The thing about reliving the past was that Peter knew, to some extent, what was going to happen. Or – he knew what had happened, but wasn't going to happen this time.

Peter knew Dr. Connors had mutated into the Lizard after Peter had given him his father's equation, and he knew Dr. Connors had tried to turn everyone in the city into lizard-people using the Ganali device. He knew that Gwen's father had died buying time.

What Peter didn't know was where Dr. Ratha fit into any of that.

His mind was whirling. He didn't even know who Dr. Ratha was. How did he even know about this place? Had he been here the last time around? And had Peter just never known about it, had he missed him?

Peter scuffed a shoe over the concrete and ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head, feeling the dampness of sweat on his scalp. Just another one of the joys of wandering through muggy sewers without nearly enough air circulation.

"What… what're you doing here?" he asked eventually, after the silence had stretched on to the point of being uncomfortable.

Dr. Ratha merely raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. "I could be asking the same of you," he said, calmly.

Peter blinked – once, twice. In the absence of having any sort of pre-formulated response ready at the tip of his tongue, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I – uh, I got… lost," he blurted, and made a vague gesture over his shoulder to indicate the direction from which he'd come from. It wasn't even a lie, technically. He had gotten lost in the sewers, though not in the way that his answer implied.

It was clear, though, that Dr. Ratha didn't believe him for even a second. That was fair. Peter probably wouldn't have believed himself either. As far as excuses went, it wasn't the worst he'd ever come up with, but still – wandering this deep into the sewers was a rather huge detour from any normal above-ground destination.

"I wasn't aware that Dr. Connors had shared the details of this with anyone else," Dr. Ratha said, choosing to gloss over Peter's flimsy excuse with the cool confidence of a man who wasn't willing to waste time tiptoeing around the truth when he thought he already knew it.

But the keyword there was thought, because Dr. Ratha was wrong – it wasn't that Peter had been privy to Dr. Connors' plans. He'd tracked Dr. Connors here himself after the school attack that hadn't happened this time around.

Peter wasn't about to correct the assumption, though. Instead, he just shrugged and hoped that was enough of an answer.

Something flickered on the laptop screen on the desk and it let out a cheerful bing! that broke the uncomfortable atmosphere, sparing Peter the struggle of having to try and scrape together some sort of explanation for an excuse he hadn't even been the one to come up with. Peter watched as Dr. Ratha turned his back to him to pull out what was unmistakably a flash drive from one of the ports on its side.

"...What's that?" he asked, trying to get a better look, inching forward to peer at the screen. The computer's file explorer was open, revealing rows and rows of videos and documents with content that Peter could only guess at, but the popup vanished with the flash drive's ejection.

It disappeared from view in the palm of Dr Ratha's hand. Peter's gaze lingered there for a long moment. When he met the eyes of Dr. Ratha once more, it was to find that he was being watched.

Dr. Ratha eyed him a moment longer before finally replying. "I'm sure you can understand," he said, coolly. With his free hand, he plucked a glass vial from the table, observing it beneath the single bright white light illuminating the desk area. What was most likely the botched lizard-mutant serum sloshed inside. "Oscorp needs this research."

Peter stared at the glass vial, at the green liquid pooled at the bottom. It was the color of broken beach glass, an innocuous shade of lime. He wanted nothing more than to dispose of it. The last thing Oscorp needed – or anyone needed, really – was the formula to make another lizard mutant.

"What do they need it for?" he asked, shifting uneasily on his feet.

Dr. Ratha merely glanced at him. "Do you work for Oscorp, Peter?" he asked. It was quite clear from his dismissiveness that it wasn't actually a question he needed an answer to, but he paused briefly to wait for a response from Peter anyway.

"No…"

"Then I don't believe that is any of your business," Dr. Ratha said, tone almost stern.

It almost sounded like a warning.

Peter bit his lip. "But – the formula. It didn't work," he said, his voice a mumble, half-distracted by the vial – no, the multiple vials, in varying states of fullness, clustered together on the table. What had happened to it all last time? Had it just been left in the sewers to collect dust?

"Hm?"

Peter tore his gaze away, looking intently at Dr. Ratha instead. "It didn't work," he repeated. "I – you know that, right? It didn't work."

"That would depend on your definition of work," Dr. Ratha replied, setting the vial back down upon the table with a gentle clatter, back among the others of its kind like a set of miniature glass bowling pins.

Peter opened his mouth to argue – because, really, if someone's idea of it working was turning into a giant lizard, then maybe their definition of that was worth questioning – but Dr. Ratha continued before he could get a word in.

"But no, you are right, Peter. It didn't work on Dr. Connors," he agreed. Here, he turned his full attention to Peter. His left hand, concealing the flash drive, remained fisted at his side. "But it did work very well on someone else."

