She found an empty bathroom several floors down. Her transformation ended as soon as the door shut behind her and Felicia Hardy stumbled into the first stall to relinquish the contents of her stomach to the toilet. It wasn't much of anything though, considering how she hadn't eaten in hours.

When she was done, she slumped against the side of the stall, her damp forehead pressed against the cold, hard metal. The entire tower seemed to be swaying as if caught in a strong wind and Felicia pressed her palms against the bathroom floor to ground herself, thankful that Oscorp, for all it's problems, seemed to keep their bathrooms clean.

She stayed there for a long while – crouched and shivering on the floor with her eyes screwed shut, but eventually Felicia forced herself to half-crawl, half-stumble to the sink. She took several long drinks from the faucet and washed her mouth and her face. She didn't check herself in the mirror. She was a hundred percent positive that she looked as terrible as she felt and the little time she'd spent on her feet had exaggerated her vertigo three-fold.

She decided to sit on the floor and wait.

Now that Spider-Man had captured Mysterio and saved Harry and his father, it was only a matter of time until rescuers made it into the tower. Any minute now, some cops or EMTs would find her here and it would all be over. Her classmates would be safe, no one had died (permanently at least), and she and Spider-Man had saved the day again...

Right?

It didn't feel like it.

Felicia had a suspicion that even if she hadn't pushed her transformation and used her powers again, even if she'd come out of everything perfectly healthy – she'd still be feeling sick. She hadn't fully processed everything that had happened in Norman's Osborn office (it felt like it would take years to parse it all) and even as she tried to make sense of it, all she could see in her mind's eye was Harry's tortured face and her heart broke.

She could remember each and every one of Norman Osborn's cruel words.

She wasn't sure how much time passed. She must have slept some, with her back resting against the sink and her legs folded beneath her on the tiled floor, because she stirred when the bathroom door opened.

Felicia kept her her eyes closed, listening as the sound of footsteps neared. When she finally looked, she let out a low groan.

Bright red boots. Of course. It just had to be him.

"Felicia?" Spider-Man asked. "I mean – you're Felicia Hardy, right?"

She nodded.

"Thank god. Your friends have been worried sick. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"I'm going to get you out of here. Don't worry, it's safe now. Your friends are outside." One of his large hands touched her bare shoulder and she felt the other gently hook behind her knees. "I'm Spider-Man, by the way."

"I-I know who you are… I, uh- I think I can walk." She said quickly, her face burning.

She'd been trying to hold off on saying anything for as long as she could. An imperious and silly part of her worried that, somehow, he'd recognize her, even though Felicia and Black Cat looked absolutely nothing alike.

"Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry, I was just… here." His hand shifted to the small of her back and he guided her, light and firm all at once, to her feet. His hand kept her steady as she wavered. "You can take things slow." He said, reassuringly.

But Felicia wasn't sure she could. Standing next to him, she felt the sudden strong urge to make a break for it – her mind was abruptly, involuntary filled with an utter nonsense chant that went something along the lines of: 'tall, tall, tall'.

For the first time, Felicia truly appreciated the extra inches that her transformation gave her. She was used to being more or less eye-level with Spider-Man, but now, her forehead barely crested his collarbone and she was left staring dumbly at the navy ESU sweatshirt that covered his impossibly broad chest. Her knees were struck with a sudden weakness she suspected had nothing to do with anything else that had happened that day.

"You sure you're okay?" Spider-Man must have picked up on the subtle fact that she hadn't said anything in probably two minutes.

Felicia wet her lips.

"On second thought… maybe you should carry me."


They moved fast, maybe even a little faster than Felicia would have liked. He carried her swiftly from the bathroom and to the elevators, which seemed to have been reactivated now that Mysterio had been stopped.

There were police officers in the hall, but they let Spider-Man pass without question. Felicia, following some instinct deeply-instilled into her by her father, hid her face in Spider-Man's chest to avoid making eye-contact. She didn't want any of them remembering her, or questioning her about how she'd gotten there or how she'd evaded capture by Mysterio's drones. The less questions she had to answer, the less lies she had to tell, the better.

Also, she couldn't help but notice as she tucked closer to him - Spider-Man just so happened to be extremely comfy. His arms were wonderfully warm around her and he had a soothing, familiar scent to him. If he noticed her taking a deep breath from his sweatshirt, he spared her the kindness of not commenting on it.

