Shorter chapter.

Gwen lay awake all night. She didn't sleep, she didn't even think. There was nothing to think, nothing for a distraction. She blankly stared at the wall, ignoring the shadows of clouds drifting across. She ignored the stars, those hateful lights. They knew this would happen. That's why they glowed so bright. God, that was so Shakespearean and such bullshit.

At around 4am, her door creaked open and little Simon crept in, clutching another blanket in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. She didn't notice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she said aloud. "Peter."

Gwen felt more tears threatening to fall from her already dry eyes, and then she decided that she would not let them. She had cried her fill, and she would not until the funeral. Assuming there was a funeral.

Assuming a body had been found.

Shut the fuck up.

"Gwen?" Simon asked, quietly and timidly. "Are you okay?"

She was surprised to hear him, but she made no motion.

"Not really, Simon," she whispered. She marvelled at how calm her voice was. "Probably not for a long time."

"Oh."

Simon stood there in the doorway for some time, until Gwen whispered, "C'mere, you. I need a hug."

He crawled into bed with her and planted the teddy bear between them, hugging both Gwen and Mr. Bear as tightly as his little arms could. She hugged him back, resting her face in his hair, and was uncomfortably encountered by a memory of burying her face in Peter's hair.

She pulled back.

"Peter's dumb," Simon announced seriously.

Gwen's mouth opened slightly. How could he say that? Why would he say that? How could- oh.

He didn't know.

Of course he didn't.

Nobody knew. She hadn't exactly told any of them. She'd just sat on the couch and cried and then gone to bed without any words.

"I thought you and Peter were going to get married, but he's stupid for breaking up with you." He paused. "Phillip's taller, he can hit him for you," he added as an afterthought.

Gwen, bizarrely, felt like laughing.

"He didn't break up with me, Simon," she said, pulling Mr. Bear up to her face, squeezing her eyes shut and then, only then, did she realize how tired she was. "The police don't come to tell people that their boyfriends or girlfriends dumped them."

"What?" Simon said, aghast, his voice rising louder than a whisper. "But I thought-?"

Gwen wanted to start laughing again. Oh, Simon. Did he really think that was what Dad did before he died?

"That was the only reason I wanted to become a police officer," he said, disappointed. Gwen can't hold back the snort this time, but it's only short-lived. She settled back into silence.

"So he didn't dump you?"

"Peter didn't break up with me," she repeated.

"Then why-?"

Would saying it, saying it actually out loud, confirming it verbally, would it make it true?

"He died."

Saying it wasn't going to change anything.

The sun rose irritatingly bright the next morning. The rays swept into the bedroom, heating the room to an unpleasant temperature, and the single occupant groaned, and considered pulling the pillow up over his head.

He didn't. Instead he pulled himself reluctantly out of bed and headed over to the shower, not even stopping to appreciate the beautiful view from his bedroom window. Sunlight sparkling over the ocean, glinting even in the distance, and surprisingly little pollution to be seen that morning. Far to the left, there was smoke rising slowly, from what must have been a large building fire the night before.

He didn't see it. He spent the time he could have spent watching the view tripping his way to the bathroom, washing his hair, and putting on expensive clothes he didn't particularly like.

At 8:00am, he stepped outside into the cold air, even as the sun smiled merrily down. He wasn't happy, and everyone who met him knew that.

Sure, he had wealth, but everyone knew that a terrible father-son relationship made it difficult to smile. Especially when that terrible relationship was severed by a premature death, without either parties ever coming to terms, forgiving the others' sins, etc. The chauffeur nodded as he opened the car door, not bothering with a greeting.

He was all right with that. Everyone treated him either as a wealthy possible benefactor, and spent their time with him being slimy and manipulative, or they acted like he was a stupid little kid. His own company was excellent at that.

At 8:30am, his car pulled up outside the private entrance of one of the most prominent and well-respected companies in the city. As he left the vehicle, a bodyguard strode forward with intent, but he dismissed him politely and made his way into the building.

Pristine and sparkling. Just as he expected, just as he saw everyday.

This morning, his private elevator was nonfunctional, and the stares from his employees as he walked to the public ones irked him. They shouldn't have, it was his own company and what was it to feel embarrassed by the people he had employed? Stupid and childish. He imagined his father looking down at him, a curled lip and brows pulled together. He tried to shake the feeling away, as if the old man was still watching him. But the stares of his workers… as potent as they were, they were nothing compared to his father's intimidating glare; that awful, absent look he'd saved only for his son; simple ignoring of him.

He passed a red-eyed blonde girl staring resolutely at one of the screens, ignoring almost as intensely as his father always had, but he could recognize that vague expression of being a thousand miles away. Cheating, he thought absurdly. But it was nice to know that she wasn't ignoring him because he was him, and she wasn't staring either.

He hid in the elevator, relieved that the stares were far away from him now. There was something peaceful about the lift, glass and silent and empty. He closed his eyes and absently pulled at the flap of hair that covered his forehead.

The elevator binged, and he stepped out into his office. Spacious, clean, and yet still filled with worthless tech crap he hadn't the energy to dispose of. He sank down into his seat at his desk, eyeing the newspaper folded neatly there.

Honestly, the company acted as though technology was the only way to go, and then dumped newspapers on his desk. Anything he could read in that, he could read online. It was hypocrisy at its finest.

The headline caught his eye, something about Spider-Man and an apartment fire, and he perused the article quickly.

Weird fire that broke out. Spider-Man saved the day, as usual. One casualty, a kid his own age called P-

"Oh," said Harry Osborn.

When his secretary found him an hour later, armed with a coffee and a doughnut, she found him staring blankly out over the skyline, where there was still smoke dissipating from a disaster.