Harry Osborn was going to die.
Whether the cause of death would be oppressive boredom or strangulation due to the necktie cinched too tightly around his neck, it was hard to say.
He wondered what higher power he'd pissed off to earn such cruel treatment, and if he could get back in their good graces by offering them up lots and lots of money. He could swing that no problem. If there was one thing his father could be counted on, it was having cash on hand.
As it was though, with no gods nor father present, Harry fended off death by pulling out his phone and holding it low behind the banquet table in front of him, scrolling to find something, anything, that could use to kill time.
"Isn't this the greatest thing ever?" Peter was sitting next to him, wearing a suit jacket a size too big and a grin that was so wide and earnest it had to be involuntary. "Harry, do you know who that is?"
Harry didn't look up from his phone, but he knew Peter was pointing across the large, fancy ballroom to one of the many people in attendance.
"Nah. Who is it?"
"That's Dr. Shyam Holkar! He designed the first, fully-functional, 3D-printed cochlea for inner-ear implants!"
"Oh yeah?" Harry booted up a farm-simulation game on his phone and started harvesting turnips. "You don't say…"
"And that's Dr. Kavita Rao!" Peter nearly slipped from his chair as he fervently pointed at another scientist. "Her genetics research is incredible and... and is that Dr. Leslie Miglietta? Dude, she built-"
"A rocket ship that runs off hopes and dreams?" Harry guessed.
"Well, no… but she did build an engine that uses ethanol fuel with almost no nitrogen runoff… so you're pretty close."
"Amazing."
"It is, actually. Do you think she'd mind if I asked for an autograph?"
"She'd probably be thrilled to finally meet someone who knows who the hell she is." Harry grumbled and jabbed at this phone some more.
Internally, Harry knew his comment was off base. If anybody cared about Dr. Miglietta and her engine that ran off corn or plastic ear implants, it would definitely be all the people gathered in the banquet hall where he and Peter sat. The room was full of scientists, brainiacs, business tycoons, and philanthropists, all dressed to the nines and all talking amongst themselves.
It was a celebration of Oscorp's success developing a cure for "Vermin's Plague" as the news outlets called it and a prestigious award from some high-faulting science organization was going to be given to Doctor Connors and his lab team.
Harry didn't know all the details and hadn't been paying attention while his father's secretary had been laying it all out for him.
All he knew was that he was supposed to represent the 'family brand'. Whatever that meant exactly – he wasn't entirely sure. No one had come by their table to talk to him and he sure as hell wasn't going to try and navigate the crowded hall with his crutches, just so he could kiss ass to some CEO his father wanted to connect with.
Harry had invited his best friend because he thought the night would go down easier if they could suffer through the stuffy event together. His father's secretary had allowed with only a few stipulations – 1. Peter had to wear a suit and 2. Peter could not speak to any guests with a net-value over eight figures – and Harry thought the night was saved.
What he hadn't anticipated (but definitely should have) was that Peter was going to go full fan-boy and make it almost impossible not to pay attention to ceremony.
"I should have brought some paper or something… I could ask her to sign my napkin, but I don't even have a pen, dammit." Peter squirmed in his chair. "You wouldn't have a pen on you, would you?"
Before Harry could retort – no he definitely did not carry a pen – one suddenly appeared in between them, thrust between their shoulders by a small hand.
"I got you." The pen-owner said, and Harry turned, looking up from his phone to stare unabashedly.
The first thing he noticed was her hair. It was long and glossy and soft-looking, and the deepest shade of red Harry had ever seen; flowing over bare shoulders to hang near her mid-back. The second thing he noticed was how short she was. Even leaning forward on his crutches, he doubted the top of her head would even reach his chin.
The third and final thing his brain registered was that she was extremely, undeniably hot.
"Oh, thank you." Peter excepted the pen, smiling gratefully, and then to Harry's utter astonishment, he seemed to recognize this girl. "Mary-Jane, right?"
"Yes!" Mary-Jane's teeth were white as pearls when she smiled back. "Call me MJ though. And you aaarreee… don't say anything, lemme think... Parker. Preston Parker!"
"Peter."
"Ah sorry, sorry, Peter." She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. "Peter, you definitely used to live in Forest Hills. On Ingram street, right?" When he nodded, her grin widened. "Oh yes, I totally remember you. Your parents always brought these bomb-ass pies over and gave them to us on the holidays. I used to live in the green house at the end of the street – the one with all the broken bottles in the yard and the shouting every night."
"Oh… um."
Peter didn't know what to say to that apparently. Harry was at a loss for words too. As it was, his brain had been home to nothing but white static ever since he'd set eyes on the short skirt of MJ's cocktail dress.
"I lived there with my aunt and uncle. They made the pies." Peter recovered after a moment. "Do you, er – still live in Queens?"
"Nope." MJ said brightly. "I got a sweet setup at the ESU dorms now. Speaking of, I'm supposed to be getting material for the University Gazette, which is why-" She spun smoothly on her heel to look at Harry. "I was hoping the young master Osborn could spare me a quick interview."
To his credit, Harry managed a small nod when MJ turned her twinkling smile on him, although it was entirely possible that he was drooling slightly too. He noticed, for the first time, that she was carrying a notebook the size of a cashier's journal, stacked with a sequined clutch in one hand.
"I'll leave you to it then. Be right back."
"Take some paper, Peter." MJ ripped a page from her journal and passed it to him. "That napkin has marinara on it."
As soon as Peter left in pursuit of Dr. Miglietta, MJ was there, alighting in his vacated seat and turning to Harry with a gleam in her eye. Harry swallowed heavily, a sudden bout of anxiety replacing all other emotions.