All too soon, they were outside, and Felicia's senses were assaulted with a flurry of lights and sounds. Night had fallen, but the street outside was lit up as if it was high noon. There were ambulances everywhere and just as many police cruisers, their colored lights flashing brightly. Some of Felicia's classmates were being examined by paramedics in the shadow of a fire engine and Spider-Man carried her straight there to set her down gently on the edge of an empty, waiting gurney.

He gave her upper arm a soft, reassuring squeeze, and then was gone before Felicia could even say thank you. She watched his back as he jogged back towards the entrance of the tower, until her vision was blocked by a tall EMT and Spider-Man disappeared from sight.

"What's your name?" The woman asked, as she started to examine her.

"Felicia."

"Are you hurt, Felicia? Pain anywhere?"

"No." Felicia lied. Over near a collection of stone benches near the steps to Oscorp tower, she could see most of her class. Her eyes zeroed in on a mane of bright red hair. "No… No, I'm okay."

It was still several minutes before the EMT released her though. Her breathing and her circulation was checked, as was her level of responsiveness. Eventually she was given water and a blanket and told to go sit with the others for the time-being.

MJ was waiting for her by the benches.

"I saw you got to ride on the Spider-Man express. Color me jealous." She said, grinning. They hugged and Felicia ignored the uncomfortable itch that ran up her sides so she could hold her roommate as tightly as possible. "Harry might have you beat though." MJ continued when she pulled away. "I hear he took a helicopter off the roof."

"Oh. That- that's good."

"Yeah! Lucky, guy." MJ's eyes narrowed then. "What's up with your hair?"

Felicia merely shrugged, sparing only a second to brush her fingers through her short bangs. Her hair was the last thing on her mind.

"You look exhausted. Come sit." MJ said.

Felicia shared her blanket and MJ supplied a couple of protein bars and a bag of trail mix. Apparently snacks had been acquired via a gas station raid that Flash Thompson and some of the other, more energetic, students had executed. Felicia was eternally grateful and swore privately that the next time someone insulted Flash's intelligence within her earshot, she'd defend his honor with her life.

Her appreciation for Flash though was swiftly tested when he mounted the bench next to her and loudly announced to the assembly that he would be throwing a party the coming weekend.

"Our victory must be celebrated with revelry!" He proclaimed in a grand voice, holding his energy drink aloft. "We escaped certain death together, so we're all brothers and sisters, bonded together by the fire of battle! So all are welcome! Even the old people!" He pointed to Doctor Connors and to Professor Marconi, who was pressing an ice pack to a lump on her forehead.

Both of them shook their heads – no.

"Open invitation then!" Flash said, casting out over the group. "None of you guys happened to get Spider-Man and Black Cat's phone numbers, did ya? I want to ask them to come too."

Felicia bit back a snort as Flash jumped off their bench and stumbled into a bit of shrubbery. She, for one, doubted very much that Spider-Man and Black Cat would ever accept an invite to one of Flash's parties. Felicia Hardy herself would probably wouldn't even go.

As if she could hear her thoughts, MJ elbowed her in the side.

"It's not a bad idea." She whispered conspiratorially. "We could unwind, play some games, spend more time with your friends. You know, like Flash, Liz, Stan." She let out a small cough then that sounded oddly like "Peter."

Peter.

"Where is Peter?" Felicia asked. She stood up and scanned the class quickly, including the ones still being looked over by medics, trying to spot his messy mop of hair, his familiar, square glasses. She didn't see him anywhere. "He made it out, right? With the others?"

"I haven't seen him come out yet. I kind of thought he was with you. You were locked up together, right?"

"No. I… He wasn't, I- I was hiding all day. By myself."

"Some people were taken to Mount Sinai." A voice behind Felicia said. She turned to see Eddie Brock. He approached her, looking oddly sheepish. "Peter might have been one of them."

Felicia sucked in a sharp breath. If Peter was rushed to a hospital, then he had to be seriously hurt. The thought grabbed at her insides and twisted, like an icy steel fist. She turned to leave. If she could get to the hospital too, she could check on Peter herself, confirm that he was okay with her own too eyes.

MJ jumped up and grabbed her by the wrist.

"I don't think anyone was in, like, critical condition or anything!" She interjected quickly, she must have sensed some of Felicia's panic. "I'm sure Peter's okay. He may still be in the tower too!"

