouth shut? What if I had talked to Peter about his fight with your former boyfriend? But it doesn't do any good. It won't change anything." She gave Mary Jane a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I certainly don't blame you for what happened. So please, M.J., don't go down that path."

Mary Jane reciprocated Aunt May's warm, nurturing hug. In so many ways, she was as close to this woman as to her own mother, if not more so.

"Someone once said that life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans," May continued. "As I look back, I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, life had other plans for Peter." She released M.J. and riffled through the journal until she came to an entry dated shortly after Peter had moved into the loft with Harry. "And I think Peter started to realize that, too. Here, have a look at this . . ."

Dear Mom, Dad, and Uncle Ben,

As you can probably see, I'm sitting, on top of a gargoyle on the roof of the Chrysler Building. Well, actually it's more of a bird-head than a gargoyle, but you get the idea. It can get pretty chilly up here once the summer's over.

Do you like the costume? I hope you do, because it took me a long time to get it right.

Uncle Ben, if you're getting this, I promise you that as long as I live, Spider-Man will never shirk his duty again. I may get myself killed, but I have to at least try. That's really the lesson of all this, isn't it? To try?

If this works, I'm going to be making it a better world for a lot of people. If not . . . well . . . then I guess we'll have a lot of time to talk about it.

I'll see you soon (oops . . . not to soon, I hope. Nothing personal).

Love, Peter

Mary Jane looked up in wonder as yet another facet of the mystery that was Peter Parker unfolded before her. She immediately thought of Peter's Flying Dutchman poem . . . For the sin of failing to stop a crime when he had the chance, the gods condemned him to eternal twilight . . . "When I first found out the truth about Peter, I was sure that Spider-Man was nothing but one big guilt trip. But now I'm really starting to think that there might be something more."

The old woman raised her eyebrows, pleased that Mary Jane could exhibit such an understanding beyond her years. "Sometimes I wonder what would Peter have done with his gifts if Ben had not been taken. Would he still be the loving, caring, humble person he'd always been, or would he have gotten arrogant and selfish, making millions of dollars and living a glamorous life, but turning his back on those who needed his help?" She looked deep into Mary Jane's eyes, — two kindred souls connecting. "Maybe what happened to Ben was not an accident. Maybe it was meant to be, so that Peter could find his destiny . . . find it and fulfill it." Then she sighed. "I don't know whether that's true or not, but I'll sure sleep better believing it."

"So will I," Mary Jane agreed, touched by Aunt May's homespun wisdom. She picked up the journal and started skimming it. Noting the old woman's expression of curiosity, she added, somewhat wistfully, "I was hoping Peter might have written something about a. . . a rainy night in an alley." She kept turning the pages until she arrived at the very last entry . . .

Dear Mom and Dad,

I saw M.J at Mr. Osborn's funeral today. She told me she loved me. Boy, how I wish I could tell her how much I love her. But she can never know. She can never be a part of my life. I could never be there for her, no matter how much I want to or how hard I try to. And if anything ever happened to her because of me, I wouldn't be able to go on. I wonder if she knows, all the same. How could she not know? A kiss like that reveals everything. If not, I hope that she'll understand and get on with her life. A beautiful woman like M.J. won't wait forever, nor should she. Please ask God to find somebody for her who'll give her the life she deserves.

Mary Jane was overjoyed at the undeniable confirmation that Peter was always in love with her. But at the same time, she felt like crying for the years she had wasted by letting Peter walk away from her in the cemetery after their magnificent kiss had triggered her suspicions.

Her conflicting expressions were not lost on Aunt May. She stood up and turned toward the window, staring off into the afternoon sky. "It won't be easy, M.J. You know that, don't you? Peter will always have responsibilities, and those responsibilities will always take come before anything else in his life, even you."

May's gentle admonition only strengthened Mary Jane's resolve. She stood up next to her soon-to-be aunt, following her gaze. "I know that Aunt May. I knew that when I left John. But I have a responsibility too. And I take that responsibility every bit as seriously as Peter takes his." She took the old woman's wrinkled, spotted hands in her firm, supple ones. "The things that make life worth living never come easy. But somehow, we'll make it work."

May extended her thin arms, weathered with age, around Mary Jane's slim shoulders. " I know you will, dear. You're such a brave young lady," she whispered tenderly. "I'm so proud to call you my niece."

Mary Jane felt her gratitude welling up behind her eyes. "Thanks Aunt May. That means so much, coming from you.

Just as the two women had embraced each other once again, they heard the sound of a key being inserted into a lock.