He'd been interviewed only once before – a short segment for the Norman Osborn docuseries: "The Wizard of Os"- but he'd been well-prepped for that, with all the questions and answers laid out days in advance. Now though, he couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of questions MJ wanted to ask and he did not want to look stupid in front of her.
"Pro tip" She began, unzipping her clutch pulling out a red gel pen. "Never loan out your favorite pen, you might never see it again. Always hand out your second favorite pen."
"Ah." Harry nodded, not understanding.
"Not that I think Peter is the type to steal pens, but people forget, you know?" She took her phone out of her clutch as well and set it on the table between, a tape-recorder app already pulled up. The notebook was opened flat on her lap. "And you're probably thinking – why even bother with your second favorite pen? Why not just give away pens you don't like? Amirite?"
"Totally."
She spun her red pen between her fingers, then clicked it rapidly. The noise was like a woodpecker inside of Harry's skull.
"The answer is simple, Mr. Osborn." MJ said and then held the pen still, poised over her notebook as if to stab. "Because then I'd be carrying around things I don't like for other people's benefit. And what kind of life is that, hmm?"
Harry swallowed again and tugged at his tie.
"You- you're with the Empire State Gazette?" He asked. "My father invited you?"
"Doctor Connors sent the invite." MJ explained. "Apparently there's a 'strong relationship between Oscorp and ESU he wants to foster'". She put air quotes around those words. "Which, you know, of course we're thankful for the invite, but it raises some questions. First of all," With a delicate tap of her finger, she pressed start on the recording app on her phone. "Where is Norman Osborn?"
Harry felt his stomach drop.
Of course. Of fucking course that's what she was after. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.
Of course this gorgeous woman wasn't interested in him. This woman, who literally appeared out of thin air to talk to him, who talked fast and said things that confused him, and who had shared more about her personal life in the last five minutes than he thought physically possible – she was just like everyone else. She saw him as nothing more than a billionaire's son.
"Why do you ask?" He replied, hoping he didn't sound too bitter.
"He hasn't made a public appearance in almost two years."
"He had a press conference just a few months ago. About the cure for the plague, you remember?"
"Yes, yes. I know about that." She said, an exasperated lilt to her voice as she waved her hand dismissively. "That's literally why we're all here in this room right now. But I'd hardly call that a public appearance. He answered, like, two questions and dipped. Tonight though, he's supposed to be the keynote, the guest of honor, and yet he's nowhere to be seen. Soooo the question everyone's asking is - where is he?"
"You think I know?" Harry grumbled, then regretted it when he saw her frown. "I mean -"
"You don't know where your dad is?"
"I- I do." He lied, kind of.
There were only a handful of places his father could be. Namely: Oscorp Tower, the office of one of his business associates, or a limo (in route to the office of said business associates). His father never left New York, but despite that, Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd been at their Manhattan penthouse.
He couldn't tell MJ any of that though. If it got to the ESU Gazette that Norman Osborn's own son didn't know where his father slept, or if he even slept at all, there would be hell to pay. His father had an image to maintain, after all.
"My father is a very busy man." Harry said, the practiced words falling off his tongue as if reaching the end of a conveyor belt. "He's in the middle of managing a lot of different projects with hard deadlines. He's disappointed that the couldn't make it tonight though for the… uh-"
There was a paper agenda on the table and MJ tapped it with a nail.
"Um, the Hammond Institute's Celebration for Rapid Achievement in Medicine." He read, then glanced a MJ sheepishly.
She laughed, a tinkling sound that Harry decided was the most lovely sound in the world.
"Aren't you just the perfect little spokesman, huh?" MJ snorted. She made a small note in her journal and then tapped her phone to stop the audio recording. "Okay, won't be using that, but I appreciate the answer anyways."
"Do you… have any other questions?" Harry felt like he was making a fool of himself, but he didn't want her to leave just yet.
"Yeah, can you pass me one of those?" She pointed to a pair of half-empty glasses of wine on Harry's other side, which had been abandoned by other guests some time ago.
"I meant about me- or, uh – my father, or whatever." He slid a wine glass to her.
She took a long sip and he watched her throat as she swallowed.
"Eh, not really. I've been talking to people all night. I can probably slap something together for Monday's edition." She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, then considered Harry. "Also, you looked like you were going to puke when I asked about your dad."
"I don't puke."
"Everyone pukes, except for me, of course." She thought for a moment, then added. "Well, unless tequila is involved, in which case there are no rules."
Harry watched her drain the rest of the wine.
"Are you even old enough to drink?"
"My I.D says I am." When she pointed at the other abandoned wine glass, he passed it to her quickly. She paused before she drank from it though, instead offering it back to him, a sharp eyebrow raised. "A little something to take the edge off?" She asked.
Harry hesitated. He'd stolen the stray sip from his father's whiskey cabinet before, but those had been pungent, burning, and rather unpleasantness experiences, which had turned him away from drinking better than any in-school PSA. He'd never been invited to any parties with alcohol and he'd never shared a drink with anyone – not even Peter.
The way MJ had downed the wine though, leaving a reddish smudge of lipstick on the rim of the glass, made it look extremely appealing, even sexy. He could picture it in his minds eye: him smoothly taking the glass from her fingers and drinking it all in one draft, laughing with her, scooting closer, their knees brushing together under the table…
"Oh, better not. I'm picking up on a nark at two-o-clock." MJ gasped and then suddenly she was twirling the glass away and setting it by her phone.
"Wha-?"
"Lady in the lavender wrap dress, kind of looks like a bird, but like, a sexy bird. Over there." MJ flicked her eyes pointedly somewhere to Harry's right and he turned to see his father's secretary standing against the far wall, looking directly at them. "Don't stare!" MJ grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. "She'll see."
"That's Gwen." Harry breathed, panic automatically surging through his veins. "She works for my father. She's his secretary."