"Yeah!" Eddie said, a little too loudly. He seemed to have picked up on his mistake. "And if he is, they'll find him. He's safe. I'm sure of it."

Spider-Man went back in the tower. He could find Peter.

Unless, of course, Spider-Man was Peter.

Felicia hadn't considered that terrible idea since the cafeteria that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago. Naturally… that mere thought of it gave birth to a hundred other thoughts and about billion other questions. If Peter was Spider-Man, then that meant she'd just been carried outside in Peter's arms, and spent the last few months sitting next to Spider-Man in her damn chemistry class.

It meant that she'd spent the past year or so scaling skyscrapers and fighting off super-villains with Peter Parker.

It meant Felicia had seen Spider-Man's bedroom, ate his aunt's casserole, cheated off him during pop quizzes.

It meant that she had seen Peter Parker lift a school bus, raced him to the top of the Empire State Building, watched him bleed… held his hand while he died.

But… Peter can't be Spider-Man.

In Doctor Octopus's lab, she and Spider-Man had looked though a camera together and seen Peter Parker with the rest of the hostages. If there was one thing Felicia was near certain of, it was that the two couldn't be one in the same if they were on completely different sides of the building.

Right?

Peter isn't Spider-Man, Felicia decided firmly, It s physically impossible for someone to be in two places at once.

And yet… uncertainty flicked amidst her mind. The entire day had been full of tricks. Could that have been one of them?

She didn't know what to think.

"I need to apologize…" Eddie Brock was saying, oblivious to Felicia's inner turmoil. "I didn't think about the danger when you… you know… when you climbed into that elevator shaft. You could have died and I just let you go. I felt terrible when I heard you were captured and I'm so, so glad you're okay."

"Don't worry about it, Eddie." Felicia said, but her voice didn't sound like hers. It was hollow and muted, as if it was coming from far, far away.

MJ took her wrist again.

"Come sit down, and cover up." She said, holding the blanket up for her. "Did you know that you ripped your pants? There's a hole back there big enough to drive a bus through."

That earned a real laugh from Felicia and she dutifully collapsed back onto the bench. She felt more exhausted than she'd ever been before. MJ sat by her side and Eddie joined her on the other.

"If you go to Flash's party this weekend. Let me be the first one to get you a drink. It's the least I could do." He said.

Felicia felt herself nod. A drink, admittedly, sounded amazing just then.


She took the ferry back to the Raft the next morning. Early – with the hope that the prison security could accommodate the unexpected visit. She'd never come to see her father back-to-back so soon like this, but regardless, Walter Hardy wasn't surprised to see her. No sooner had she taken her seat on the other side of the window than he was holding up a copy of the Daily Bugle.

"Who would have thought – little Quincy Beck." He said. He wore a wry, but sad smile. "You know, I always wondered what happened to her after Ludwig passed. I would have never have guessed she'd… well, you know." He ruffled and unfolded the newspaper, skimming the article. "Says she attacked Oscorp Tower when it was hosting a day-long tour for a group from Empire State." He read. His eyes met hers over the top of the paper. "I don't suppose you were part of that, were you?"

Felicia sighed and rested her elbows on the small counter between them, covering her face with her hands.

"I swear my life is nothing but insane coincidences, one after the other."

"Fate works in mysterious ways, Felicia." Walter said knowledgeably. She heard him rustling through the paper again. "What's it say here about Norman Osborn's son having some kind of... incurable disease?"

"Oh god." Felicia's hands fell away from her face to slap against the counter. She'd already read the article near half a dozen times on the ferry over, but it still made her blood boil. "Fuck the Bugle for publishing that. That's not okay. It's such an invasion of privacy. Did you know they even posted a copy of Quincy's video on their website?"

"How could I? I don't have a computer." Walter said. "And watch your language, young lady, holy shit. Who taught you to talk like that?"

Felicia ignored the question, instead launching into further explanation of how Harry's personal information had been violated. She explained that Beck's drone had actually been streaming the confrontation in Norman Osborn's office live, that the video had ended up being preserved on multiple news and social media sites, and overnight had already been watched by over seven-hundred thousand people. The media had moved in fast and by morning, the news of the attack on Oscorp was seemingly everywhere.