Peter's mouth was suddenly very dry. He licked at his lips, dreadfully certain of where this was going.

"...Who?"

Dr. Ratha raised an eyebrow. "You've probably heard," he said. "Last week, the NYPD put out an arrest warrant for the masked vigilante called Spider-Man."

Peter stared for a moment and frowned. "There's an arrest warrant out for him?"

Well… damn. That was good to know.

Spider-Man's relationship with the police fluctuated. Sometimes they worked with him, sometimes they were determined to put him behind bars. He'd built up a good amount of trust between them several years back, but after he'd started injuring criminals to the point they couldn't be properly interrogated, the police had turned against him and he'd never really been able to salvage the working relationship between them enough to restore it to the way it had once been.

"It made the news on Friday," Dr. Ratha informed him.

What was today again? Tuesday? That was just last week, but for Peter it was over a decade ago.

"Oh," said Peter, at length. "I… didn't know." What had he done to get the police to put out an arrest warrant for him back when he was seventeen? He didn't remember.

He didn't have time to puzzle it out either – for it was at that moment that Dr. Ratha suddenly reached back and in one smooth motion, pulled out a gun. Peter stiffened immediately, freezing in place, wondering what he could've possibly done to have caused such a reaction – but the gun wasn't pointed at him. Dr. Ratha's hardened gaze was focused on something just over Peter's shoulder.

Peter whipped around. There, having just rounded the bend, was Dr. Connors in the flesh – human flesh. He looked… better, Peter thought, than the last time he'd seen him, nude and shivering after being reverted back into a human. He was noticeably less disheveled and was definitely not naked. There was, however, a certain restless, almost frantic look to him, visible in his eyes and in the way his hair was just slightly unkempt. He looked like someone who'd been rushing about all day and thus felt rather harried – but he didn't appear noticeably aggressive like he'd been after becoming the Lizard, so there was that.

Peter hadn't even heard him coming. The constant sound of moving water in the sewers must've drowned out the approaching footsteps.

"Dr. Connors," said Dr. Ratha, his voice as steady as his unwavering aim. "We've been expecting you."

Peter's gaze flicked back and forth between them both. He held up a hand, trying for soothing but feeling more like a student tentatively raising their hand in a classroom at an incredibly inopportune time. The tension in the air had just skyrocketed. "Woah," he said, wary. "Uh, hang on–"

Dr. Ratha's gaze slid over to Peter and back to Dr. Connors within the space of a second. "Your new lab assistant was just looking for you," he said, his tone flat and almost nonchalant. The gun in his grip did not waver.

Peter made wide-eyed, startled eye contact with Dr. Connors.

He looked somewhat confused to see Peter there, an echo of Peter's surprise at finding Dr. Ratha mere moments earlier. It might've been funny if Peter wasn't currently standing between the two of them, hyper-aware of Dr. Ratha's finger on the trigger.

Dr. Connors frowned, but remained at the edge of the lab space, careful not to move when being held at gunpoint. "How did you find this place?" he asked.

Peter honestly wasn't sure whether the question was directed towards him or Dr. Ratha – or both. Either way, it was Dr. Ratha who answered, voice smooth. "You have several rather interesting recordings on your office computer."

Dr. Connors' expression tightened. "Those files were locked," he said – a weak protest, when he was currently being confronted by the futility of it.

"I'm afraid that doesn't mean much," Dr. Ratha replied, though he didn't sound at all remorseful for what definitely sounded like some form of breaking and entering.

Peter eyed the gun held steady in Dr. Ratha's firm grip, worry tight in his lungs and making him want to hold his breath unnecessarily.

It was like an old-fashioned Western standoff, except only one person had a gun. And Peter was standing right in the middle.

Dr. Ratha was almost eerily calm. In some ways, that was a good thing – after all, there was nothing more dangerous than a nervous, jittery person with a gun in their hand. People like that were unpredictable, liable to be a danger to those around them simply because they couldn't be expected to behave in a rational manner.

But there was something unnerving about someone who was the exact opposite, too – the cold, hard eyes of a man who wouldn't hesitate. If he thought it necessary, Dr. Ratha would kill Dr. Connors right here in cold blood and he wouldn't even blink.

Peter could disarm him. He had his web shooters strapped to both wrists beneath the sleeves of his jacket. It'd be easy; he could just snag the gun from Dr. Ratha's hands with a well-aimed shot of web fluid and yank it from his grip. Dr. Ratha wouldn't be expecting it and Peter would have him disarmed within a second.

But that was just about as good as Peter holding up a sign with big, bold letters that said: Oh hey, you know that Spider-Man guy you were just talking about? Look, you found him!

