seriousfic

Title: I Remember I Told You ‘I Love You’ (but it might’ve just been a dream)
Fandom: Spider-Man BND
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5,533
Author’s Note: Betaed by

lurkslikefox
Previous Part: Chapter 5
Next Part: Chapter 7
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Felicia, Norman Osborn, Thunderbolts, references to Peter/MJ
Summary: After three weeks of hell, Peter returns to Felicia for one last mission.

Melissa Gold sat in the sunny La Jolle Mall food court, counting down steak fries and tallying the T-shirts going by. So far, she had eleven 'Cap Lives!', thirteen Initiative tees of various stripes, four "Magneto Was Right", and at least one with herself in a spine-contortingly eroticized pose… that was to say, Songbird. Songbird of the T-bolts, who palled around with serial killers. Where had she gone wrong? The old team was a far cry from perfect, but there'd been moments where she and Atlas and Jolt and everyone had been genuine heroes. What the hell happened?

She drowned another fry in ketchup and wondered what it would take to get out from under Osborn's thumb. Would he let her transfer to the Avengers? Probably not.

A man sat down across from her, matted hair ringing his red baseball cap. His eyes were bloodshot where they peeked over his sunglasses. "Hi Song. You're a surprisingly easy woman to find."

"I'm not in the mood to sign autographs."

"That's alright. I'm not a big T-bolt fan." He leaned back, waiting.

Melissa finished her fries. "You're in the resistance."

"I prefer to think of us as la resistance." He folded his hands. "Norman's gone too far."

"I know. The thing with Hawkeye…"

"It wouldn't be the first time. I need to know that when I make my move, you'll have my back."

"Your move? Won't Cage be there?"

"This is my fight. No one else is getting hurt because of me, not ever again."

***

A week passed. Then two. The only indication that Peter was still alive were the sightings, occasionally, blurrily, captured by tourists or photographers. Spider-Man was still fighting, but it wasn't the same Peter doing it. He just swooped in, won, left. Felicia found herself staying tuned to an AM radio station that varied anti-Iron-Man invective with reports of the 'heroic anti-regs'.

Every mention of Peter was like a drowning girl being given a gulp of air. Felicia wished she could buy Mary-Jane an island. The redhead deserved it, living like this for so long.

After the first week, Felicia started carrying her costume with her in a gym bag at all times. Even with that, she couldn't catch up to Peter. She got the feeling he didn't want her to see him. Mary-Jane said he didn’t want to see her either. She could've been lying, but Felicia doubted it. If Mary-Jane were that cruel, Felicia could hate her and the world wasn't that fair.

During the third week, she fell asleep listening to the AM and woke up to Peter standing over her. He was in his black costume again; it was scraped and dirtied, even stiff with dried blood in places. The white of the spider insignia was faded. And more than that, something in the way he held himself made her want to keep away from him a little bit. Not the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

"Spider! Oh, thank God!" She threw her arms around him, wishing she could've dressed in something more decorous than bikini bottoms and an oversized jersey that still smelled of him – Mary-Jane probably had a flowing nightie for just such an occasion – but this would have to do.

He said nothing.

"I'm so glad you came back to me." She stampeded over all the pauses that would've spelled 'so glad you chose me.' She wanted to scream at him Peter, not me, you idiot, don't you know Mary-Jane's worried too? but thankfully, she was a little too selfish for that.

"I need something from you." His voice came out like it hurt to talk.

"Anything."

"Norman's coming after me, my friends. I need you to protect Mary-Jane."

Quietly, and without fanfare, Felicia felt something die within her. "But… I can help you!"

"There's no one else I would trust with this. Please, do it for me."

With a supreme act of will, Felicia forced a smile. Like her lovers asked her to protect their exes everyday. "And after?"

She would've given anything to see through that mask. His mirrored lenses seemed gruesomely alien at the moment. "You'll be better off. I promise."

She gave herself over to her relief. There was something he wasn't telling her, but she didn't have it in her to question him when he was telling her everything she wanted, needed to hear. She slapped grateful hands on his chest and took a moment to remind herself that he was really there. Hers. Now.