"Secretary? She looks young. But whatever. She's been staring at us for the last few minutes." MJ explained, voice low. "Guess she'd be pissed to catch you drinking, huh?"
"Yeah." Harry replied before he could stop himself.
"Do you always have a chaperone?"
"No, not really."
Another lie. The only times he wasn't shadowed by Gwen or Bernard was when he was in class, or managed to slip away to amble around the city with Peter. He wasn't about to tell MJ that either though. It already seemed like every other word that came out of his mouth was making him seem less and less cool. He tried to salvage what he could. "I wouldn't call Gwen a chaperone though, she works for me too. I'm her boss."
"Ohh I seeee. In that case then," The wine glass dance back in front of him as MJ sang. "Have a drink, boss man."
Harry wasn't known for his intuition, but he could tell when he was being goaded. She wanted to call his bluff, test if he could hang, so to speak. She was smiling too, and while it was a nice smile, there was something else there too – a dare, a silent urging to let loose.
Harry figured he deserved to rebel a bit too.
Okay, yeah, he defied his father in a hundred small ways almost every day, but he'd been good too, a loyal son and Oscorp advocate. And what had that gotten him? An absent father and a short leash?
He glanced towards Gwen, then back at MJ again. Her eyes were vibrant and green, and Harry felt a fire ignite in his gut.
"What in the name of peer pressure is this?" Said a voice behind them, stopping his hand an inch from the glass. It was Peter. He had returned with his autograph and, of all people, Doctor Connors. "I thought stuff like this only happened on TV." Peter said, laughing.
It was a joke, but Harry felt his face heat with embarrassment regardless and he opened his mouth to retort, but MJ beat him to it.
"Oh, don't worry yourself." She said, her voice light. "He wasn't going to drink any. He's too disciplined to be seduced by the likes me."
Harry had never heard something so blatantly false.
"Well celebrations are certainly in order!" Doctor Connors cheered. He was holding a glass of his very own and his face was rather flushed as he raised it in toast. "And there's more than enough to go around. What is that saying… do as the French do?"
"Hear, hear!" MJ agreed. She and Connors moved to drink in unison, but Peter deftly plucked the glass from MJ's grip before it could touch her lips again.
"Doc, this is Mary-Jane Watson." Peter introduced, gesturing between the two. "Mary-Jane, please meet Doctor Connors."
"Miss Watson!" Connors set his glass down so he could take MJ's hand and shake it enthusiastically. "Of course! I'm so glad that you got Oscorp's invitation and were able to attend. Are you getting lots of good information for the Gazette?"
"More or less." MJ replied and Harry felt another wave of embarrassment wash over him as she shot him a quick wink.
His botched and very brief interview was soon forgotten though, as was the whole of Harry himself, when Doctor Connors started going off about how ESU's relationship with Oscorp was very strong and needed to be fostered further and blah blah blah.
Connors seemed to be very buzzed and very much in the mood to talk. MJ and Peter listened patiently though, while Harry tried very hard to resist the sudden urge to get up and leave.
Couldn't Peter have taken an extra five minutes to pester Dr. Mulgetta (or whatever her name was) for her stupid autograph? And why, oh why, did he have to bring Connors over? If Harry had gotten just a little more time with MJ, he might have been able to salvage their talk, impressed her somehow, and then maybe asked for her number. If he was slick, he probably could have 'accidentally' flashed his bank account on his phone while pretending to show her a funny meme or something…
"You should join Peter's Chemistry class on the tour next week!" Connors boomed suddenly, pulling Harry from his scheming thoughts. "Did Peter tell you about the tour?"
"He did not, as a matter of fact." MJ twisted in her seat to look at Peter with a smirk. "What tour is this is and why wasn't I invited the instant you saw me?"
"I didn't know I could invite people." Peter said. "But Oscorp is taking me and Harry's whole Chemistry class on a tour of the tower this Monday."
"And the more the merrier!" Connors toasted by himself again. "I'll make sure you get a visitor's badge, Miss Watson. You will definitely not want to miss this tour. It's a never before seen look into Oscorp's state-of-the-art facilities, and another way of celebrating of our recent achievements!"
"Really?" MJ's eyebrows shot up. "That's crazy! I didn't think Oscorp gave tours like that."
"They don't! Ever!" Connors agreed enthusiastically. "It was not easy to set this up, let me tell you. I had to appeal to Norman directly and it took a lot of convincing. It was worth it though. There's no one more deserving of this insight into the inner-workings of Oscorp than Peter here," He beamed at Peter, who shifted uncomfortably under the unfettered respect in the doctor's eyes. "He and young Mr. Osborn here both participate in a work-study program for my lab and have been tremendous help. I figured their Chemistry class would appreciate a day out of the classroom. Their teacher, Professor Marconi, is a former student of mine, as a matter of fact. And I taught at ESU many, many years ago now and I…"
Harry tuned out the rest of the doctor's rambling with practiced ease.
He'd honestly forgotten all about his class's upcoming trip to Oscorp tower. He hadn't even planned on going. He spent enough time in that building as it was and while he appreciated Doctor Connors's sentiments, Harry did not think he'd necessarily been a 'tremendous help' when it came to the time he'd spent in the bio-lab. Peter was usually the one who did everything.
But, now that MJ was going to be coming along… well, that changed things. There would probably be a lot of downtime while Connors led the tour group through those boring Oscorp labs. If he happened to saddle up next to her, crack some witty jokes, share some of his own private knowledge about the tower – who knew where that would lead.
One thing he knew for certain, he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of her again.
