V. Preparation

I'll bet you didn't know that I got my spider-powers from Doc Connors' lab, did you? It's true. It was just over a year ago now: the entire sophomore class from Midtown High was on a field-trip to ESU, to see the genetics lab. One of the little side-projects that Doc Connors was working on back then was gene-splicing. Specifically, he figured out how to combine the traits from several different species of spider into one, new species, entirely created in the lab. A perfect, Platonic little pinnacle of spider-hood. A "super-spider"… pumped full of gene-altering retroviruses. You can guess what happened next, when one got loose and bit me.

What happened to me was probably a one-in-a-bajillion odds-against accident. I'm probably pretty lucky that I didn't just drop dead right there. Then again, considering how much trouble being Spider-Man has gotten me into since…

Anyway, since then, nobody's ever managed to put two and two together and figure out that Spider-Man is really the nerdy kid who got bit by a spider on that field trip that one time. Even after I went to work part-time in Doc Connors' lab… and I'm kind of a minor celebrity for being the kid who takes Spidey's pictures… oh, and that one time that Doc Connors tried to re-grow his arm with reptile DNA and accidentally turned himself into a lizard-monster instead, and Spider-Man was just conveniently there to beat the twinkies out of him until he changed back to normal… even Doc Connors, certified genius, hasn't figured out my little secret.

Boy, I've just realized that I need to start being way more careful with this secret identity thing.

But—aw, man—but the Connorses, they're leaving New York! Not just the lab, not just ESU, they're leaving the freaking state, maybe even the country! And they're leaving that creepy skeever Dr. Warren in charge. Okay, I guess it wasn't really their choice, but still, this stinks. At least Debra Whitman is kind of okay, when she opens her mouth and says two words to me, which is just this side of almost never. Miss Whitman… she's Dr. Warren's assistant, a grad student working on her dissertation. She has kind of a scary fascination with bats.

My second realization for today: my new boss talks to her laboratory bats more than she talks to me.

My life sucks, with ever-increasing suckitude. At least I know the old Parker luck hasn't changed.

• • •

"The jackal," said Dr. Miles Warren, "is a most cunning animal. Genetic cousin to wolves and coyotes, and also to the domestic canines whose genome man has already shaped by ages of artificial selection. Perhaps, with the aid of modern science, traits from this opportunistic scavenger could be—"

"Hate to interrupt," said Peter, doffing his lab-coat and snatching up his camera-bag, but I've got to call it quits early tonight. I'm expected at the Daily Bugle office, and—"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Dr. Warren, pushing his thick glasses up his hawkish nose. He stood before a glass enclosure in the ESU genetics lab, staring in rapt fascination at a tagged and sedated golden-furred jackal which rested easily therein. In truth, he barely registered the sight or the voice of the high-school-aged intern beside him. An imperious wave of his hand was sufficient to dismiss the unwanted distraction.

"Okay, well… see you later, then," said Peter, who beat a hasty retreat from the lab.

Debra Whitman didn't even spare Peter Parker a glance as he scurried off. She was too busy taking one of her specimens, a female Desmodus rotundus—the common vampire bat—out of its cage for an injection.

The ring of a cell phone finally snapped Dr. Warren out of his reverie. He withdrew his phone from the pocket of his labcoat, glanced at the incoming number, and paused. It was an international call, from a number he didn't recognize. With only the barest mote of curiosity stirred, he answered.

"Miles," said a deep and distinctive voice. "Don't worry about staying on the line. I'm calling you from a burner phone. We won't be traced."

Dr. Warren froze, phone in hand. Impossible… it was like hearing the voice of a ghost. That voice belonged to one of only a very few people in the world who could unsettle the otherwise unflappable Miles Warren. Nervously, he glanced over at Miss Whitman. Ah, but she was momentarily occupied. Good. That allowed Miles to slip quietly off to the privacy of his office.

Tentatively, he answered. "…Norman? Is it really you?"

"The one and only, my friend." Miles could practically hear the smug smile of Norman Osborn, wherever he was, half a world away.

"But… but how? You're alive—you got out of the country, that much is obvious. But—"

"All in good time, Miles. Business first; pleasantries after. For now, you're going to prepare the way for my return."

"Prepare…?" That was a little surprising to the doctor. He would have surmised that Donald Menken and a team of expensive lawyers would be needed to handle the fine legalities of demonstrating that Norman Osborn was still alive and not to be treated as a fugitive or a wanted criminal, and to cast suspicion on the rumor that he was in fact the villainous Green Goblin. "What do you need me to do?"