The thought of it all made Felicia sick to her stomach and she could feel herself getting more and more heated as she described it all. She had to pause and catch her breath when she finished her rant, and Walter Hardy took advantage of the moment of silence.

"So Norman Osborn said all of this on camera? About his own son?"

"Yes! That's the worst part of all of it." Felicia gasped. "I mean, if he was trying to convince Quincy he didn't care about Harry, then it worked. It was just brutal. He basically said his son was worthless because he was sick and- and dying."

"How did Harry react?"

"Bad." Felicia could still recall Harry's anguished face so clearly. "Like it was all news to him... I just hope it's not all true."

"The best lies are partially true, you know this." Walter made a move, as if to reach out and take Felicia's hand, but he came short just before touching the reinforced glass between them. He drummed his fingers on the counter. "Wasn't the best plan from Quincy though. Even if Osborn did admit to killing Ludwig, with his son being held hostage, any lawyer worth his salt could argue that's a confession under duress."

"Well... did Osborn kill her dad?"

Several seconds passed. Walter considered the question, rubbing his hand across the coarse stubble on his chin. A weight settled in Felicia's chest, growing heaver the longer Walter thought.

"Probably."

"… Oh."

"Yeah, but if I tried to count up on my hands the number of guys in our crew who ended up getting offed, I'd run out of fingers. The thing about being a thief, even a good thief, is that you usually end up pissing off a lot of powerful people. Luck runs out eventually."

"Quincy took control of the entire tower… The only way she could have done that is if her dad had helped build it, right? All the security, all the robots and drones, they were all his design. And Quincy knew how to exploit them… If Osborn did kill Ludwig Beck, then-"

"Don't torture yourself over this." Walter interrupted. "Felicia, you could spend the rest of your life picking apart every injustice that's ever happened in the world. It ain't worth it, trust me." He smiled, but it wasn't his usual handsome smirk. It looked tighter. "Little Beck could have killed you and your friends, but you all made it out alive. Focus on that."

He leaned back in his chair, testing the limits shackles that bound his cuffs to his booth.

"You should skip school the rest of the week." He continued. "Go out on the town with some friends or something. Head over to long island. Do kids still go to amusement parks? You used to love Luna Park. What was your favorite ride again? Steeplechase, right?"

Classes had already been canceled for the rest of the week, but that didn't mean Felicia would be riding any roller coasters - more than likely she'd be heading straight back to her dorm after this and sleeping the next few days straight. Also, she had conflicted feelings on Coney Island... The last time she'd done it had been when she was very small. Her parents had taken her, both of them. Walter Hardy should have remembered that.

Felicia didn't remind him though. Instead she said: "My friends are throwing a party this weekend."

"Good. That's great actually. You'll enjoy that."

Debatable, at best.

Last night, before they'd all parted ways, she'd promised MJ, Flash, and Eddie that she'd go. However, she hadn't even made it back to her dorm before she was already formulating plans to weasel out of it. She wasn't feeling much in the 'party mood' and she doubted anything would change by the time the weekend came around.

She had met up with Spider-Man just after midnight and she got the same, sobered vibe from him too. Their meetup on the Chrysler Building just didn't have the usual, successful post-mission energy. Probably because it didn't feel like they'd won at all.

Peter had texted her later, just before she'd crawled into bed. Apparently he'd gotten home okay at some point, but he didn't tell her much else. He'd really only wanted to know about her.

She didn't know if he would be going to Flash's party – she'd forgotten to ask – but Felicia sincerely hoped he would. After all that had happened, she wanted to see her lab partner healthy and whole with her own two eyes, and she wasn't sure she could wait another week until their next class.

"You should get going." Walter said. "Paper says there will be good weather this week. You don't want to be in here with me."

Felicia would have liked to stay and talk longer, to pick about everything that had happened together. She wanted that, she needed that... but instead, she just nodded. She didn't have the energy any more.

"They'll be moving Quincy Beck here later this week most likely." Felicia said. "You'll keep an eye on her, wont' you? Make sure she's okay?"

"Yeah, I'll show her the ropes, see if I can't get her on the bird-house assembly line." Walter shot her a wink.

"Good." Felicia gave him a small smile in return. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you're okay, Felicia." A more serious tone touched Walter's voice then. "But please, do me a favor next time something like this comes up – stay out of it, alright?"