"… And I don't want to spoil too much," Connors was saying. "But Peter, you are going to love what we have in the upper floors of the tower. I haven't had the opportunity to share much with you about what goes on up there yet, but you'll get to see for yourself very soon. I will say this though, I managed to secure us a brief visit to the private laboratory of Doctor Otto-"
A soft booonnngg rang out across the banquet hall, cutting off Doctor Connors mid-spiel. On the far side of the hall, a sharply-dressed woman had taken to the stage and was calling everyone's attention by drumming a mallet against a small brass gong.
"Goodness, the ceremony is starting!" Connors stood straight. "We'll have to continue this later. It was lovely to see you all."
And with that, he turned and sped away, across the floor to his own table near the stage.
"Energetic guy, isn't he?" MJ commented now that the three of them were alone.
"He's nervous, I think." Peter explained, sinking into the empty chair on Harry's other side. "After they give him the award, he's probably going to have to give some kind of speech."
"Well hopefully he sobers up in the next few minutes, he was slurring his words over here."
The woman on stage continued to ring the gong until the banquet hall fell i to complete silent and all attendees returned to their seats. Once she had the entire room's full attention, she stepped up to a microphone and began to speak.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, so much for attending. I hope you have all had plenty to eat and drink, and that you've gotten the opportunity to commiserate with many of the brilliant minds in this room. We are here tonight to celebrate a spectacular achievement in modern medicine by one of our most beloved peers. Before I call him and his dedicated team on stage though, I first want to talk a little bit about what it means to be a scientist..."
As she talked, Harry felt his attention starting to slip away once more and he resisted the urge to pull out his phone again. He'd been to many ceremonies like this and they always went the same. There was always some extended waffling about the nature of science or humanity or society and it was never worth tuning into.
"… There are disagreements on the he very first scientist in recorded history was. Many consider it to be Aristotle, while others recognize Ibn al-Haytham," The speaker continued. "Regardless, we can all agree that the meaning of the word 'scientist' has changed very little throughout history, and it's the job of scientist everywhere to lead the never-ending charge that is humanity's advancement forward, to raise us all to knew and exciting heights, and to… to…"
The woman's words trailed off and her gaze drifted away from the crowd, settling on something over their heads. There was silence for a long moment, but then murmurs started among the assembly. Harry himself suddenly came back to attention, following the speaker's line of sight, along with everyone else, to look towards the ceiling and the many twinkling chandeliers overhead.
Something was happening up there, but Harry's couldn't quite tell what it was.
It looked like the chandeliers were leaking oil or maybe spraying some kind of colored gas. Black tendrils drifted slowly from the lights to drape over the edges of the room like heavy curtains. Harry's brain told him that the ballroom was about to turn pitch-black, with the fading of the lights, and yet that didn't happen.
The lights where still there apparently, but they'd turned invisible. Harry could still clearly see the stage and the tables around him, seated with guests who looked just as confused as he was.
The darkness settled along the walls, changing the shape of the ballroom into an endless plane that stretched towards an unseeable horizon. Harry and other ceremony attendees were suddenly sitting in a black void, with the rest of the world having fallen away. It was extremely disconcerting, which is why he wasn't surprised when Peter was suddenly standing, his chair scrapping across the floor as he pushed it back.
"Is this… uh, part of the show?" MJ wondered aloud. Harry didn't think so and Peter didn't seem to be listening. He was turning where he stood, rubbing at the back of his neck as he stared hard at the emptiness around them.
A tense murmuring filled the ballroom. Apparently no one else had any answers to what was happening either. Harry made eye contact with his father's secretary - a silent 'can we leave?' that she answered by starting to weave between the tables towards him. Harry climbed from his chair and was just reaching for his crutches when Peter's hand grasped his shoulder.
"I think something's about to happen." He said. "Come here."
And then he promptly tried to shove Harry under the table.
"What the hell-"
"You too."
"Hey!" MJ yelped as she was also grabbed.
They both squirmed and tried to shrug him off, but Peter was stronger than he looked and seemed dead-set on hiding them both beneath the long, white tablecloth. The ballroom floor was hard and Harry's knees ached painfully as both he and MJ were shoved rather roughly into the dark space between the table's legs.
"Stay safe." Peter commanded. "I'll be back, just gonna… see what's going on."
"Peter!" MJ hissed, but he was already gone.
Harry's heart was pounding in his chest and he felt light-headed and weak. His ego, the prideful part of him that desperately wanted to impress MJ, was telling him to get off his damn knees and crawl out from under this stupid table, but he stayed put. MJ seemed equally conflicted. She chewed her lip.
"Does he do stuff like that often?" She asked, her green eyes large and round as she looked at Harry.
"Y-yeah, sometimes." Now didn't seem like the time to detail Peter's bizarre tendency to run off at seemingly random times. Harry had always chalked it up to his best friend being a bit of a scatter-brain, but there had never been man-handling involved, not until now at least.
They both crouched there, listening as the chatter in the ballroom increased in volume around them, the guests growing more agitated by the second. Harry imagined that Gwen had seen Peter push him under the table and he anticipated her lifting the table cloth any second now, a sour expression on her face as she scolded him for dirtying his dress pants.
Gwen didn't come though and the seconds ticked on. Neither Harry nor MJ moved and he was acutely aware of how close the two of them were and he hoped and prayed to the stars above that she couldn't tell how severely he was sweating.
He was just about to ask her if they should leave when a scream ripped through the ballroom.
It was high-pitched, and so shrill and sudden that they both flinched violently and MJ let out a small shriek of her own. It didn't stop with her though, more screams and shouts quickly followed and a tremendous boom made the floor tremble beneath them.
"OSBORN!" A voice roared, but it was like no shout Harry had ever heard in his life.
That singular word seemed to be cast from thunder itself, and the hot blood that had been pounding in Harry's ears was suddenly turned to ice.