She rolled up the mask. He stood very still, like a child waiting for a needle. His chin was shadowed and there was a bruise overlapping the side of his mouth. She kissed him anyway.

"It's okay if you want to talk about what happened. Or anything. I have Chinese in the fridge," she offered desperately.

"If I don't come back, I don't want you to mourn me."

"Wha?" She shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous, you asshole."

"Just promise me you'll find someone else."

"Yeah. Sure. One of those other handsome, smart, funny, compassionate heroes I know."

"I can get you the Avengers membership roster, if it'll help." It was too monotone to really be a joke, but she’d take what she could get.

"Tempting. But I don't want someone handsome or smart or funny or heroic. I want you!"

"Thanks."

"Because you're all those things! And at the end of the day, you still look at me like I'm the good girl."

"It's easy when you are." He moved to the window. "Night, Cat."

"Night…" he disappeared. "Peter."

***

The smell of meat was thick in Mac Gargan's nostrils. Not just humans, now. Steak. He could pretend it was just the steak. He sat in his uncomfortable restaurant seat and waited to see how rare was 'rare.'

The symbiote screamed at him. It did that all the time, but this time was different. This time, it was a name.

"Parker!" he spat at the man in the red cap who sat down across from him.

"Venom," Peter said cordially. "Knew I'd find you here. Me and Eddie used to come here all the time. Not together, of course. You were our date."

"I never dated you, you freaky little bug." Gargan pressed the distress button on his control manacle. "That's the Chameleon's game!"

"I'm not talking to you, Mac, I'm talking to that thing wearing your meatsuit. It's the real brains of the operation. Without tall, dark, and gooey, you're just a third-rate goomba. Even with it, you're barely second-rate. It makes me wonder why a smart operator like Norman told you my secret identity in the first place. Pillow talk? Maybe all that black leather is making a statement beyond 'my idea of cool is unoriginal.' Or maybe the symbiote's a bit closer to the surface then it was with previous hosts. How about it, Venom? Does the occasional feast make up for putting up with this… trophy wife?"

"I'll eat your brains!" Gargan tried to summon up the symbiote, but it stayed flaccid and lifeless.

"Don't you mean 'we'?" Peter took his sunglasses off, fiddled with them. "Venom, don't you miss Eddie? He was a symbiote. Mac's just a… parasite."

The symbiote roiled against Mac's wishes. Gargan stood, arms outstretched for Peter's throat, but the symbiote held him back. Barbed lashes dug into the surroundings, holding him in place. Someone screamed and everyone else thought it was a great idea. The bells on the door kept a constant jangle as the patrons streamed out. Within minutes, someone would find an alarm post and the whole block would become a super-combatant zone. Even if the Thunderbolts ignored Gargan's distress signal (possible), they wouldn't ignore that.

Peter calmly helped himself to Gargan's soda. "Venom, there's someone who'd like to see you."

Eddie Brock walked through the front door, past the mob rushing out. "Hey. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

Gargan screamed as the symbiote peeled off him and coursed toward Eddie. "Wait, I can change!" Naked, furious, Gargan forced his eyes on Peter as Eddie and the symbiote merged. "You'll pay for this! The Thunderbolts will hunt you down—"

Peter webbed his mouth shut. "I'm counting on it. And hey, just for old time's sake…" He cold-cocked Gargan, who landed unconscious at Eddie's feet.

No, not Eddie anymore.

"We appreciate your matchmaking, Parker," Venom slobbered. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Get him out of here. Dr. Strange will take care of his memories." Peter waved a finger at Venom. "No snacking."

"Eat him? Don't be disgusting. He leaves a bad taste in our mouths. Kill you later, yenta!"

"If someone doesn't beat you to it."

Once Venom had left, Peter changed into costume and hoped Venom would keep his word. As bad as Brock was, he was an angel compared to what Gargan had become. And even if it was Peter's fault that he hurt people, it wasn't like one more sin would tip the balance. He was already too dirty to ever get clean.

***

Mary-Jane had never let Peter know, but over the years she had become attuned to the sound of windows opening. As soon as she heard the wind get louder, or the curtains rustle, she would snap awake. She'd listen as he padded to the bathroom, make himself a snack in the kitchen, and if he were wounded she would get up and tend to him. But if he wasn't, he would come to bed and she'd let him think he hadn't woken her, even as she snuck in an 'unconscious' snuggle.

