Chapter 24: Newton's Third Law

It's about remembering someone who was so important to me,

I was going to spend the rest of my life with her.

It's just... I didn't know that meant she would only get to spend the rest of her life with me.

The night I met Norman Osborn, Harry began to spiral out of control. Norman was poison, afflicting anyone he came into contact with.

After arriving back at the hotel, Harry spoke briefly with me about the way his father talked about Gwen. Like I had assumed he would, he defended him. Norman's words had left me feeling so vile I had felt the need to let the boiling hot water of the shower disinfect my skin. It was while I stood beneath the steamy spray of water that Harry came into the bathroom to continue our conversation.

"My father is dedicated to his work, he always has been. As a kid, I never understood how important it was to him but now I do." I wiped away at the steam accumulating on the glass shower door and looked at Harry as he stood leaning against the opposite wall of the bathroom. He kept his eyes on the floor, deep in thought. "Gwen is a dedicated person and my father recognizes and appreciates that. Is that so wrong, MJ?"

"Look, I know when someone is being inappropriate. He wasn't praising her - I mean, yes, on the surface he was, but there was something more beneath the surface."

Harry looked up. Perhaps the steam was playing tricks on me but I swore I saw a look cross over his eyes that struck momentary fear deep within my chest. It was a look I had never seen upon his face... a look that I had seen only upon Norman Osborn's face as he peered at me from across the dinner table.

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand the brilliance of my father."

I immediately shut the shower off and opened the glass shower doors. Brazen, I stood naked before him, rage flickering in my eyes. "What did you just say to me?" I reached for the small stack of towels above the sink and wrapped one around me then turned to look at him again.

"He was right about you." He spoke it softly, not intending for me to hear it, but he didn't speak it softly enough.

I was floored by his words. Angrily, I pursued him as he walked out of the bathroom, throwing my questions at him like daggers, "Right about what?"

"You're good for nothing except for a good screw every now and then." He whirled around, his eyes narrowed, that evil glint I had witnessed earlier shining bright in his blue eyes. "You're a piece of meat. A prize. And that's all you'll ever be - a beautiful idiot."

I don't even remember consciously raising my hand to slap him; one minute my hand was at my side and the next minute, it was suspended midair, my palm stinging, Harry's cheek beet-red.

He cursed then with both hands, pushed me with as much force as he could muster. I fell onto the bed and was already scrambling to my feet when I heard the hotel door slam. He was gone.

I laid in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, the sound of the oversized television humming in the background. After an hour, I pulled myself out of bed and walked to the balcony doors. I tightened my robe around me then opened the doors and walked outside. The hotel was located in the thick of New York City and even though it was well past 1am, the city was alive with lights and sound. I sat back in a wrought iron chair and closed my eyes. I wondered where Spider-Man was? What he was doing at this very moment? Was he fighting crime or just taking the night off? Did he know I was back in New York? ...Did he know I had even left? The city sounds lulled me to sleep, so happy were they to finally have their wayward child home again.

I slept on the balcony until the first glint of sunrise. Slowly, I rose from the chair and stretched out my limbs. When I turned, I saw through the open balcony doors Harry lying on the bed. His jacket and shoes from the night before were still on. I walked to him and was beginning to take off his shoes when I noticed twenty or so little white pebbles strewn across the bed beside him.

My brows wrinkled. I reached down and picked up one of the pebbles, bringing it up to my face to examine it. I gasped out loud. What I had thought were pebbles were, in fact, pills. Stunned, the pill dropped from my fingertips and dropped to the floor. I looked up. Harry's fingers were curled around an open, orange pill bottle.

"Harry!" I ripped the bottle from his fingers and threw it across the room. I began to shake him but he was limp and refused to wake. I continued to scream his name, "Harry, wake up!"

A low moan escaped his barely parted lips.

I gripped his arm and pulled him from the bed. His body fell from the bed and thudded hard against the hotel floor. "Harry!" I dug my fingertips into the sleeve of his jacket and began to drag him across the floor towards the bathroom. "Please wake up!"

I groaned. I huffed and I puffed. I cried out in anguish as I pulled his limp body into the hotel bathroom. I opened the glass shower doors and pulled him into the shower. I closed the shower doors behind us then turned on the water, turning the knob all the way to the right to make the water ice cold. I kneeled and placed Harry's head on my lap to keep him from drowning. We remained like this for five minutes. I kneeled until I felt the circulation in my legs cut off. I began to shiver beneath the cold stream of water, the silk robe drenched, clinging to my blue flesh. I remained in place, unmoving until he showed some sign of life. A few more minutes passed before he finally began to move. His fingers began to twitch first, and then his feet, still encased in their soaked, expensive leather loafers, began to wiggle back and forth. He moaned in pain, his teeth chattering.