So… yeah, no, that wasn't really preferable, despite the temptation of a quick and easy solution. Web shooters sure did a fat lot of good in this situation.

Peter gnawed worriedly at his lower lip. Nobody moved.

"...What do you want from me?" Dr. Connors asked eventually, jaw set. He looked like a man determined yet resigned to his fate, his eyes full of grim acceptance.

Dr. Ratha's eyebrows lifted, though he remained distinctly unimpressed. "What do I want?" he repeated, his tone heavy with the implication that the question itself was already a disappointment. "This isn't about what I want, Dr. Connors. This is about results."

Dr. Connors' hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the strap of the bag he had slung over his shoulder. "Well," he said, with what sounded like forced calm. "Then I'm afraid I don't have any. Not a working one, anyway."

"Ah," said Dr. Ratha, something smug bleeding into his tone, something superior. "But that's where you're wrong."

Dr. Connors shot him a look, a mix of horror and incredulity. "If you think that this is a cure–" he began, but Dr. Ratha cut him off before he could say any more.

"You know, Curt," said Dr. Ratha, seemingly changing the subject entirely, "I'm a very forgiving man."

Here, he reached up and lightly ran a couple of the fingers of his other hand, the one that still held the flash drive, over a bruise on his cheek that Peter hadn't noticed until now. In the dim lighting, it was hardly more than a slight smudge upon his face.

Dr. Connors didn't say anything, though something – recognition maybe, or realization – flashed across his face.

Peter, on the other hand, only grew more confused.

Dr. Ratha continued on unimpeded. "I was going to have you fired, but it looks like you've made a breakthrough." He almost sounded pleased by that. "I know your last test didn't quite work out," he said simply – not a question, a statement. An observation, a fact. Eyes flicking clinically over Dr. Connors' very human form, he added, "But you look better."

Dr. Connors frowned. "...I managed to get it out of my system," he said stiffly. His gaze dropped almost ashamedly to the ground.

"I need to know it won't happen again," Dr. Ratha said, getting to the heart of the matter, his tone almost conversational despite the thinly veiled threat in his words when he cautioned, "Oscorp doesn't like people who rock the boat."

"I know," said Dr. Connors, and there was a certain weariness to his words that was indicative of the unmistakable truth there, that Dr. Connors did know very well that Oscorp didn't want people rocking the boat. "It won't."

Dr. Ratha waited a beat longer, as if to allow Dr. Connors' answer to sink in. "Good." And he finally, finally, lowered the gun. "Let's keep it that way."

Peter felt his shoulders sag in relief. The tension bled from the air in a slow but steady trickle, as if reluctant to dissipate.

Even without the gun held at the ready, Dr. Ratha's gaze remained sharp and piercing. Standing in the lab, just in front of the desk, his presence was like a physical barrier blocking access to everything within. Dr. Connors, likely still wary, remained at the corner, his jaw taut and eyes hard.

"Now let's get back to business," Dr. Ratha said smoothly, folding his hands in front of him, a picture perfect pose of professionalism. The image was somewhat ruined by the gun he still held, dangling loosely in his grip.

Dr. Connors swallowed visibly. "I already told you," he said, tightly. "I don't have the results you're looking for. Not yet. The formula didn't work."

"It didn't work on you," Dr. Ratha corrected. "But you've already had a different successful human trial."

Dr. Connors blinked, brow furrowing. "I don't know what you're talking about," he denied, voice firm. "We haven't run any other human trials."

"Is that really what you think?" Dr. Ratha asked, his tone not quite condescending. "Let me enlighten you, then: on Thursday night, you weren't the only cross-species genetics experiment on the Williamsburg Bridge."

Peter could see the exact moment that the realization struck Dr. Connors, clear as day upon his face. His eyes widened just a tad, and he glanced quickly in Peter's direction before returning his gaze to Dr. Ratha.

Peter had no doubt that Dr. Connors had figured out for himself that Peter's abilities were a result of successful cross-species genetics, but during the whole Lizard incident, it was likely he didn't have the clarity of mind to contemplate what exactly that meant. He'd been too fixated on his goal of supposedly bettering humanity by infecting the entire city with the botched serum. And afterwards, if he'd weighed the implications of it, what conclusions he'd come to… Peter didn't know. After the incident at Oscorp Tower, he'd been arrested and Peter had never heard from him again.

He never would know, either. That future was gone, replaced by the future that was currently unspooling before them.

Dr. Connors was no longer looking at him, but Peter was almost certain, even without a mirror, that he'd gone pale. Apprehension had drained the blood from his face, he could feel it.

Please, please, please don't tell him, he thought, terror blooming in his chest.

He wouldn't – right? That was what he hoped at least, but Peter didn't actually know Dr. Connors well enough to say. He'd only known the man briefly, and his impression of him was clouded by who he'd become after mutating into the Lizard.