The trick worked better if she could sleep.

After Felicia's search had turned up nothing, Mary-Jane had called in every favor she could from every superhero she'd ever met. No one could help her, not even Matt or Johnny. So she laid awake at night, making deals with imaginary people. Please, Felicia, bring him back. I'll be the bridesmaid at your white goddamn wedding, so long as you bring him back safe.

The window opened.

The night air howled.

The curtains rustled.

Mary-Jane sat up, not even bothering to use her bedsheets to shield herself from the sudden cold. "Peter!"

The Black Cat looked her daringly-cut nightie up and down. "I fucking knew it."

***

Songbird tabbed through the prelim report as Moonstone stared at her, making the jet's hold seem smaller. "After we lost contact with Venom, thermal imaging shows the target fled to an underground parking garage. He was webbing off all the exits when the police alerted us."

"A do-gooder like the webhead took out Gargan?" Bullseye snorted. "Always the quiet ones…"

"So take a cue and shut up."

"You're awfully edgy this morning," Karla observed of Songbird. "Late night? I heard one of Zemo's masks went missing from the evidence locker."

"Then you'd better put it back."

"Please, I've moved onto Andreas and his entertaining psycho drama."

Melissa looked over at him, stroking his hilt. "Well, I suppose anyone who keeps his dead sister's skin holding up his sword doesn't have a fear of intimacy."

"Quite the opposite. Pilot, are we over the drop zone yet?"

"Affirmative," he buzzed over the radio.

"Good. Blast through the street and land us on his spider-kitchenette."

"Belay that." Songbird rose. "Someone could get hurt."

"Hurt? Melissa, you really don't understand the only reason to be a supervillain on the taxpayer's dime." Karla pointedly put her fingers in her ears as lasers blasted a hole in the pavement, overturning cars and sending debris flying. After a moment, the jet began its descent. "Osborn wants to make an example of this one. Bring him in alive and leave enough of his face for his appearance on the six o'clock news to be TV-PG."

"Does it have to be attached to his head?" Swordsman asked.

"I didn't ask."

Songbird hissed air through her teeth.

They touched down, spread out. The lights were cut down to their dimmest, everybody-should-be-home level. The walls and floors were covered in webbing, muffling the thermal sensors.

"He could be anywhere," Moonstone groaned. "I am not missing Grey's Anatomy for this. Everyone take a floor. Winner gets five minutes of leave-the-face-alone with him."

"You sure it's a good idea to split up?" Songbird asked.

"You can guard the jet."

***

Mary-Jane pulled fresh clothes on quickly, not caring how Felicia was eyeing her. Take a good look, honey, Peter married this and not you. "He talked to you?"

Felicia had her arms folded on top of Mary-Jane's dressing screen, like a neighbor talking over a fence. "Came right into my bedroom to wake me up. Very scandalous."

Mary-Jane laughed at her. "Nothing happened. If it had, you wouldn't be selling this so hard."

Sour, Felicia sunk behind the screen. "He said you weren't safe and that I was supposed to protect you." She sprang back up over the screen as a thought came to her. "You're on top of my honey-do list."

Scowling, Mary-Jane changed out of her possibly-to-be-running-for-my-life undies and into a bra and panty set with a naughty Italian name. If she ran into Peter, she was going to show him every inch of what he'd been missing. "We'll go to Daredevil in the Kitchen. He can keep us safe."

"You want to go to Hell's Kitchen to be safe? Good luck. Daredevil has enough on his plate."

"Johnny Storm then."

"He's registered."

"So are you."

"You think I'm going to bury you in an unmarked grave or something?"

Mary-Jane raised an eyebrow.

"Peter would never let me hear the end of it."

***

Radioactive Man took the lowest level of the four in the parking garage. There were barely any cars down there, just thick curtains of webbing lining the walls. He amped up his radioactivity to cast a sickly green light over the room. It also kept his radio full of static. Anything to keep the Westerners out of his ear.

"You know how they control reactions in a nuclear power plant?"

Radioactive Man spun around. There was no one. He considered calling for help.