It was like the world was ending. Hundreds of pairs of feet stampeded outside their small sanctuary as what sounded like every other table in the room was overturned in panic. Where they were running too or what they were running from, Harry couldn't guess. As far as he knew, the ballroom was still nothing more than an inescapable, endless black void.
MJ's fingernails were digging into his arm. She had seized his bicep and was squeezing hard enough to cut off the blood-flow to his fingers.
"H-Harry." She gasped. "We need-"
The rest of her words were lost under another beastly roar.
"OSBOORRN!"
With a flurry of white cloth and a creaking of wood, their table was suddenly gone, lifted off them to fly away into the endless sky. Harry and MJ looked up and stared into the face of what could only be described as a demon from hell itself.
It was massive, hulking, crimson monstrosity, with two crooked horns on either side of its head that tilted as it stared down at them with eyes made out of fire.
"Where is OSBORNN!?" The demon demanded, its mouth twisting into a savage snarl.
Harry was petrified. His frantic brain was struggling to comprehend that this monster was asking him where he was, all while standing over him with a clenched fist the size of a mini-fridge. MJ was trembling next to him, but had released his arm to snatch up the closet weapon she could find – one of Harry's discarded crutches.
"Nor- Norman Osborn isn't here!" She gasped, the crutch cocked behind her head like a baseball bat, and it occurred to Harry that – yes, that made much more sense. This monster was looking for his father, not him. Harry didn't have any any enemies. He didn't have any value. He wasn't a billionaire or a scientist. He wasn't anything.
That didn't stop the demon from reaching and gripping him none-too-gently in one of its fists though.
All the air in Harry's lungs was squeezed out of him in a single ooof as the large fingers wrapped around his middle and squeezed him like a nut in an iron vice.
"Harry!" MJ cried and she lunged for him, her hand outstretched. He reached for her too, but their sweaty palms found no purchase on each other, and Harry was soon lifted so high his legs were dangling and he could hear the rumbling inside the demon's chest right next to his ear – like that of a car's engine.
MJ clambered to her feet and, with an agility no one one wearing high heels should have possessed, took a desperate leap after him. She was much too short to reach his hands again, but she was still holding his crutch and when she thrust it upwards, Harry was able to grab the cuff on the end with both hands.
She dangled for a second, looking up at him with a wide-eyed expression that clearly said she didn't have the slightest clue what she was trying to do, while Harry's arms shook.
He couldn't hold her and she must have recognized that because she let go of the crutch and dropped back to the ballroom floor, landing unevenly and stumbling backwards to fall amidst the overturned dining chairs. Harry would always remember the look on her face, the helpless, fearful expression that he was no-doubt also wearing.
There was nothing that he or MJ could do, and no one else in the room seemed to be in any rush to help him. From what Harry could see, everyone was either frozen in fear or sprinting to the far end of the dark hall.
He was sure that in the next instant the demon would flex its steely grip and crush him in its palm. However, the demon holding him turned instead and started to stomp across the ballroom, its steps measured and extremely heavy. Harry's teeth rattled with every jerky footstep.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting!" A red and blue blur swung past. "The line at the punch bowl was completely out of control."
And just like that, all of Harry's terror seemed to evaporate – because of course he would show up. He always did.
"Spider-Man!" A voice cried, someone Harry couldn't see, and it was like a magic spell had been cast. The frenzied panic in the banquet hall dwindled and died, all the screams stopped, and everyone was watching.
Spider-Man swung in an arc around Harry and his captor before coming to a stop in front of them, suspended upside-down and eye-level with Harry.
"Hey there." Spider-Man said.
Harry opened his mouth, but his words failed him. He knew he should respond, that he should say literally anything. After all, this might be his one and only chance to talk to the Spider-Man, to thank him for all the work he'd done for New York, to ask for an autograph or maybe even a selfie, to comment on how a lot of photos taken of him were overexposed and therefore color-shifted the red of his suit more orange-red, but no.
Instead, what came out of him was some kind of low whine and he gestured vaguely with the crutch he was still holding. Spider-Man seemed to get to gist of the situation regardless.
"I'm sorry to cut in like this, but I saw your date from across the way and I was wondering if I could steal a dance?" He gestured to the demon holding Harry. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"
Harry shook his head.
"Thank you, man. I promise to make it fast." And with that, Spider-Man zipped upwards to hang by one of the monster's horns. "May I have this danc-"
"NOO!" The demon's fist not holding Harry came up and around as it roared again. The punch would have sent Spider-Man flying, if he hadn't zipped away at the last second.
"Alright, message received." Spider-Man swung in a circle around them. "No dancing, but how about you put that guy you're holding down? Doesn't look like he's having that great a time, to be honest."
He was right. Harry felt like he was going to puke as the demon turned rapidly on the spot, stomping its enormous feet as it tried to keep Spider-Man in its sights. Harry's legs swung limply and his knees knocked painfully against each other as he was hefted to and fro.
It almost was like a dance, in a weird way. The scattered tables and people in the room blurred together, melding with the inky shroud that still hung on the edges of the room, and filling Harry's vision with nothing but a dark haze. He was probably a second away from passing out.
Then suddenly Spider-Man was there, like an explosion of color in a world of black, and everything shifted back into focus. He was crouching on the demon's wrist, trying to pry apart the big fingers wrapped around Harry. The grip on him loosened and Harry was able to take a deep breath before the demon's other hand came down to slap at its own wrist.
Spider-Man slipped away just in time and a tremendous clanngg rang out as the demon's arms clapped together. It roared again and then lifted Harry, dragging him higher than ever to hold him almost protectively by its head.
Spider-Man had dodged to the floor and landed in a crouch far below. He looked much smaller from this height, positioned between the demon's clawed feet, and Harry felt a fresh new wave of fear as the demon's jaw next to him opened and fired a jet of flame down at the floor.