"Call Peter." His voice was a mere whisper above the mashing of his teeth. "Don't call 911. Please."

Carefully, I lifted his head and gently laid it against the tile floor of the shower. I stood and turned off the water then opened the glass shower doors and grabbed the stack of towels. I placed them beneath his head then walked out of the bathroom and into the main room. Had he done this before? Did he have a history of substance abuse that I wasn't aware of? Why didn't he want me to call 911? So many questions ran through my mind and as I grabbed Harry's phone and searched for Peter's phone number, I tried to focus less on the questions and more on keeping the fear hidden in my voice.

Although it was 5am, Peter sounded wide awake when he answered. "Yo, since when do you wake up before-"

"Peter, it's MJ."

Peter paused for a moment before replying. When he spoke, his voice was steeped in concern. "MJ, what's wrong?"

"Something's wrong with Harry. He told me to call you -" My voice was trembling. "I don't know what to do. Please-"

"I'll be right there." In the background I heard him rustling through his drawers. "Put him in the shower. Cold water. Keep it running. Don't let him sleep. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Which hotel are you guys at?" His voice was so calm, I couldn't help but feel like he was going to fix this. He was going to make all of this alright somehow. He was going to save us.

"Four Seasons." I walked back into the bathroom and stared at Harry's lifeless body. "Midtown. Room 1823"

"I'm going to be right there, MJ."

I ended the call. I was still drenched and had this been any other circumstance, I would have changed clothes so Peter wouldn't see me in the black silk robe as it clung to my skin... but this wasn't just any circumstance - Harry had overdosed and he was dying in the shower of our hotel room. I propped the hotel door open with a chair from the main room then walked back into the shower, turned on the cold water and kneeled with Harry's head on my lap. It took Peter less than five minutes to cross town and get to the hotel room - a trek that would have normally taken just five minutes to get from the lobby to the eighteenth floor of the hotel.

"MJ?" I heard his voice before I saw him.

"We're in here, Peter!" I called from the shower. I pushed a few damp strands of hair from my face just as he ran into the bathroom. Seeing Harry, his face crumpled.

"Oh, God, not again." He jumped into the shower and turned off the water then as though Harry were a mere feather, he lifted him and carried him out of the shower. Gently, he laid him onto the bathroom floor. I stood in the doorframe of the shower, watching quietly, willing myself to melt into the background. I watched as Peter slapped his cheeks in an attempt to elicit some sort of reaction from him.

"MJ," Peter looked up at me, eyes wide with unspoken fear. "Do you know what he took?"

I stepped out of the shower and crossed the bathroom into the main room. I found the orange pill bottle I had thrown across the room and just as I was about to bring it back to Peter, I noticed Harry's open suitcase. Nestled in the corner, half-hidden by Harry's shirts, were three orange pill bottles. I grabbed all of them and brought them back into the bathroom. Peter was forcing a clear liquid into Harry's mouth. I stared at the vial in his hand. Etched into the side of the vial was OsCorp's insignia.

Peter looked back up at me. "Put the bottles down and go into the other room."

I did as he asked. A minute passed and then I heard painful retching coming from the bathroom. The vomiting lasted for nearly twenty minutes and when it stopped, Peter emerged from the bathroom.

"Peter-" I took a step towards him. "What's going on?"

Warily, he dropped onto the edge of the bed. "There's a lot you don't know about Harry."

"What did you give him?" I took another step towards him, "What did he take? Has he done this before?"

He sighed heavily then rubbed his palms over his face. "Yes, he's done this before. I thought he was over this-"

"Over what?!" I screamed, stomping my bare foot against the floor. I had no control over the situation and it made me feel helpless, a feeling I didn't know how to process. I wanted control. I wanted to have a firm grip on the situation rather than feeling like seaweed drifting in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the tides. "Give me some solid answers, Peter! Please!"