"Ah, but then you'd have to dial down the nuke. And then you'd be alone in the dark with me."

"I can deal with you all by myself!" Radioactive Man said calmly and certainly. But not as much as he would’ve liked.

"They control nuclear reactions with a nuclear poison, usually a boron rod like the one I've been sharpening all evening."

Spider-Man burst loose of a patch of webbing, dropping down to one knee to drive a metal stake through Radioactive Man's foot. Radioactive Man, screaming instinctively, threw out his hand. Nothing happened. His fingers were turning brown at the tips.

"Stick around," Spider-Man suggested, and stomped the stake deeper into the ground.

His spider-sense tingled as the muzzle of a gun tapped his forehead. "No sudden moves,” Bullseye said. “Nobody could miss at this distance, least of all me. Thought you'd take on the slant-eye first. What happened to him, anyway?"

"He had a little meltdown."

"Heh. Norman's been on me to seal the deal. Your head puts me onboard the freedom train."

"You want off the team, Bullseye? It's a good thing you came to me. Songbird told me all about your nanochain."

"By this time tomorrow it'll be a memory, just like you."

"Oh, I think it's gonna be on your mind for a while. Twenty minutes at Radio Shack. All it took." Spider-Man clapped his hands. Bullseye went down, screaming until his body cut off the ability to do even that. "The real hard part was hooking the remote up to the Clapper. I'm taking care of Penance now."

***

Robbie Baldwin didn't like this. Taking down irresponsible capes was one thing, but Mr. Osborn was wrong about Spidey. Spidey was Robbie's hero. But he'd have to trust Mr. Osborn's judgment. His own had gotten Stamford wiped off the map.

Spider-Man stepped out from behind a corner, arms raised. "I don't want to fight you, Speedball."

Penance remembered Mr. Osborn's orders. He shot first.

The pain ripped through a support pillar, bringing down debris and parked cars from the next level. Spider-Man was long gone by the time the first one landed.

"Speedball's dead! He didn't deserve to live after what he did!"

"So now he hunts heroes?"

Penance looked around frantically for Spider-Man's black and white. "Not heroes! Disasters waiting to happen!"

"Anything else you'd like to pass along to the kettle while I'm letting him know he's black?"

"Don't mock my mission!" Penance sent waves of pain coursing out of his body, flipping cars, pulverizing debris from his earlier blast.

"Robbie, I'm going to stop you now. It’s going to hurt some."

Penance saw the white spider erupt from the darkness. He pointed at it, pouring all his pain into the responsibility, but Spider-Man ducked. Grabbed Penance’s hand and ripped the glove off, dropping it like a livewire when the fresh pain sent another lightning bolt through the side of the parking garage. Steaming dirt poured in, avalanching to Penance's feet as Spider-Man wrapped a webline around Robbie's arm and pulled it taut.

Penance blasted wildly, stray shots exploding cars into flaming wrecks. "You're the villain, not me! I save people, you hurt them! You're careless and you're irresponsible and you need to be put down!"

Spider-Man grabbed Penance's wrist and jerked him into a wall, dazing him as Peter wrenched the arm up and drove a syringe into the vein. "I know. But not by you."

Penance pulled free and, summoning all his pain and all his angst, threw his hand out at Peter.

Nothing happened.

"What'd you give me?"

Spider-Man tilted his head a little. "Painkillers." He caught Penance when the Thunderbolt tipped forward, undoing the latches on his armor with brisk, efficient movements. "You've spent enough time in there."

***

Strucker found Baldwin as Spider-Man had left him, naked except for the web holding him to the wall. He immediately opened a line to Moonstone. Got static. Switched to Radioactive Man. More static. Damn Osborn for stuffing the team with mongrel incompetents.

Penance's helmet landed at his feet. "Heard you were on the redemption kick." It was Spider-Man, speaking through the helmet's earpiece. He must've taken the radio off another Thunderbolt. "I know better than to believe what I read in the papers, but I'd be willing to let you walk away. My fight's with Osborn, not you."

Strucker spiked the helmet on his sword and lifted it to eye-level. "Osborn is a vulgar upstart, but he has sworn to clone my sister in exchange for your blood."