"Something that only you can help me with. I need you to make something for me."

• • •

Two weeks had passed since Peter had revealed his secret to Mary Jane. Finally, finally, someone understood why he had to be the way he was. Somebody got that he wasn't just a flake or a ditz or an incurable workaholic; lives were at stake, he could help, and so he had a responsibility that he couldn't ignore. He could never ignore his responsibility, because he—or rather, Uncle Ben—had already suffered the consequences. MJ got that. Peter loved her for it.

For Mary Jane's part, she was, for lack of a better word, relieved to finally be able to see the entire picture that was Peter Parker. It all made sense now. It wasn't that Peter was falling apart; it wasn't something about her that drove him away; it was the fact that he made a hobby of running around in colorful underwear, righting wrongs and saving lives. That, she could deal with. It was cool. It was admirable. It was a little terrifying—what if something happened to Peter? What if a villain found out about them and specifically came after her? Could she handle that? She thought so. But dwarfing all of that—relief, understanding, anxiety, all of it—was the overwhelming realization that Peter had only confided in her. That meant something.

There was, however, one thing that worried both of them: Harry Osborn. Over the past couple of weeks, Harry had pulled away from his friends, retreated into himself. He didn't talk to Peter or Mary Jane or Gwen. He didn't talk to the guys on the football team. He didn't really talk to anyone the whole day he was at school. He just… kept to himself, in a state of self-imposed isolation. While they were at school, whenever he was together with Mary Jane, Peter could sometimes catch Harry staring at them. It would be just for a moment, out the corner of his eye. What worried Peter about it, though, was the mild tingle at the base of his neck: Harry was setting off his spider-sense.

Now as for Gwen Stacy, she was present during the school day at least most of the time. But every third day or so, she up and disappeared for the entirety of that day. Teachers shook their heads when they called her name at roll. A few of the cheerleaders joked that she must have been building a bomb she was going to use on the school. Most kids paid no attention whatsoever. Peter was a little worried about her; Mary Jane was more than a little concerned.

• • •

That evening, MJ came over to Peter's house to find that Aunt May was out for the night. She rapped on the storm-door in the Parkers' back yard, and Peter admitted her down into the basement—into his makeshift lab. This was where Peter kept his computer, his microscope, the chemistry apparatus he used to mix his web fluid, and all kinds of other junk. It was also where he mended and washed his costume, just to ensure that Aunt May never accidentally found it in the laundry. When MJ arrived, Peter was clad in stocking feet, boxers, and a t-shirt. And so MJ strolled down the stairs, placed a chaste kiss on Peter's lips, and said, "Sally Avril's throwing a party tonight while her parents are out of town. Get dressed, we're going."

Peter stared at MJ. "Exsqueeze me? Since when do we go to parties?"

"Since you started officially dating the fabulous Mary Jane Watson," said MJ with a flourish and a toothy smile. "Plus, I have it on good authority that Gwen and Harry are both going. I'm worried about them. I want to find out what's up with them. Thus, we are going to the party, to talk with our friends."

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "They could talk to us at school. If they wanted to."

MJ shook her head. "Silly boy. This will be an entirely different situation. There will be crowds of people, loud music—"

"Alcohol?" Peter deadpanned.

"Mainly alcohol."

"So you want to get our friends drunk and pry into their personal lives."

"Moi? Never!" said MJ in feigned indignation. "Maybe… just a thought… we could go to the party, wait until they get themselves drunk, and then ask a few key questions—"

"This seems nosy," said Peter. It was apparent in his voice, though, that he was already starting to come around to MJ's point of view.

"It is nosy. But it's because we care." She kissed Peter again. "Now go put on pants."

• • •

The Avrils had a large house in Queens, in a different neighborhood from Peter and MJ. When the couple arrived on the scene, the festivities had already spilled out onto the front lawn, with high-schoolers standing around in groups of four and five, chatting and laughing, some of them dancing to the bass-heavy music blaring from inside the house. Peter wondered at the fact that the cops weren't here already, busting up this little shindig.

"I'm going to go find Gwen," said MJ. "Why don't you track down Harry?"

Pete agreed, and the couple split up to conduct their separate investigations. A quick glance around the front lawn revealed nobody that Peter knew, so he went inside.