Spider-Man flipped away and the flames left black stains on the hardwood, before the monster tilted his head, pointing its flamethrower mouth upwards as it tracked Spider-Man's trajectory up and around.
Harry was shook. This was simultaneously the coolest and most terrifying thing to ever happen to him. He'd read the news articles, ate up the social media posts, watched every Spider-Man video online multiple times, but never imagined he'd get to see the hero in action up close. The only thing that would have made it better would be if Black Cat was also here.
She was absent though, which was a little disappointing but not totally uncommon. The two heroes sometimes took down villains solo and tonight it seemed like only Spider-Man was on duty.
That didn't mean he had to fight alone though. Harry could help.
Harry could help Spider-Man fight a super-villain.
But how? He didn't have powers. There was also the fact that he was being waved around like some doll a kid was trying to keep away from their little brother. Harry's arms were free though and he was still holding his crutch that MJ had passed him.
Feeling an inexplicable swell of courage, he gripped the crutch like a baseball bat, as MJ had. It was not your standard aluminum forearm crutch. This was something of Oscorp's design, a light-weight metal alloy more expensive than your average SUV. Harry's father would never forgive him if he somehow managed to break it, but there wasn't time to think of that now.
He waited for his moment.
It came when the demon turned its head, pointing its flamethrower at Spider-Man as he swung wide, and Harry was brought close enough to its head to see his own reflection in its glowing, red eye. Harry swung the crutch as hard as he could, aiming for that massive target.
The demon just so happened to turn its head at the last second though, completely oblivious to the impending strike, and Harry's crutch missed the eye. He followed through on his swing though and the crutch continued, connecting solidly with the end of one of the demon's curled horns.
There was a sharp snap and Harry watched as the very tip of the horn, narrow and pointed, was knocked free and tumbled end over end through the air. The first thing he noticed following this, was that his crutch wasn't broken – thank you very much – and the second thing was that the demon holding him was suddenly… doing something…
Again, Harry wasn't quite sure what was happening.
The demon was… flickering, like a flashlight about to run out of batteries or – more accurately in Harry's mind – some badly optimized game graphics.
Its scaly red skin was popping in and out of existence and during the flashes where it was gone, a mechanical skeleton was visible.
Metal beams, connected to each other by flexible joints, were welded to a complex frame of cross-crossed steel. Where the demon's broad chest had been, was now an exposed series of pistons and cogs, which churned as the monstrosity pivoted on the spot, still trying to track Spider-Man's movements overhead.
The horn that Harry had chipped was sparking, while the opposite one flashed erratically with blue light, faint beams emitting from it in bursts, which further exaggerated the flickering transformation the demon was undergoing.
Harry was stunned, his crutch still cocked awkwardly over his head and his mouth agape, not sure if he had caused this or not, not sure if he'd helped or not, not sure what he could or should do next. Spider-Man, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do. He dove like a bolt of lightning and latched onto the demon's chest.
The pistons in the thing's heart were pumping fast, but Spider-Man seemed to have almost no issue reaching inside and grabbing two in each fist. The engine froze and a high-pitched keening sound rang for a second before Spider-Man twisted and pulled, ripping the heads of the pistons free as if they were nothing but garden weeds. There was a sound like a gunshot and Harry closed his eyes as the demon let out one last, hearty boom:
"SPPIDDDER-MAA-"
The roar ended in abrupt static, and then Harry was falling.
The mechanical fingers wrapped around his chest sprung open and he felt the air whipping at his hair and jacket as he dropped like a stone, certain that he'd very soon be landing hard on the unforgiving hardwood floor.
"Gotcha!" An arm wrapped around his waist and when Harry opened his eyes, he saw that he was flying.
He felt stupid for ever being scared at all.
Spider-Man landed next to the collapsed robot (because that was almost certainly what it was) and straightened one of the many overturned chairs before setting Harry down in it.
The black void that had swallowed the banquet hall was gone, revealing the tall, wood-paneled walls ones more. Almost the entire room was destroyed. The furniture and decorations that hadn't been smashed by the stampede of panicked guests, had been alternatively crushed and torched by the robot's fight with Spider-Man.
"Are you okay?" Spider-Man was leaning over Harry, gently examining every square inch of him, poking at his side, arms, then shoulders. "Anything broken?"
Harry just shook his head, momentarily struck mute. He was still holding his crutch with both hands, knuckles white. He doubted he could let go of it even if he tried.
"We showed him, huh?"
"We showed… what?" Harry blinked stupidly for a second. When Spider-Man thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the collapsed robot, understanding slowly dawned on him. "We… yeah... Yeah, we did. We showed him. We got his ass, Spider-Man."
Spider-Man laughed and patted his shoulder as he straightened up.
"Sure did. Do me a favor and stay here, I'll be back."
Harry watched him turn and move to investigate the robot whose ass they'd gotten.
If he hadn't been shocked by the night's events so thoroughly he could barely breathe, he would have pulled out his phone to record all of this, because surely he was about to wake up, right? Any moment now he'd be pulled from this crazy dream back to a reality where he'd no doubt just fallen asleep during Doctor Connors's acceptance speech.
He didn't wake up though. Instead, he dream-world continued to move around him. Now that the walls and doors of the banquet hall were visible again, people were loudly flooding out of the hall, shouting into cell phones and calling for everything from the fire department, to taxis, to their stock portfolio advisors.
One person materialized in front of him, probably the only person in the world who could have torn his attention from Spider-Man in that moment.
"Well that was just about the craziest shit I've ever seen. Some party, huh?" MJ said. Her hair had lost all style and her face was flushed and sweaty, but somehow this rumpled look suited her just as well as her full evening wear. "You okay, Harry?"
"Yeah." He breathed. "Yeah, I think so."