"Clones are bad news, trust me on that. Last chance, Zemo."

"Peasant! I am a von Strucker!" He jerked the helmet up to his teeth. "Andreas von Strucker, only son of Baron von Strucker and architect of the Fourth Reign!"

"Aw, you'll always be Mr. Overcompensation to me." The flashbang stuffed inside the helmet exploded. Strucker's vision went white, but he still heard well enough to slash the lunging Spider-Man out of the air. Only Spider-Man webbing the blade at the last second saved him from being halved. Peter was still flung ten feet by the sledgehammer-like hit. He landed in a roll, spun right up the wall, and stopped in a horizontal crouch.

"I thought your sister already came back…" Spider-Man popped off the wall, over a backhanded swing from Strucker that cut through the concrete like butter. "Oh, right, Skrulls killed her. Is this gonna be one of those South Park things?" Spider-Man weaved and bobbed between Strucker's wild swings. "'Oh my god, they killed Andrea! You bastard!'" he said in a squeaky voice.

Strucker was tossing off bomb-blasts with each missed swipe, rapidly filling the air with debris and smoke. It wouldn't be long until there was either a cave-in or Peter found his head separated from his body. He needed to get topside, where he could maneuver freely.

Spider-Man slowed down long enough to prompt Strucker's biggest swing yet, then leapt over it. In mid-air, he grabbed the hilt and jerked the blade up, blowing an escape route in the ceiling.

"Rich Corinthian leather," he said Cubanly, grappling with Strucker over the tanned hilt.

"You dare lay your filthy hands on my sister!?"

Spider-Man jerked his hands away. "Ewww!" He flipped up through the ceiling. "That is gross. And I fight Venom on a regular basis. I know gross."

Strucker swung in a scything arc, sending concussion blasts to tumble all the nearest support pillars. A fifty-square-foot segment of concrete caved in, dumping Spider-Man on his ass. Strucker survived with a forcefield, dropping it before the dust could settle. In an instant, he was upon Spider-Man. A hastily-snapped-off length of rebar was all that saved Spider-Man. Even that was rapidly whittled down by Strucker's blade. When it was down to little more than what Spider-Man held in his palm, he threw it in Strucker's face and jumped to the next level. Strucker followed with an impossible jump.

"So, swordsmanship, forcefields, flight, energy blasts… guess the only thing you can't do is get married. Except in Arkansas."

"How dare you mock our bond! Our relationship was pure and of the light!"

"Dude, you're using her left buttcheck as a glorified oven mitt. I don't think that's a healthy relationship."

With a scream of unparalleled rage, Strucker flew at Spider-Man with his sword held over his head. Spider-Man shot parallel weblines from either hand, forming double-thick 'manacles' between his hands to catch Strucker's blow. The blade sunk halfway in and was held fast. Spider-Man brought his knee up to kick just as Strucker channeled his power through the sword.

It hit Spider-Man like a freight train, stomping him into an SUV after dozens of feet of painful flight. The SUV tumbled, end over end over end, to come to a rest near the docked T-Bird. Spider-Man poked his concussed head out to see Moonstone and Songbird pouring all their energy at each other, the two beams breaking against each other in the middle of the T-Bird's hold.

"Woo, catfight," he said in a monotone.

His spider-sense rang and he was in motion again, grunting off the dozen aches jetting across his body. Strucker's slash had turned the SUV into a compact car. In flight, Spider-Man grabbed one of the T-Bird's tail fins and orbited it until he was crouched on the roof. He shot a webline into the middle of Strucker's chest. "Let's take this outside." He jumped out the hole the T-Bird had made, dragging Strucker along for the ride.

***

SHIELD Trooper Omar Patkau, commander of NY Squad 14, assigned to crowd control, watched in disbelief as Spider-Man jumped out of the hold he'd been assigned to guard. The webhead was whipping Strucker around by a webline, at least until Strucker cut the cord and landed in a crouch atop an abandoned taxi cab.

"Should we engage, sir?" his second asked.

Omar thought about Ben Urich's article on Strucker, who'd fought the Avengers more times than anyone could count. He thought about the warrant on Spider-Man. He thought about the time his little girl had come home, excited out of her wits, because Spider-Man had saved her.