"Harry was addicted to pills in high school. I always kept a vial of ipecac syrup at home and whenever he lost control and OD'd, he would call me instead of 911. He never wanted his father to find out. He didn't want to disappoint him... and he knew the reporters would find out if he went to a hospital-" He groaned then stood from the bed, lacing his fingertips through his unruly brown hair. "That's how I knew what was wrong before you even said it this morning - he has a history of doing this. He recovered six months before he met you but some time after you two moved to California, he started taking anxiety pills. He told me over the phone about two months ago- at the time, OsCorp wasn't doing very well... there were talks of his father losing the company... He told me he was having nightmares from the anxiety so he went to a doctor and-" He turned and stared at me. His brown eyes were empty. "He promised me he wasn't going to go overboard. He said that he had taken control of his demons... but I should have known better. I should have told you in the beginning."

"Nightmares? You want to talk about nightmares?" I laughed a high-pitched, strained laugh, and rolled my eyes in disgust. "I had nightmares of my father beating the crap out of me for six months straight!" I spoke viciously, pointing my finger in Peter's face, "I relived my fucked up childhood for six goddamn months but you didn't see me self-medicating, did you?" I shoved my finger into his chest and screamed, "Did you?!"

"...no."

I dropped my finger from his chest and covered my mouth with my hands. Instantly, I regretted the vile words that had spilled from my mouth.

"I didn't know that your father beat you-" Peter's eyes softened and he took a step towards me, reaching out for my arm. I slapped his hand away. I was trembling.

"I don't want your pity." I moved past him, "Take care of your friend. This is too much for me."

I pulled a long trench coat from the closet and threw it over my robe then did the most cowardly thing I've ever done: I grabbed my suitcase and left Peter to take care of Harry as he recovered from his overdose.

After I left the hotel, I went to the only place that made sense... my old apartment. I still had my key and when I unlocked the door and dropped my suitcase inside, Gwen rounded the corner. She had been expecting Peter so when she saw my tear-streaked face, my soaked and limp hair, her eyes went wide with surprise.

"MJ?"

"Honey, I'm home." I tried to joke but my tone fell flat. No questions asked, Gwen swept me into her arms and hugged me tight. She didn't need to know anything - whatever had happened, it didn't matter. This was my home, as any home of her's was mine as well, and she made sure that I knew it.

The following forty-eight hours would turn Peter's world upside-down.

His life was a spinning top, spinning steadily at first but teetering and wobbling as it began to slow down. Hadn't his life always been this way? Hadn't it always been in a constant state of falling apart?

With Peter's help, Harry recovered. As soon as he was well enough, he tried to call Mary Jane's phone but he found it in the hotel room. Outraged, he threw her phone against the wall, causing it to shatter. Peter stood to the side and silently watched his best friend unravel.

"You have to tell me where she is!" Harry whirled around and grabbed Peter's shoulders, "I know you know where she is!"

Peter gently placed his hands on his friend's shoulders, "Harry, stop. You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" He pushed Peter backwards, his breath ragged with fury. "I need to find her!"

"No, Harry, you need to calm down."

Harry was beginning to lose his grip on reality. He pulled the sheets from the bed. He tore the flat screen television from the hotel wall and dropped it to the floor, sparks and smoke billowing up from its broken screen. He picked up a chair to throw when Peter stepped forward and ripped the chair from his grip.

"Get a hold of yourself!"

Harry pulled his fist back, loaded and ready to strike. Peter's spider-sense alarmed him before Harry could strike. Lightning fast reflexes, he grabbed Harry's fist. The Spider took over and without thinking, he began to crush the small bones in Harry's hand. The bones popped and cracked as his vice grip clamped down.

Harry yelped in pain, jarring Peter back to reality. He released his friend's hand then stepped away from him, "What are you doing, Harry? Who is this person? This isn't you."

"Get out of here." Harry cradled his broken hand against his chest, "Get out of here, damnit!"

Harry was alone. He had no one, save for his father. After changing into dry clothes, he left the hotel and met with his father. The poison that had ruined Norman Osborn was slowly leeching into Harry Osborn and in the darkest regions of the Osborn home, both men conspired for revenge. While Harry wanted to teach her a lesson for leaving him in his darkest hour, Norman thirsted for blood. Harry slept in his old bedroom and as he did, his father paced the floor of his laboratory.

"You know what you have to do, Norman." He spoke to himself, his angular face creased with the vile thoughts that raced through his head.

"But she's just a girl!" Norman countered, his voice pleading. "You can't do this to her!"

"I can-" He ran to his desk, grabbing a syringe loaded with a noxious green liquid. "And I WILL!"

He slid the needle beneath his leathery skin, grimacing in pain as he poisoned himself with the final injection of Code Green.

Newton's Third Law states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

For every choice, there is a consequence.

Within the next forty-eight hours, Mary Jane was going to feel the dire consequences of her actions.