The first sight that confronted him was Kenny McFarlane, standing in the center of a circle of jocks in the Avrils' front hall. They were chanting "Kong! Kong! Kong!" while he crushed beer cans on his forehead. There was Hobie Brown and Rand Robertson… but no sign of Flash Thompson. Or Harry Osborn. Another cheer arose from the crowd: "Yeah! King Kong! Woo!"

Peter could only stare and frown. How did people enjoy this sort of thing?

Then, suddenly, spider-sense. He whipped around… just in time to be tackled by an embrace from Gwen Stacy. "Petey boy! Watchoo doin' here?" The smell of alcohol on her breath was almost overpowering.

"Gwen? Are you drunk?" Peter held Gwen back at arm's length, and he also got a good look at her for the first time. She was wearing black leather pants and a cutoff tank top with a Union Jack design. The addition of silver studs in her nose and belly button completed the punk ensemble.

"Li'l bit drunk," she slurred, just loud enough to be heard over the pulsing bass. "Les dance."

"Gwen, I think we should maybe go outside—" Pete was trying to push Gwen off of him, but she was all arms and half ready to stumble to the floor.

"Moonlight!" giggled Gwen. "Romantic, but wha—what'ud Mary Jane say?"

"Oh, she's around here somewhere," said Pete. "In fact, let's go find her—"

"Puny Parker?" Flash Thompson appeared from the kitchen doorway and stomped over to where Pete and Gwen were still tangled up together. "Get outta here, loser. Me and this hottie here were jus' havin' a little drink together." Flash was pretty buzzed too, Pete realized.

Pete and Gwen looked at each other, grinned, and then looked back at Flash. "I'm'a go with Pete," said Gwen. "See ya around… Eugene." Then she said it again, more slowly, and giggled. "Eugeeene. I like that. It's cute."

Flash was so stunned by that that he didn't follow them. He didn't even think to hurl any abuse after Peter. Gwen thought his stupid name was cute.

• • •

They found MJ in the back yard. There were fewer kids out here, and the music was quieter at this distance. By now the sun was down, and it was starting to get pretty dark. "Oh, good, you found Gwen," said MJ.

"Yyyup," said Gwen, hanging off of Peter's shoulder. "He founded me."

"No sign of Harry, though," said Pete.

"That's okay," replied MJ. "I saw him sneaking off somewhere with Liz Allan. I thought it best not to interrupt."

"Good call," said Pete. "Well, good for Harry then. And for Liz; I know she always kind of liked him."

"Yeah, I think he's gonna be okay," said MJ. Her words were hopeful, but her tone was uncertain. Then she turned to the blonde girl who was presently plastered against her boyfriend. "So, Gwenny, how ya doin'?"

Gwen was now resting her head on Peter's shoulder and starting to drool a bit. "I think… I'm gon' take a nap."

"I think we'd better get her out of here," said Peter.

"That is also a good call," said MJ.

Just then, the sound of sirens nearby startled everyone on the premises, and in the span of two and a half seconds, the party devolved into a scene of chaos. Red and blue lights could be seen flashing in the front yard. Kids shouted and scrambled every which way, hoping to avoid getting caught at a party where booze was being liberally served to and by the underaged. Pete and MJ wasted no time helping Gwen over to the tall picket fence that surrounded the Avrils' back yard. Pete gave Mary Jane an easy boost, and she was up and over in no time flat. Then, after glancing around to make sure the coast was clear, Peter took the now sleeping Gwen into his arms in a fireman's carry and sprang clear over the fence with a single spidery leap.

• • •

"I hope Harry and Liz made it out of there okay," said Mary Jane. She and Pete had Gwen slung between them, her arms over both of their shoulders, as they walked (and Gwen stumbled) from the bus stop back to the Parker and Watson houses.

Pete didn't have time to respond. The trio had already turned off the sidewalk and onto the front walk… only to find May Parker standing on the front porch, arms crossed, tapping one foot on the concrete. "My yoga class ended early tonight," she announced. "So… what's this I hear about a party at the Avrils'?"

Peter and MJ, both red in the face, tried to explain in clipped, stammering half-sentences that they had only gone to find Harry and Gwen, that they'd only been there for a few minutes, and that as soon as they found Gwen drunk they had tried to get her out of there. Aunt May listened patiently to her nephew and her neighbor, nodding along with the story. At last, she said, "All right, all right, I believe you. You're good kids, to care for your friend like this." Then, with a twinkle in her eye, she said, "Bring Gwen inside and lay her down on the couch. Peter, get some coffee brewing. MJ, come to the kitchen with me: I'm going to make eggs." May uttered this last pronouncement with all the solemn seriousness of a doctor prescribing medicine.