"We're here to keep the public out of harm's way, not engage. Let 'em work it out."

***

Spider-Man moved impossibly fast, not bothering with weblines as he ricocheted off buildings and streetlights like they were made of rubber. Strucker carved up the landscape trying to overtake him with the sword's power. Finally, exhausted, he leaned his sword into the ground. "Stop dancing around and face me!"

"Anything you say." Spider-Man jumped down, landing perfectly balanced on Strucker's blade even as he raised it. "You are the master race." He kicked Strucker so hard the Thunderbolt's visor shattered. Strucker's head rocked back to a painful angle, where it stayed as he tilted over. For good measure, Peter broke his sword and dropped the pieces on Strucker's chest. "Guess they'll be calling you shrapnel-man from now on."

***

After a short drive, they parked Felicia's car in an underground lot. Mary-Jane tried getting out of the car, but Felicia stopped her. After a moment, the car sunk down into the pavement. When it stopped descending, Felicia opened the door.

"Welcome to the Cathouse," Felicia said proudly.

Mary-Jane looked around the safehouse. It was something of a studio apartment, but encased in steel and concrete except for one pathetic movie poster and a bulletin board shotgunned with news clippings and Post-It notes. The furniture was Spartan, but there was a TV and a small library of DVD cases and books.

"Place looks nice," Mary-Jane said, sitting down with the TV remote to find any news on Peter.

"I've had sex on every piece of furniture here."

MJ looked at the rocking chair she was in.

"Multiple orgasms," Felicia confirmed.

***

Spider-Man had overshot the police presence. He was swarmed by reporters, but one good look at him and they gave a wide berth. He webbed a microphone away from one of them and held it up to his razor of a mouth.

"Hello, New York! Hey, quick question, quick question… how fucking stupid are you people? I mean, I know, I know, you'd rather keep demonizing me than fucking admit you might be wrong—hey, sidebar, how many crimes have I committed that it turns out I was framed for? One, two, ALL OF THEM!

"And I accept that. You're a cynical lot. But Steve? Steve punched Hitler in the face and for that you think he's a relic? And you just keep digging the hole deeper, because 3 words: Norman fucking Osborn! Are you fuckers high? The X-Men are terrorists, I'm a public menace, and the Green Goblin is a saint. Yeah, I said it. He's the Green Goblin. Did you forget that? Do you even care? I know he says the right things and looks good in a suit, but he's evil. Doesn't that matter to you?

"I thought you were good people. Hell, I thought I was a good person. But we just keep causing pain, don't we? Hey, little known fact: Despite the hair, Normy isn't a virgin. He had a galpal once. Gwen Stacy. Then, when she got pregnant, she realized what a psycho he was and tried to leave him. So he dropped her off a bridge. Made all the papers. And then, because it wasn't enough for him to turn one kid into a drug addict, he raised her babies as assassins. He does like his proxies, Norman. He hates me, but he's afraid of me too, so he spends all his time sending his puppets out to get heroes who remind him of me.

"And why is he so afraid of me? Well, the last time we fought, he killed himself with his own glider. Yeah, he was trying to hit me with it, I dodged out of the way, pow, splat, no more Norman. Ha, I should be so lucky. Years pass, Norman comes back from the dead, and since he knows I'll whup his ass, he starts killing innocent people to get his jollies. Dumped this nice college girl in a lake. Do you even remember that far back? Her name was Terri Kidder. She had parents who loved her, siblings, a boyfriend. Do they just not matter to you? One of the many Norman's killed. Is there a ratio I don't know about? If he apprehends a hero for every girl he brutalizes, does that make it okay? Could someone let me know? I really… just want to know the rules. I'm so tired of not knowing how to play the game…"

***

"He's fine," Felicia said, somewhat to Mary-Jane, but mostly to herself. "He's just faking them out. Mindgames. He's a smart one, Peter. He wouldn't be doing something stupid."

***

Norman Osborn watched the live feed in growing anger. Peter Parker was slandering him. The man Peter described wasn't him; he was a hero, for Christ's sake! Hadn't he turned back the Skrulls? Wasn't he head of SHIELD?