"Great, because I'm definitely going to need another interview after that."
Her words cracked through the stunned haze that was hanging over him and he couldn't help but smile as he nodded his head. Behind MJ, past where Spider-Man was picking over the folded metal monstrosity that had crashed the ceremony, Harry could see his father's secretary stalking towards him once more.
Gwen's updo was smoking slightly and her glasses were cracked and he could tell from the look on her face that there was a high likelihood he was about to be bundled out of here extremely soon.
"Sure, no problem, but – uh, before that…" He looked at MJ sheepishly. "Do you think I could borrow a pen?"
There was no way in hell he was going to leave without Spider-Man's autograph.
She was napping when she got his text.
The phone on her nightstand lit up and played the first few opening notes of the song she'd set up as his ringtone – some punchy, Joe Perry, electric guitar that she thought fit – and she snatched it up quickly.
Spider:
I need you. Now.
Felicia bit back a scream.
This was it. Tonight was the night.
After a year and some change of dancing around each other, of stolen glances and lingering touches, their game of chicken had finally come to a head and miraculously he had been the one to break. She texted back a single word:
Cat:
Where
Felicia leapt off her bed and rushed to the bathroom she shared with MJ, taking the phone with her. There wasn't time to change out of her sleep clothes or put on makeup or shave her legs, but she figured she could at least spare a couple of minutes brush her teeth.
Spider:
The usual spot.
She stopped mid-brush to consider his reply.
Okay, he wanted to meet at their hangout on the Chrysler Building. It wasn't exactly what she would have chosen, considering how exposed it was. There wasn't much in the way of comfort either. Not that either of those things really mattered. She'd probably agree to do it in the middle of Time's Square if he suggested it.
'Probably' being the operative word. As much as she'd wanted this, obsessed about this, she still had standards. It couldn't be denied though – there wasn't much she wouldn't do for him. She liked making him happy.
The fact that he'd literally died recently also played a factor.
Cat:
Need me to bring anything
More blankets? A bottle of wine?
Spider:
No. I've got a monster horn I need you to look at.
Felicia gagged violently and sprayed the bathroom mirror and most of the room with toothpaste and spit. She hacked and coughed, leaning against the counter for support as she stared at the words on her phone. While not unwelcome, this was certainly… out of character. But she figured there would be time to find out what had gotten in to him when she saw him.
She read the text three times, her hands shaking, before attempting a reply. It was a miracle she was able to type at all.
Cat:
I'll do way more than just look at it
Spider:
That's what I'm hoping for!
She ran.
Spider-Man was waiting for her when she got there.
Black Cat landed on one of the eagle gargoyles that protruded from the building's ledge and skipped to where he was leaning against the wall. He was scrolling through his phone, but looked up when she joined his side.
"Thanks for coming." He said warmly. "Sorry to call you out on your night off, but it's important."
"I'll say." Black Cat sighed, resting her shoulder against the cool wall by his side. She glanced around their ledge. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but he hadn't laid out a blanket or set up any candles or brought refreshments of any kind it seemed. "Did you want to stay here or did you want to go somewhere more comfortable?"
"Here's good for me. What about you?"
"Mmm, it's not totally ideal." She'd always fantasized a plushy room at the Ritz Carlton by Central Park, some suite with a heavy deadbolt on the door and blackout curtains, where they could go days without being disturbed. "But I'm willing to be flexible." She purred.
"Okay, I promise this won't take long."
"I don't have any where else to be, Spider. We can take as long as we want." She leaned toward him and traced her claw around the emblem on his chest, the pointed tip just barely catching on the fabric of his suit. She took a deep, steadying breath, and pressed her palm against the muscle over his heart.
It was still a novel feeling… touching without discomfort. She'd learned from America Chavez and Wong that this was likely a side-effect of her gifting one of her nine-lives to him. The hyper-sensitivity she felt with others didn't apply to him, because she was part of him, and she relished the warmth that radiated from his chest into her palm.
Her breath was coming fast and she could feel her pulse racing. If they didn't do something now, she was sure she was going to combust.
"So… you've got something for me, Spider-Man?" She breathed, her hand skimming over his abdomen as she trailed it downwards, lower and lower…
"Yup," He produced a cone-shaped object and pushed into her hand. "Could you take a look at this please?"
Black Cat froze.
She blinked at him, then blinked at the horn in her hand, then closed her eyes. She let out a long, shaky breath.
"Is this… a monster horn?"
"Yeah." He said. "Well, kind of. It's actually a horn from a robot that was pretending to be a monster using some kind of hologram technology. Or at least that's what I think was happening. Look here," He pointed at the very tip of the horn, where a small bulb was pressed into the metal. "Must be some kind of emitter. I think it was supposed to be synced up with the robot's other horn to project its appearance. This horn here came off during the fight, which messed up the disguise."
"… I see."
"I've never seen anything like it before. I wanted to get your thoughts and also ask about your wizard friends-"
"They aren't my friends."
"Right, sorry." Spider-Man replied quickly. "I just mean, is this something the wizards might know about? Before the monster turned out to be a robot, it was giving off major Balrog vibes, stomping around and breathing fire and stuff. It really did look like some kind of demon, which sounds like it would be in their wheelhouse."
"Ah."
Black Cat didn't know what a Balrog was and she didn't ask. Experience told her that hearing him explain whatever reference he was making would only agitate her further. Spider-Man did not notice apparently that she had been about two seconds away from mounting him before he'd launched into his lecture regarding the very real and extremely literal monster horn that was now in her fist.
Surely no one could be this oblivious.
The evidence was plain to see however. Spider-Man really did need her tonight, just not for the reason she wanted. She wasn't sure if she wanted to strangle him or hurl herself off the ledge where they stood.