"Quincy Beck attacked my field trip. I literally had nothing to do with it."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say." Walter chuckled. As Felicia climbed out of her chair, he added: "Take care of yourself. And, by the way, I like what you did with your hair – very eighties."

Felicia didn't know what he was talking about at first – she'd been keeping her hair short for years now – but she thanked him anyways before she said goodbye.

It was only later, when she was onboard the ferry back to Rikers Island and staring out the window at the choppy water, that she saw it herself.

Her reflection in the glass was faint, but the change in her hair was very, very noticeable. Felicia squinted at it, touched her scalp... and then ripped the zipper of jacket pocket open – yanking her phone out so quickly she nearly dropped it.

She tapped furiously, opening the front-facing camera so she could look at herself clearly.

Felicia hadn't even spared a glance at herself in the mirror that morning – but now she stared.

She wasn't sure what to think. She had no idea what it meant.

There was no denying it though. An unmissable silver streak had sprouted in her dark bangs, as white as fresh, fallen snow.


Peter spent the elevator ride swiping through pictures on his phone.

Professor Marconi's camera had been smashed at some point during the attack on Oscorp Tower (likely when Peter had thrown it, along with the rest of his clothes, into an air vent) but he'd managed to salvage the memory card and the photos that he'd taken.

It was funny looking at the copies on his phone. The photos were all from the early part of the ill-fated trip, back when everyone was half-asleep, or hungry, or bored out of their mind from Doctor Connors's admittedly dry explanation of the Oscorp labs. They were all clueless about the danger they were in… Peter most of all.

If only he'd paid attention to the weirdness of the morning, the strange nagging feeling that something was wrong – he could have saved everyone a lot of pain, Connors, MJ, Harry, Quincy Beck…

Okay, maybe not Quincy Beck, but everyone else at least.

He swiped to the next photo and Peter stopped, his thumb hovering over his phone. Felicia's profile was in clear focus against the blurred backdrop of everything else, everything that Peter was supposed to be documenting that day.

He should probably delete it. He doubted this was the kind of photo Marconi wanted and it was creepy to keep photos of your lab partner just because, right?

But If he was bold... well, he could show it to Felicia at Flash's party later that night.

She'd texted him earlier in the week and told him she would be going, that she'd see him there. He could bring up the photo, casually comment on how good she looked, offer to take more – for professional reasons of course, head-shots and stuff.

His eyes traced the curve of her cheek, the gentle curl of her short hair, her shimmering, silver earrings.

The phone buzzed in his hand and he nearly dropped it.

MJ:
r u with him now?

Peter sighed and checked the display in the elevator – still fifteen floors to go.

Peter:
Almost. I'll let you know how he's doing.

MJ:
pls get him to out tonite. he needs friends, not to be cooped up in that castle. trust me.

Easier said than done. Harry had barely answered Peter's texts and he hadn't seen him all week, not since he'd been airlifted to the hospital from Oscorp Tower.

MJ:
make sure u get to flash's early to. i can only play defense for so long

Peter frowned.

Peter:
What do you mean?

MJ:
eddie's going to make a move on felicia. i can feel it in my bones

A hearty sigh billowed Peter's lips. It shouldn't be a surprise, not really. He remembered how MJ had pointed out Eddie and Felicia back at Oscorp. Of course, the whole day's events had made everyone closer, so it followed they were closer now too. It was fine though, because Eddie was cool and Felicia was cool, and cool people – they belong together.

But that didn't mean Peter had to forgive Eddie for letting Felicia climb out of that elevator all by herself.

Peter:
Oh.

MJ:
yea big oh. but dont worry u got this! just b there.

Peter:
I will.

MJ:
with harry!

Peter:
Y
es ma'am.

MJ:
❤ :)

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Peter shoved his phone into his pocket just as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened into the hall and he followed the floral carpet, which trailed around a corner to large, double wooden doors that led to the Oscorp penthouse.

Harry's two bodyguard's flanked either side. They stared at Peter with their usual stony expressions as he approached, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses even now. Peter wasn't intimidated by the enormous gentlemen though. He had heard through the grapevine that they had been trapped, stuffed together in a storage closet by one of Mysterio's demons early during the attack. He was surprised, frankly, that either of them still had jobs here. Peter knew Norman Osborn was notorious for replacing his staff for the slightest misstep.

In fact, the only mainstays that Peter was familiar with were Bernard and-

"Gwen." Peter waved as Norman Osborn's secretary pushed her way out of the doors between the bodyguards.

