Reckless

Eventually Gwen and Peter pry themselves off of each other's faces and get on with the day. Peter gives her some ominous, unenlightening account of what he'll be up to trying to find the imposter Spiderman, and Gwen tells him she's going to class even though she's going to see Connors, but the most important thing they're not saying to each other is anything about Peter's father. Still, they leave each other smiling, and it's a lot more than she could have hoped to ask for yesterday.

By the time she finishes her work at OsCorp and her chemistry lab, it's nearly three o'clock. She walks to the facility where Connors is being held as if she isn't really walking there. Everything feels a little bit like a movie, a little bit like it's too good to be true, and there's a tiny voice in the back of her head reminding her that it is. That they may have made this reckless, impossible decision to leave the promise behind, but they are far from the worst they will have to face; there are still a thousand loose ends to be solved and there is no doubt in Gwen's mind that they will tangle and bring this brief euphoria to a stammering halt.

But she is happy. Right now, she is happy. So Gwen's mouth splits into a smile on the sidewalk, in full, broad view of complete strangers, tilting her head up to soak in the last of the October sun.

She arrives at the steps of the facility faster than she thought she would. Everything has seemed to move so much faster since this morning, which seems to be the fatal flaw of happiness, that once she has it, it slips through her fingers faster than sand. But she can't afford her own happiness here, knowing that it will make her stupid. She steels herself before she enters, trying to keep the thoughts of Peter and her own beating heart at bay, with minimal success.

"Miss Stacy," says one of the women in the front lobby, recognizing her as she walks through the door. She stands and motions for Gwen to follow her. "Doctor Connors just woke up, he can probably see you now."

Gwen wordlessly follows the woman down the hallway. She wants to ask what's wrong, wants to ask about the quarantine and why it took so long for her to be able to see Connors in the first place, but she doesn't.

The walk to his room seems longer this time. She maneuvers around several long hallways that seem to get narrower the further they go along, until finally they reach a door with no windows. The woman enters a pass code, waits for the mechanism by the door to sound its permission, and swings the door open for Gwen.

The room is much bigger than the last one she saw Connors in, and full of medical equipment. The focal point of the room is a bed and around it are machines connected to him, whirring and beeping and flashing measurements on screens. Gwen doesn't quite look at him even though she knows he's in the bed—she doesn't want to look at him until this woman leaves, if she ever leaves at all. Gwen looks up at her hesitantly, wondering how long she'll stick around, but she has already turned to go.

"You have ten minutes," she tells Gwen, with a forced expression on her face that Gwen doesn't quite understand.

The door shuts behind her.

"Gwen Stacy."

The voice is raspy and unfamiliar. Gwen is staring at her shoes, trying to compose her own expression, trying not to remember that this man killed her father and that the last words she said to him on her way out were hateful and cruel. She takes a breath and prepares herself for whatever she is about to see, but as she looks up she sees that taking a breath isn't near enough.

Connors is near emaciated, his skin sallow and looking as thin and fragile as paper. The mottled marks she saw on his hands last time have now spread, making what she can see of his body look like a giant, all-encompassing bruise. She can't help the gasp that escapes her—she has never seen a human look this terrible, and she can't even imagine how his heart is still beating when he already looks like a corpse.

"Repulsive, isn't it?" he says, in what she supposes was intended to be a light tone.

She can't quite find any words to say. He watches her struggle and smiles grimly, his breathing uneven and strained.

She didn't come here for this, but she has to know. "What happened to you?" she asks. She can't believe this was just from the side effects of becoming the Lizard, she can't believe that it would progress this quickly and horribly. A month ago he was sick, but he was walking around, he was talking, he was just as smug and self-righteous as always.

He struggles to get the air in his lungs to answer her. "I told you," he croaks. "I'm dying."

Gwen shakes her head, staring back at the floor because honestly, it's hard to look at him. More than ever she regrets the last words she said to him, how she wished he would suffer, because nobody deserves whatever is happening to him.

"Why are you here?" asks Connors.

She doesn't answer him. She means to, she will, but she came in here all steeled and ready for a fight to find a man without any fight left in him. Connors waits for her for what seems like a solid minute, and she listens to his ragged, awful breathing and the beeping monitors and tries not to cringe.

"I've told you everything I know," he says.

Gwen shakes her head. "No," she says. "You didn't."