"You go on, M.J. I'll put these things away." As Mary Jane left the room, May discretely folded the corner of one particular page in the black notebook.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I have no problems," Peter mumbled as the elevator opened on the seventh floor. His second trip to the Safeway did not take nearly as long as the first, since he remembered where everything was and, thankfully, still had Aunt May's list. But he could not blot those homeless men out of his mind. He found it inconceivable that the richest country on the face of the Earth could allow people to slip through the cracks like that. Hmmm. Maybe I should start robbing from the rich to give to the poor? What do you think, Uncle Ben . . . ? With a wry smile, he nixed that thought as soon as his uncle's disapproving image streaked across his mind's eye.

"I'm back!" Peter called out as he opened the door. No sooner had he set foot inside the apartment when Mary Jane was in his arms, a single, soft sob escaping her lips as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Um, I haven't been gone that long, have I?" he asked, a little bewildered at the intensity of Mary Jane's reaction.

"I'm nuts about you, Peter Parker." she said softly, her voice breaking slightly as she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Ooooookay." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Aunt May emerging from the bedroom.

"Mary Jane, do you think I might be able to borrow Peter for a few minutes?"

"Of course, Aunt May. I'll put the groceries away and get lunch ready."

"Thank you, dear." The old woman gestured for her nephew to follow her into the bedroom. As soon as May closed the door behind them, the mask that she had been wearing for Mary Jane's benefit dropped away. "Peter, I think you and I have some issues we need to talk about."

Peter felt a tiny, barely perceptible buzz in the back of his head. Then he saw the a pile of familiar notebooks on the bed and realized what was coming. "Aunt May," he said hastily. "I can explain . . ."

She cut him off. "No. You don't have to say anything. You already did." Her tone left no doubt that he was in the woodshed.

"The letters . . . ?"

Aunt May nodded, once again squeezing her eyes shut to hold back tears. "I just want to know why you felt that you couldn't confide in me, why you couldn't . . ." Her voice broke . . . "trust me."

Peter moved quickly to snuff out the brush fire before it spread. "Because I love you and I didn't want anything or anyone to hurt you."

But May was unpersuaded. "Peter, what did you think would happen if I found out? Did you think I couldn't handle it? Did you think I would just keel over and die, like some helpless old dodderer?"

Peter did not back down either. He had the facts on his side. "The Green Goblin found out who I was. That's why he attacked you. Every single day, my list of enemies gets longer and longer. And now, I've probably got the world's most dangerous terrorists after me. I just couldn't take the chance."

"I understand that. But there's a little more, I think. It took you two years to tell me the truth about Ben." She picked the black notebook up off the bed and opened it to the page with the fold in its corner. "These are your own words . . .'I can never, ever tell Aunt May about it, because she would hate me forever.'" Before Peter could answer, she closed the journal and placed it back in the valise. "Is that what you thought? Do you really believe that I could ever feel that way about you?" she challenged her nephew.

May's initial reaction to his confession was still fresh in his mind. "I thought you did a few weeks ago."

"Oh, come now," May admonished. "Of course I was upset. Who wouldn't be after hearing a thing like that? But for heavens sake, I never blamed you." She took his hand and looked up into his deep blue eyes. "Peter, I hope you're not still punishing yourself for your uncle Ben. Didn't I already tell you that it's water under the bridge, or some such thing?"

"I'm not, Aunt May," Peter replied gently. "Maybe I felt that way at first, because I was so strung out. But things are much different now." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I already tried to quit. I thought I could just go back to being normal again. But you know what I found out? There is no normal life for me to go back to. Spider-Man will always be a part of me. For better or worse, I have a responsibility to use my powers to help other people." To bring home the point, he added. "Where would you be now if Spider-Man wasn't there to rescue you from Dr. Octavius?"

As much as she hated to admit it, she realized that her nephew was probably right. "Alright, fine," she conceded. "Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of you for what you're doing and I understand why you feel compelled to do it. You're Uncle Ben is proud of you too, wherever he is." She put her hands on his shoulders. "But what about Mary Jane? She gave up everything to be with you. Doesn't she deserve to have a life with the man she loves?"

"Aunt May," Peter said patiently, taking care not to sound patronizing. "It wouldn't be any different if I was a police officer. Or a fireman. Or a Marine. Anyone who has to put their life on the line whenever he goes to work. M.J. understands that. Unless I'm reading her all wrong, I think she knows what she's getting into and is willing to accept the risk."