She jumped in surprise, dropping an impressive stack of paper takeout containers and empty pizza boxes. They tumbled, scattering around her feet and nearly tripping her up as she turned around quickly.

"Peter." She said, eyes wide behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "What you doing here? Harry isn't having visitors at the moment."

Peter stooped and quickly helped her collect some of the trash. The bodyguards didn't so much as flinch.

"I was just – uh, coming to check on him." Peter watched Gwen carefully. She seemed more frazzled than usual, which was saying something. "Did you want some help with all this?"

There was enough empty food boxes to have fed a small army. Peter couldn't see how Gwen, or anyone else for that matter, could carry it all. Yet she seemed determined.

"I- I've got it." She insisted, taking the trash from Peter and hugging it to her chest. "But I really think you should g-go. Now is… not a good time."

There came a rustling sound from the penthouse behind her and through the small gap in the doorway, Peter spotted a familiar head of curly hair.

"Pete? That you?" Harry's voice came from inside.

"Yeah!" Peter called from the hall, trying to inject a cheeriness into his voice. "Can I come in?"

There came a kind of half-grunt, a mix between a 'yeah' and a 'whatever'.

It wasn't the welcome that Peter was hoping for, nor the one he was used to, but it would have to do. He could tell, just from what he's seen and heard so far, that it might not be a pretty sight inside. He gave Gwen a small smile and moved to carefully step around her.

She watched him carefully as he passed, not noticing as a bit of grease leaked from a pizza box to stain her skirt. The doors closed on Gwen and the two guards after Peter entered the penthouse and he took a second, taking in the grand space, usually spotless, but currently cluttered and trash-strewn.

Harry was standing alongside a grand, marble counter, one arm braced against the surface and the other in a crutch. Peter hit the switch by the door, lighting up the chandelier overhead, and Harry shielded his eyes as the penthouse was illuminated. He was in his pajamas, his hair messy and a little greasy-looking, and his eyes red. He glared at Peter.

"Use the dimmer. That thing's like a freaking spotlight." He groaned.

Peter did as he was asked, while Harry snatched a crystal glass off the counter and shuffled to the couch. He plopped down across from the enormous television, which was posted next to a wall of windows that looked out over Lower Manhattan.

"What have you been up to? You haven't answered my calls." Peter stepped gingerly over a set of empty two-litter bottles and stood by the sofa. "Do you… need some help cleaning up in here?"

"Gwen's handling it." Harry said, taking a long drink from his glass.

"Right."

There was a long pause, wherein Harry seemed to ignore Peter's first question, choosing instead to stare at the television, which was quiet and dark. Peter let out an awkward cough.

"I've been worried about you." He said. "I heard about… uh, what happened and I tried to visit you in the hospital Tuesday, but they wouldn't let me in. And I called you and stuff, but you didn't answer."

Harry took another drink and Peter eyed the amber liquid sloshing in his cup.

"I just want to make sure you're okay." Peter continued, feeling dumb and anxious. Harry had gone through moods before, pretty frequently actually, over one thing or another, but he'd never been like this. "MJ's worried about you too. She said she's been calling everyday-"

"Why the hell are you guys worried?" Harry asked. He spoke to the shiny surface of the glass coffee table. "Like really, there's nothing to worry about. You saw Mysterio's video like everyone else did, didn't you? So... there you go."

"There I go?" Peter parroted, confused.

"Yeah, like, what is there to worry about?"

"What are you-"

"It's it obvious!?" Harry looked at Peter for the first time in a while. He had a twisted, irritated look on his face and voice was higher than normal. "I'm dying, bro. Like, actually dying, as in – I'm going to be dead soon. Got it? So you all can cut it out with the worrying and shit. Just save your breath."

A jagged knife lanced through Peter, while, at the same time, he was hit by the bizarre urge to laugh.

"You're not dying." He said. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I am though! I am dying! Just look at me," Harry gestured down the length of his body. He didn't look any different than usual. "My father sat me down and explained it all, like he was talking about the birds or the bees or some shit. My mom had the same thing as me, except mine is way, way worse, like ten times worse. It's heretical-"

"Hereditary."

"Whatever!"