At seventeen, Peter had admired him. He'd sought to connect with Dr. Connors because he had known Peter's father and working with him had, in a way, allowed Peter to feel like he was getting closer to his father too.

Perhaps seventeen-year-old Peter Parker might've put more blind faith in this man he barely knew, but Peter was twenty-nine, and had more than enough hindsight to realize he really knew next to nothing about Dr. Curtis Connors.

Please don't tell him–

Dr. Connors hesitated a beat before replying. "I wasn't aware," he said slowly, carefully. "There were no other human trials."

Dr. Ratha merely lifted his eyebrows, expression flat, as if to say so what? "Yet it's clearly worked on someone." He smiled, though it was strangely humorless. "Congratulations, Dr. Connors. It looks like cross-species genetics is working after all."

Dr. Connors remained silent.

Not bothered by this lack of a reply in the slightest, Dr. Ratha continued. "What I want to know," he said, thoughtful, "is who it worked on. And how."

"I'm afraid I'm not sure," Dr. Connors told him – and though the words were spoken icily, they thawed the dread in Peter's lungs enough for him to suck in a slow and steady breath.

Dr. Ratha gave Dr. Connors a distinctly unimpressed look. "Then find out," he said, blunt. "Test everyone who works in the cross-species genetics wing."

Dr. Connors hesitated. "That's… going to take time," he said stiffly, reluctance visible in his averted eyes. It was quite apparent he wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the suggestion.

Dr. Ratha, however, was unmoved. "Then I suppose you'd better hurry."

And with that, Dr. Ratha straightened, pulled away from the desk, and began moving towards the far corner. His left hand was still balled into a fist, where the flash drive was pressed into his palm. Peter didn't know exactly what it contained, but he could certainly make a good guess.

As he passed Peter on his way to leave, Peter said, "Wait."

Dr. Ratha stopped and gave him a measured look.

Peter pointed to the enclosed fist at his side with one finger. "You're taking the… what's on that?"

Dr. Ratha had refused to give him any substantial information before, and it was clear that his stance hadn't changed within the past several minutes. However, the question had alerted Dr. Connors to the fact that Dr. Ratha was walking away with more than the clothes on his back and the gun in his hand. In Peter's peripheral vision, Dr. Connors' gaze snapped to Dr. Ratha's enclosed fist.

"This research," said Dr. Ratha, voice smooth, "belongs to Oscorp." He lifted his hand, pushing the flash drive out of hiding with his thumb so that the tip poked out, a tantalizing glint of dark plastic and metal.

It belonged to Oscorp? No. If it was what Peter thought it was, if it was the equation, then it belonged to his father, who'd died to get it out of Oscorp's hands.

Peter pressed his lips into a flat line. "But–"

"Peter," said Dr. Connors, cutting him off. He didn't say anything else, and simply gave him a look – just let it go. He too was likely very aware of the gun that Dr. Ratha still held in his other hand, that he was more than willing to use.

But the equation was bad news; nobody knew that better than Peter. He'd given it to Dr. Connors many years ago and it had ruined his life. He'd thought that was the end of it then – with Dr. Connors' arrest, the only person who knew about it could no longer make use of it, and the secret was safe. But in this new unfurling of events, it seemed like now that it'd been introduced into the world, it was beginning to spread uncontrollably like a wildfire.

Starting with this. Peter worked his jaw, conflicted.

He thought about the temptation of snatching the flash drive and smashing it beneath his heel or letting it sink into oblivion within the sewer waters… and getting shot at point blank, or being discovered by a man who specifically had his eye on Spider-Man.

The flash drive disappeared once more in Dr. Ratha's left hand.

Dr. Ratha turned to leave, pausing by Dr. Connors at the edge of the lab, close enough to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder if he were anyone else. "Find Spider-Man," Dr. Ratha instructed. "If you can't do it, Oscorp will."

His words were an order just as much as they were a threat. Dr. Connors didn't have to agree to the request; it wasn't optional.

"You're getting a second chance," Dr. Ratha added, unperturbed by Dr. Connors' silence. His words were almost congratulatory despite their dryness. Pinning Dr. Connors with a hard look, he added, "I suggest you make good use of it."

And with that, he turned the corner and left, the tap of his shoes upon the concrete vanishing quickly beneath the steady background thrum of rushing water.

A second chance. Dr. Ratha didn't know how right he was. Watching his retreating shadow shrink down on the opposite wall, Peter wondered whether or not he'd just ruined his own.

Author's Note:

This chapter was really hard to write for some reason. I blame Dr. Ratha for being a character with barely any screentime... writing so much dialogue for him was difficult. (ಥ‿ಥ)