Aunt May disappeared into the house. MJ looked questioningly at Peter. "Eggs? Is that some kind of old-school hangover cure?"

Pete shrugged. "I think it's just an old hippie thing." Then they brought Gwen inside and did as Aunt May asked.

• • •

Gwen was a little more alert once she had some coffee and protein in her. "These… are the best eggs I've ever had."

Aunt May nodded and scooped another plateful in front of Gwen. "Best thing in the world to stave off a hangover. Anyway, a growing girl's got to eat."

MJ and Peter sat nearby while Aunt May bustled about the kitchen. MJ leaned over and whispered, "So… is there anything going on that you want to tell us about?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "What, you mean with Flash Thompson? Nah, don't be—"

"That's not what I mean," said MJ. "We're your friends, and we haven't seen you around at school much…"

"Oh. That." Gwen picked idly at the plate of scrambled eggs with her fork.

Aunt May, sensing a private conversation, quietly disappeared into the other room.

"I guess… I oughtta come clean. I've been going off by myself a lot lately 'cuz, well, I've got some crap going on at home." She sighed and took a large swallow of coffee. "I won't bore you with all of the details, but I think my mom's leaving my dad. He's great, you know, in spite of all the crap I say about living with a cop… but my mom… she's kind of what they mean when they say 'a real piece of work', you know?"

MJ nodded. "I can relate. Your mom sounds kind of like my dad."

That was true enough, thought Peter. Mary Jane's father, Phillip Watson, was indeed a real piece of work. Loud, abusive, philandering, and altogether shameless about it, his indiscretions were the worst-kept secret in the neighborhood. It was something of a wonder that MJ's mom stayed with him, but then, that was something that only Maddie Watson could sort through… At any rate, Peter sat there awkwardly between the two girls, honestly unable to relate to the situation. Ben and May Parker had always been the best "parents" a kid could ask for, and Peter knew it well. He had been beyond lucky in that regard.

While Gwen and MJ shared a quiet, commiserating conversation, Peter simply tried to stay out of the way. This went on for several minutes, until Aunt May reappeared in the kitchen, this time accompanied by a new visitor: Captain George Stacy.

Gwen looked up in surprise. "Dad?"

"I didn't call him, if that's what you're thinking," said May. "He found you all by himself."

"Actually, I was with the patrol that busted up the party," said George. "We'll talk about this at home, young lady. For now… well, Mrs. Parker says she won't let you go until you finish eating. So finish eating."

"Yes sir," muttered Gwen, focusing all her attention on Aunt May's incredible scrambled eggs.

Captain Stacy turned to Peter and MJ and said, "I suppose I ought to thank you for looking out for Gwendolyn. It would be a little embarrassing if I had to bring my own daughter in for underage drinking."

"Don't mention it," said MJ. "Anything for a friend."

Then George turned his attention to Peter. "Peter Parker. I saw your photo of the Tombstone collar in the Bugle. Impressive work. I didn't even see you there…"

Pete stumbled for words. "Uh, well, I like to stay out of the way. Be discreet, you know. By the way, whatever happened with Tombstone? Did they manage to pin anything on him?"

George sighed. "Not a thing. His lawyers were waiting at the station that very night; Lincoln walked the next morning."

"Jeez," grumbled Peter, "every time with these crime-boss types. How do they get away with it?"

"I ask myself the same thing all the time," sighed Gorge. "Well, at least it's good to know people still care. Gwendolyn, it was time we got home—"

"Yes sir, right away sir," said Gwen with mock formality. She snapped to attention and half marched, half staggered for the door. "You are great," she said to Aunt May as she walked past. "Coolest ever. And you two," she called to Peter and MJ from the kitchen doorway, "…thanks. I mean it. See ya tomorrow."

Captain Stacy exchanged a few quiet words with Aunt May. Then he too departed. Aunt May went after him to see the Stacys off, leaving Peter and MJ alone in the kitchen.

"Well," said Peter, leaning back in his chair, "that could've gone worse."

"It could've gone better," said MJ. "But not much. Your Aunt is pretty great."

"Coolest ever," echoed Peter.