Instead, Black Cat took an extra second to compose herself, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she let out another, long exhale. It took considerable effort to stop herself from gnashing her teeth as she spoke:
"Fire-breathing monsters are definitely something the Sorcerers would know about, but not holograms and definitely not robots." She turned the horn over in her hand, examining it. The broken side where it had snapped loosed was jagged and brittle, with the severed ends of a couple of thin wires curling inside. Handling the thing left rusty brown smudges on her gloves. "Not exactly in the best condition." She noted.
"No," Spider-Man agreed. "Actually, The whole robot was basically falling apart. I took photos"
He pulled his phone from his belt and showed her – not his civilian phone, of course – but a burner one that he used exclusively for texting her, playing Snake, and taking the occasional photo of a city pigeon he thought was cute. It was an out-dated thing, a flip-phone with no touch screen and zero internet access and a resolution that was absolute garbage. She gave it her best shot though, taking a full ten seconds to squint at the shots he'd taken.
"Send those pictures to me." She grunted, thrusting the phone back to him. "I can't see shit on here."
Her suit didn't have pockets so she had to step around the corner to detransform, shivering on the cold ledge as she quickly retrieved her phone from the pocket of her shorts. Soon enough though, she was back with Spider-Man, and pinching-and-zooming-in on different parts of the robot's anatomy.
She had to give him credit, what he lacked in hardware, he made up with in skill. His angles were impeccable and while nothing could be done to fix to photo's resolutions, the robot itself was always in focus and never in poor-lighting.
He started relaying the full story to her as she swiped through the photos. Spider-Man was right – the robot truly was falling apart at the seams. The engine it its chest that Spider-Man had personally mangled wasn't even the worst of it. Great patches of rust spread from the robot's joints and bundles of exposed wires could be seen fraying from inside the chest and head.
Halfway through his retelling of the fight, Black Cat realized two things:
First, her roommate was supposed to be at that awards ceremony.
And second, she actually did recognize this robot, or at least parts of it - the overall shape and form were very distinctive. The memory was like a punch to the stomach.
One thing at a time though.
"Was anyone hurt?" She asked, cutting Spider-Man off mid-sentence.
"Not seriously." He assured her immediately. "Some people got scrapes and burns, but nothing bad. I made sure before I left."
"Okay. Good… good." In her heart of hearts, she would expect nothing less of him, but that didn't stop the slight chill that raced up her spin at the thought of MJ being so close to the action. She would have to check on her as soon as possible.
"Our robo-Balrog-friend here tried to kidnap Harry Osborn." Spider-Man added, tapping the edge of her phone with his finger. "Poor kid was shaken up, but I think he's going to be okay."
"Interesting…" Black Cat kept her face neutral, even though her pulse quickened further.
It hadn't just been MJ in danger, but Harry too. While Cat wouldn't consider them friends exactly, they had classes together at school and Peter Parker was Harry's best friend, which is why she wouldn't surprised if Peter had also been in the thick of things tonight. She would have to check in on him too.
Glancing up from her phone, she caught Spider-Man watching her.
"So I guess you'll be getting a gift basket in the mail from Norman Osborn pretty soon then?" She leaned back against the wall again, trying to appear casual. "A reward for saving his son? Maybe some flowers?"
"Now that would be something." Spider-Man chuckled. "Gold-platted, diamond-crusted peonies and 12-percent equity in Oscorp too."
"Naturally."
It wasn't uncommon for super-villains to target high-profile civilians and their entourage, be they A-list celebrities or politicians or even Norman Osborn apparently. Just last month she and Spider-Man had saved the Mayor and his daughter (again) from a villain wearing a hundred-feet tall, extendable stilts, who had attacked them mid-helicopter ride. That had been one hell of an afternoon.
Presently though, Spider-Man had finished his retelling of the fight and come to the same conclusion that Black Cat held herself – that this attack was likely not an isolated incident and that whoever sent the robot would probably try again.
Spider-Man was looking at her, waiting patiently to hear her thoughts and assessment of the robo-Balrog or whatever it was he wanted to call it. She consulted the photos one last time to buy herself a few seconds. She had to tread carefully here.
"So I doubt the wizards know anything about this, but I might have a lead."
"Great!" Spider-Man gave her a gentle bump on the shoulder with his fist. "That's my Cat."
Her face warmed, but she pressed on.
"Yeah… but I need to check it out alone."
"Ah." He was masked, but she would have bet her remaining eight lives he was frowning now. "Why?"
His tone was gentle, but even so, she could feel a guilty dagger in her heart. She could tell his defenses were up. All the sudden, he was standing too far away – not touching her or calling her 'his cat'. It was like when he had found out about Wong, America Chavez, and the source of her powers all over again – her secrets, on top of secrets, on top of secrets.
"It's a personal thing." She explained. "About my civilian identity, I mean. Telling you about it would probably be the same as telling you my actual name and… I know you don't want that, so…"
He didn't rise to the bait. They've had that conversation more than a few times.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not any more than usual."
Not in the way you're thinking.
"Hmm." He hummed and folded his arms, appraising her for a moment before speaking next. "Okay. But be careful and call me if you need anything, please."
"Do you mean that?" She purred back, thinking one thing.
"Of course!" He said, no doubt thinking another. "In the meantime, I'll keep tabs on Norman Osborn and his son, just in case another killer robot shows up."
"Sounds like a plan." Pushing herself away from the wall, she hesitated, then pressed a quick kiss to his clothed cheek. "Thanks for understanding, Spider. I'll be in touch."
"Just be careful." He said again, turning to watch as she sauntered to the building's ledge.
"Oh, don't worry your precious little head." She said over her shoulder. "You know what a cautious cat I am."
And with that, she leapt from the roof and fell into oblivion.