He doesn't waste his words asking her to elaborate. She forces herself to look him in the eyes, in his sunken, purple-rimmed eyes, and says, "You didn't tell me that the man who was coming to see you was Richard Parker."

Connors doesn't react the way she thought he might. Instead he only seems to look at her curiously, or at least that's what she thinks he is trying to convey. It's hard to tell with the bones of his cheeks protruding like they're trying to start a fight with the skin on his face.

"Richard Parker is dead," says Connors evenly.

Gwen scowls at him. "Don't," she says. "Just—don't. You know he's alive every bit as well as I do. I ripped the mask off that fake Spiderman, the one who broken into OsCorp, don't even—don't try to lie to me, I know what I saw and it's way too late."

Connors closes his eyes and it makes her want to scream. She doesn't want him to have the mercy of getting to abandon this conversation, of getting to leave her without the answers she needs all over again. She's about to snap at him, but he opens his mouth purposefully and takes another second before saying, "I wish you were right. If he were alive," he says, wheezing, "I'd have one last man's death off my conscience."

Gwen stares at him uncomprehendingly. She doesn't know what happened fourteen years ago when Peter's parents disappeared and really, right now it's pretty low on her list of concerns, not while Peter's father is very much alive and trying to kill them.

She squares her shoulders and resists the urge to fidget. "Why won't you just tell me?" she asks, keeping her voice low and quiet. "You're right. You're dying. I can see that. So why won't you just tell me the truth?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment, before it's swallowed up by the whirr of all the machines. Connors briefly shakes his head and it's unsettling how the skin of his neck seems to stretch unwillingly with even the slightest movement. "Gwen, you're an intelligent girl."

She's about to roll her eyes, to turn her heel and leave, because she doesn't want this dying man's praise, doesn't want him to think that he can absolve the horrible wrong that he did to her by treating her well, but then she looks at him and realizes it's not about that at all.

"If Richard Parker really were alive, if he really were to try and get into OsCorp and take that solution—why on earth would he need me?"

Gwen stands there as the realization settles on her. For a moment she forgets to breathe. What exactly is she dealing with, if Connors is right? And of course he's right, Richard Parker would never need a pass code to get into OsCorp, he could just barge right in. The only reason she could think was that maybe he was trying to throw them off the trail, make them think it wasn't him in the first place—but why would he go to all that trouble? And why else would Connors really and truly seem to believe that Richard Parker is still dead?

"I saw him," Gwen says dumbly, because it is all she knows, it is the only shred of evidence she has. She took off that mask and there was no mistaking the man underneath it. They spent too many hours yelling at each other from the interface of a computer or the back seat of a car for her not to remember his face, and the eyes that can't help but look just like Peter's no matter how he tries to hide them.

Connors only shakes his head again.

"You have to help me," says Gwen vehemently. "You said you wanted me safe, right?"

This has gotten his attention. His eyes snap up to meet hers and she continues, "He knows I'm connected to Spiderman. He's after me, and Peter can only protect me for so long. I need this man gone. I need him gone so I can live my life again without staring over my shoulder, wondering if he's out there, wondering if I'll ever be safe in this city again."

His expression is remorseful. He purses his lips together and looks so genuinely upset at this notion that she has to stare down at her feet because she cannot let any pity for him into her heart, not without betraying her father.

"I'm so sorry, Gwen."

"Don't," she says under her breath, unable to help the disappointment that suddenly seems to be washing over her like a tidal wave. She didn't want to admit to herself that Connors was some form of a last hope, some way to make sense of her disorderly world and maybe be able to really help Peter for once, to do something he can't.

"I want you to see something."

She doesn't know why she even bothers to look up. He is pulling his good arm out from under the blanket and spreading the fingers of his hand out expectantly, as if he is waiting for her. She stares at his brittle fingernails and withered skin until he says, "Take my hand."

Her answer is immediate: "No."

He shakes his head, looking weary. "Just … trust me. One last time."

Gwen stares at him incredulously, stares at his eyes that now seem to big for the rest of his body and the few hairs left on his head and just takes in the complete and utter helplessness of him. She shouldn't trust him and she doesn't, but her ten minutes are almost up, and she knows Connors isn't exactly one for affection. If he's asking for her hand, he probably has a good reason.