"You're not dying." Peter repeated, as if denying it enough times would make it true, as if he hadn't heard the truth in Norman Osborn's words first-hand. "And even if you were, your dad's got some of the best doctors in the entire world working for him, he's got tons of money, and the best equipment. They can help you. But this," He gestured around the trashed penthouse. "Isn't helping anyone – and neither is that!"

Harry had lifted his glass again, but Peter snatched it from his hand before it could touch his lips.

"Will you relax?!" Harry snarled. "It's iced tea, dude. Damn."

Peter took a sniff. It was tea.

He sighed and set the glass down on the coffee table.

"Come on, let's get you dressed and out of this apartment for a little bit. Did you hear about Flash's party?" Peter asked. Harry's head fell back against the sofa cushions, eyes closed, and he shrugged his shoulders. That probably meant 'yes'. "It'll be good for you to see everyone. They've all been asking about you. MJ will-"

"Will you stop bringing up MJ, please, for the love of god." Harry moaned. "I don't care."

"I thought you liked MJ?"

"What's the point? My father … my father said, at the current rate, I'll be dead in about two years… three or four, if I'm lucky. Why should I get up and go to parties or talk to girls or any of it? It's just… just a waste of time."

That painful feeling in Peter's chest struck once more, but without the urge to laugh this time. If Harry didn't care about girls, then he truly was in bad shape.

"Your dad-"

"My father," Harry started, his voice rising, glaring up at Peter with his red and glassy eyes. "Wasn't even going to tell me about this until I had a gun to my head, my father who cares more about his public image and his stupid company more than me, my father who - who isn't even here right now!"

His last words echoed around the penthouse, bouncing off the shiny floors and glossy counter-tops. Harry threw his head back one more, the short rant seeming to suck the life out of him. He stared up at the twinkling chandelier.

"My father," He continued, quieter. "Who tried to spin it all like he was protecting me… making it seem like he didn't care… but… but I'm not sure he really does..."

Peter wanted to comfort him, say that he was confident Norman Osborn did care, but the words felt hollow even before they left him. So he kept his mouth shut and just watched Harry, waiting and listening. A long, silent moment passed, but no more of Harry's long-suffered, quiet doubts emerged.

"You – you should just get out of here." He said eventually. "Felicia will probably be at Flash's place, right? You can finally talk to her, if you want."

"Yeah." Peter said, not knowing what else to say.

He wished he could comfort Harry – just tell him that he knew everything was going to be okay. Because if by some impossibly small chance Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp, one of the most powerful men in the world, couldn't find a way to treat Harry's disease – there was still another option.

Harry didn't know it, but he had a superhero for a best friend, and that superhero had Black Cat for a best friend, and Black Cat had the power to literally bring people back from the dead. Peter couldn't tell Harry that though, even now.

It won't come to that anyways. There's a cure for what Harry has, there has to be. His doctors will help him.

"I can stick around if you want." Peter said instead, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, already looking for a place he could sit. There was trash littering the cushions on the far side of the sofa, but it could be cleared off easy enough.

Harry shook his head before Peter could even start though.

"No, dude. I'm not going to be good company tonight," He insisted. Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Harry spoke over him. "I'll be good though. I'll play some games and chill out. Gwen will be back soon. It's all good."

"Well… If you say so."

"Yeah, yeah. I wouldn't want to spoil your fun."

"Oh. Okay."

When Harry said nothing else, Peter was left with no choice but to leave. He said goodbye, told Harry he that come back tomorrow, and started picking his way across the floor to the door.

Harry might not have been able to see it yet, but Peter knew he was going to be okay. There was simply no other option. Peter's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't pull it out to check it yet. MJ was probably texting him again, or maybe even Felicia – she'd been texting him quite a bit that week, more than usual.

A clock on the wall told Peter it was later than he thought. If he hurried now, he could probably still get to Flash's just as the party was starting.

Harry just needs some time to process. Everything is going to be okay.

Peter opened the door to the hall. Outside, Harry's two bodyguards stood at attention, eyes forward, their large, chiseled faces unmoving. They didn't react or even seem to care that Peter was there.

On the threshold, Peter turned and looked over his shoulder. Harry was facing forward, sitting very still. He hadn't turned the television on and Peter could see his unfocused eyes reflected in the dark glass. He looked incredibly small in the cavernous space full of towering, expensive things, all by himself.

For another moment, Peter hesitated by the door, then he stepped back inside, and closed it behind him.

End of part two.