"Maybe now. But don't forget Peter, you're going to become a father one day, and when you do, you'll have new responsibilities. Mark my words, your priorities will change once you hold your baby in your arms for the first time. You won't want your children to grow up without a father, like you did."

She hit the bullseye with that one. "Okay, Aunt May. You win. I promise to think long and hard about it when the time comes."

But May was not finished yet. "One more thing, Peter. Please don't let anymore secrets come between us. I'm your mother for all intents and purposes. I'm here for you and Mary Jane. You can always talk to me about anything." She smiled. "Now, give your favorite aunt a big hug."

As he embraced the old woman, Peter realized that she had just handed him the perfect opportunity to broach a subject that he had been very reluctant to talk about. "Well, Aunt May," he began a little tentatively as he released her and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. "Um . . . in the interest of being honest, as you know, Mary Jane and I love each other very, very much, and we want to get married as soon as possible. We sort of had to make a spur-of-the-moment decision, because M.J.'s lease is about to run out, and there's this reporter from the Daily Bugle who's chasing her." His face started to flush and his hands began to quiver. "We went to look for a place this morning, and . . ." He was having an incredibly difficult time finishing his thought.

Aunt May finished it for him. "And you've decided to move in together?"

"Uh . . . yeah."

"And you're asking me if I approve?" Her tone became stern once again. "The answer is no."

Peter hung his head. He was sure that Aunt May was going to ask them both to leave.

Instead, she smiled. "But you don't really need my approval, do you?"

Peter wondered whether his hearing was out of whack. Was this really his very Catholic aunt talking? "You mean . . . are you saying it's okay?"

"Peter, 'in the interest of being honest,' I'm not crazy about the two of you living together before marriage. You know it goes against my grain. But that is your ring on her finger, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"And did you wait until after you gave her the ring before you did it?"

The shock of the question caught Peter completely off guard. "Um . . .er . . ," he stammered, a wave of crimson washing over his face.

"Peter, it's alright." May smiled slightly again, as if taking delight in watching her nephew get hot under the collar. "When a man and a woman are so in love that they are totally committed to each other, as you and M.J. obviously are, their sexual experience is . . . well let's just say that it's your private business and leave it at that. That's all I want for you. Now, can your dear old aunt give you a piece of prenuptial advice?"

"Er . . . sure," Peter replied, still looking embarrassed enough to want the ground to open and swallow him up.

"Don't be in such a rush to tie the knot."

Peter did not expect this. "Um . . . how long should we wait?"

"Until you graduate, at least."

Peter's jaw fell. "But that's two years away."

"Well, you could wait until after medical school."

"No thanks." He was still unsure if he had heard his aunt correctly. "Are you sure you won't have a problem with us living together for that long?"

"Peter, I wasn't born yesterday. I'm sure that Mr. Jameson is very angry with Mary Jane, and that the two of you have to . . . how do they say it . . . lay low until the heat wears off?"

"Uh huh," Peter murmured, feeling slightly ashamed at having underestimated his aunt's savvy.

"Two years is a long time. By then, Mary Jane's former beau will have found someone else, and Mr. Jameson will have long forgotten about it." She gave him a mock frown. "But for goodness sakes, wait until after you're married before you have a baby!"

Peter struck his best boy scout pose. "You won't have to worry about that, Aunt May. That I can promise you."

"I was only teasing," Aunt May pointed out, wishing her nephew would lighten up a little bit and not take her so seriously all the time. "I know you'd never do anything that irresponsible. You've been a man practically all your life. I know I can count on you to do the right thing. Even if I don't agree with you, I'll always support you because I know your heart is in the right place."

Peter once again wrapped his muscular arms around the small, fragile-looking lady whose heart was made of gold. "I love you Aunt May," he said tearfully. "I love you so much, and I swear, I'll never let you down again, ever."

"Peter, you've never let me down," May laughed softly. "Now I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's go have some lunch."

"I'm all for that," Peter declared as he opened the door for his aunt. She did not see the tiny flash of sadness in her nephew's eyes as he once again thought of those street people.

A dining room table laden with bagels, lox, and smoked turkey was waiting for them. May was about to lead them in saying grace when the third member of the Midtown trio suddenly popped into her mind. "How is dear Harry? Have you told him the news yet?"

Mary Jane and Peter exchanged glances, first at each other, and then, almost simultaneously, toward the floor. Peter reached across the table and clasped his aunt's hand in his. He took a deep breath. "Aunt May," he said slowly. Harry had a . . . a nervous breakdown. He's in Lenox Hill Hospital . . ."