Let me out, Norman. I'll shut him up. I'll shut him up forever.

No! He had to think rationally. Spider-Man wasn't registered. Someone would come to deal with him. Tony Stark will give him a slap on the wrist and send him on his way. You're the only one who can deal with this. You're the A-1 crackerjack boy. You just need me, not all those incompetents working for you.

Norman opened his desk drawer.

I see you.

***

Spider-Man's wordless repose—tears silently straining from his eyes—was interrupted by the hellish roar of a jet engine. Of course. It would be Norman. The world had become so claustrophobic that there was only room for the two of them.

Spider-Man didn't juke or dodge. He ran headlong toward the source of the sound, the fearsome glider Norman rode into battle. He immediately recognized the Goblin's laugh. It was the sound of a man freed. It called to him.

The Goblin blazed down the middle of the street, shearing through traffic lights. He laughed louder when Spider-Man charged, a suicide run. Two bombs unfurled from his hands. Spider-Man whipped them out of the way with weblines and the explosions kicked at evacuated buildings. The Goblin stopped laughing. Spider-Man lunged.

They met, split, the glider veering to embed itself in a cornice and the two arch-enemies hurdling to the ground. A car crunched under them and Peter was all fists and teeth. Norman bucked like a wild animal brought to ground. He screamed as hysterically as a vampire in daylight as Peter ripped away his mask.

"Take a good long look," Spider-Man growled at the cameras.

The Goblin threw Spider-Man off, his deepening madness backing up his muscles. A practiced gesture and bat-shaped throwing knives were thrown at Spider-Man. Peter jerked out of the way and they bit concrete. He said not a word as he tore a parking meter from the pavement and speared it at the Goblin. It punched through the crushed car, hitting no flesh. Norman was back on his glider.

"Something's got you in a tizzy," the Goblin commented acidly. "I hope it has something to do with me."

"Shut up and fight."

The Goblin lashed out with a bomb. Spider-Man backflipped away from the impending crater. He stuck to the wall, jumped off that when the Goblin threw another bomb. This leap took him to a roof, where he looked down on the Goblin. "You want me, come and get me!"

He ran. The Goblin chased.

***

Felicia made a physical effort to breathe as she watched the news footage unspooling before her and Mary-Jane. Peter was… hurting, obviously, somehow, and hell, Peter could beat anything, but this wasn't Peter at a hundred percent. This was some crippled Peter and how could she have believed him, how could she have let him go into battle when he was walking wounded? Was she still seeing him as the invincible Spider-Man instead of mortal Peter Parker, so sweet and so achingly vulnerable? If Peter died, she'd only have herself to blame…

"Turn it off," she whispered harshly.

Mary-Jane turned away from the TV in disbelief. "I'd like to see if my husband lives or dies, thanks."

"Yeah, well I don't want to think about that shit," Felicia said, breezily dismissive. "Change it to something else."

"Go in another room if it bothers you!"

"There is no other room. This is a safehouse!"

"Nice design, honey."

"Hey, maybe you can watch someone you claim to love getting the shit beat out of him-"

"Peter means a lot to me!"

"I could tell by the way you fought for him," Felicia snarled.

"You're right, I should've hung around and flirted with him in a slutty outfit. That would be the mature, adult thing to do. What was I thinking!?" Mary-Jane demanded, elegantly sarcastic. Felicia forced herself not to wonder if she'd gotten that from Peter or if Peter had gotten that from Mary-Jane.

She had to stay with righteous indignation, had to not lose any ground. "Why are you so angry at me, anyway!? You broke up with him! What the fuck did I do wrong besides not being om-fucking-nipotent and knowing that you and Peter were just on break? Oh, right, I forgot, you're perfect for each other and the whole world should just stop so you can cuddle."

"I'm not angry at you! I'm angry at myself!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean—psycho?"

Mary-Jane ran her hands through her hair, gathering it behind her head. "When Mephisto offered us the deal, I knew Peter was going to take it. He had to. But by cooperating, I managed a stipulation. I told Mephisto… I told him to make your identity a secret, so there was nothing to stop you two from… nothing to stop you from taking care of him. That was the only way I could live with it. If I went in knowing that he would have you."