She takes a step forward and extends out her palm, and only then does she realize how much she is scared to touch him. He represents everything terrible in her mind; he took her father, he took years of her happiness, he even tried to take Peter. It's like flirting with the devil. It's like daring fate to let him ruin her again.

But she takes his hand and nothing happens. She looks at his face, trying to understand, ready to pull her hands away, and that's when she feels it—his skin against her palm shifts and feels like liquid in her hands. She looks down, trying to make sense of the sensation.

His hand is no longer his hand.

"What?" is all she can manage, because she's seen this before—she's seen it on Bonnie and Clyde in their cages, but she has never seen it like this. The skin of his hands seems to bubble as it takes another shape, takes another form—it is pale and smooth and small and delicate and it doesn't make any sense, she's about to pull her hand away, but something about the transformation makes her stop cold.

The hand she is holding is identical to hers.

"If you stayed there for a few minutes, I could completely transform," he says lightly, in a maddeningly conversational way that only a scientist with his morbid, uncensored curiosity could muster. He is staring at their hands, as the white paleness spreads up to his forearms, up to his elbows. "I could turn myself into you, just by holding your hand and thinking."

She yanks her hand away. "What the hell is this," she demands, suddenly shaking uncontrollably, transfixed on his mismatched arm that belongs to her.

"The man who came in here. Who took the solution out of your lab." Connors flexes his hand—her hand?—and the Gwen-like qualities of it seem to disappear as he concentrates on it. "He is apparently a man of his word. He gave it to me a few weeks ago, and its true intentions seem to have drastically backfired."

He says this but still sounds somewhat proud and unabashedly fascinated by the whole concept. Gwen can't even breathe. She's still gaping, open-mouthed, certain that she has been drugged and she is dreaming all of this up.

"You can—you can—"

"Change my appearance at will, yes."

Gwen takes in a shuddering, disbelieving gasp of air, backing away even further from the bed, watching as his arm practically melts back into its former state. It's disgusting. It's unfathomable. She can't look away because she is riveted, but she has to because she thinks she might throw up.

"It didn't correct any of the damage, though," he says regretfully. "I was already on a crash course. My death is inevitable, and it will come soon."

"Can the man who took the solution—the man who broke into Oscorp—" Gwen stammers, feeling panic well and blood rushing into her cheeks. "Can he do this too?"

Connors looks at her solemnly. "Gwen, I'm afraid that with a body whose organs aren't failing him, he can do much worse than this."

The realization is more jarring than a car crash. Gwen has to reach out and touch a wall to steady herself, because it's insane, it's impossible, but it suddenly makes perfect sense. Peter's father has been missing just as long as the imposter Spiderman has been on the loose. Peter's father has been missing just as long as the imposter Spiderman has been on the loose.

"Oh, God," she mutters under her breath.

It isn't Peter's father doing this, which is the only small relief that she can hold on to, because the reality of it is so much worse—somebody is pretending to be Peter's father. Somebody has taken on his characteristics, has literally morphed their entire body to imitate him and take to the streets, and if the real Richard Parker hasn't shown up to help them in the last few weeks it can only mean that he's dead.

"How do I fix this?" she says to herself, pacing, fidgeting, pushing back her hair with her fist and doing all the things she promised herself she wouldn't do in here. She looks directly at Connors, and in a moment of desperation she says, "You did this. Tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this."

Connors shakes his head. "You did this. The lab you work in. Only without any physical trials, you haven't realized it yet."

There are physical trials, is what Connors doesn't know. Tiny little physical trials scampering around in a cage in Owen's apartment. She hadn't realized that their shapelessness could mean anything, that it could serve some unique and gruesome alternate purpose.

She hears the doorknob twist open and reels around. The woman from before is standing in the doorway, staring at Gwen.

"It's been ten minutes."

Gwen blinks at her. "I …"

"It's alright," says Connors, sounding resigned. "You can come back tomorrow."

She can't think of a single question she can ask him that will help them now, but the comfort of knowing she can come back is all that she has. She nods at him. She tries to think of something to say, but falls short. She doesn't want to leave like last time, full of hatred and malice. She wants to leave as Gwen. Composed, fair, and calm.

"Goodbye," Connors bids her.

She lets her eyes linger on his for a moment, but doesn't say a word. She follows the woman out the door, through the maze of stairs and hallways and out into the lobby, her head still spinning as if she is in a dream, looking at the back of the woman she is trailing behind and wondering, Do you know what I know? Did you see what I just saw?

Only after she emerges out of the facility does her phone buzz and alert her to the two missed calls from Peter. She pushes the thoughts of what just happened out of her mind, desperate to talk to him, to tell him what's going on.

He doesn't bother with a hello. "Gwen, you were right."

His voice is disjointed and choppy. "Where are you?" she asks, already sticking her foot out in the street in case she needs to hail a taxi.

"You were right," he says again, and then she hears that he's out of breath and knows something must have happened. "The man under the mask, it is my father."

"Peter, where are you?" she asks again, more deliberately this time.

"I'm fine," he says, "they didn't get me, I'm in street clothes."

This isn't making Gwen feel any better. "What just happened?"

"Where are you?"

"Campus," Gwen lies.

"What part?"

She bites on her lip and shoves her hand out for a taxi. She's only a few blocks away from school. "The, uh. East Library," she says.

"Is it crowded?"

"It's—what's going on?"

"Just stay there, alright?" he asks. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be there in an hour."

She relaxes somewhat, knowing she won't be caught in the compulsive lie because it won't take nearly that long to get herself there. She'll explain everything when he gets there, but in the meantime, he needs to know.

"Peter, listen. It's not your dad. I have to tell you something."

She doesn't get an answer. She pulls the phone away from her face and stares at it. The call is still connected but she can't hear anything anymore, not even his breathing. "Peter?"

The line goes dead. Gwen walks purposefully, knowing it should only take her fifteen minutes to get there, wishing she hadn't lied in the first place. It's not as if she was going to lie to him about going to Connors—of course she has to tell him now. She wonders where he is, what could have possibly happened, why he was in his street clothes and why he can't meet her for another hour.

She's halfway to campus when she sees him—walking down the street, his posture unusually straight, his hair looking almost tidy. She opens her mouth to call out to him, but someone beats her to it—MJ is across the street, calling out to him, bounding across to meet him. She stands there for a second, wondering a lot of things: why he isn't stopping for her, why his shoes are tied so well, why he isn't covered in blood and bruises the way she suspected he might be.

MJ takes his hand and Gwen's heart lurches. She can't stop following them, not now. Peter looks stiff from behind but he doesn't take his hand away. She's too surprised to even let it hit her yet, it's a kind of processing deeper than just denial, it feels like she is walking in a dream.

Why is he letting Mary Jane Watson hold his hand?

Her phone buzzes. She almost doesn't pay it any attention, riveted, watching the pair walk away. MJ is so short next to him. Her footsteps are small and she has to take two for every step he takes. It's a sweet picture, with her swinging her red bag with her free hand and him nodding as she says something.

She tears her eyes away to look at her phone. It's an incoming call from Peter.

"… Hello?" she asks skeptically.

"You're not in the library," he says lowly.

Gwen stops on the sidewalk. "Neither are you."

"What? What are you talking about? Where are you?"

Gwen is about to yell at him, to say he ought to know exactly where she is, that all he has to do is turn around, but when she rounds the corner she sees that Peter is still holding MJ's hand, with no cell phone in sight. She exhales all of her anger, trying to make sense of this, trying to understand. It's Peter. She knows his face, she knows his hands, she knows him. If it isn't Peter, who else could it be?

And then it hits her.

"Oh, shit."

"Are you alright?" Peter demands.

Gwen shakes her head. He can't see it, of course he can't—she opens her mouth and snaps herself back to the conversation and says, "I'm outside the drama building. You need to get here now."

Okay. In the interest of full discretion, I'm posting this drunk. The chapter was soberly written weeks ago, but I, however, am a mess of an excuse of a human being. Turns out that guy does NOT like me at all. I'm confused about why he showed up to my SPIDER MAN THEMED PARTY that he WASN'T INVITED TO to express these notions, but hey, at least I'm not gonna sit here and be all nostalgic about leaving college a semester early now. Screw it. Except for the part where I have to see him every freaking day for the next month with excruciating proximity, but whatever, it's cool, I'll just play dead whenever he walks by.

On a lighter note, this gives me a lot more time to panic about the midterms I didn't study for, and to maybe write more for this story and update in a timely manner.

In the meantime, I am forever single, and fondly, yours.