seriousfic

Title: The Cost of Wearing Masks
Fandom: Spider-Man movieverse
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,817
Author’s Note: Betaed by

htbthomas. Takes place after the events of Spider-Man 2, assuming Spider-Man 3 never happened.
Previous Part: Chapter 3
Characters/Pairings: Peter/MJ, Doctor Octopus
Summary: Peter’s sick. Doc Ock’s sicker.

Otto Octavius rechecked his calculations for the eightieth time. They couldn’t be right. They said that the only way for a destabilization to develop as quickly and largely as the one at the demonstration had was for the reaction to be dependant on impure Tritium. Tritium of the kind Harry Osborn had provided, as the memos showed. They had found him innocent of wrongdoing. Doctor Octopus was not so lenient. He scrawled the crucial equations, the crucial flaw onto every scrap of paper in the room. When he ran out, he drew on the walls. Then the floor. And the ceiling. And when he was done, he laid in bed and didn’t know what to do.

So the voices came back and told him.

”Substandard Tritium? Osborn's a multimillionaire, why would he...?

“Of course. That... miserly bastard!

“Gave me improper materials, cut corners, just to save a few measly dollars!?

“What’s money against my life? My dream!?”

He calmed, his tentacles slumping in sympathy.

”Clean, renewable energy for all mankind. Now nothing more then a pipe dream.”

The tentacles began talking all at once. He nodded.

”Yes, an excellent suggestion. We may not be able to sustain fusion, but we can have our revenge.”

He jammed his tentacle into the power socket. The lights dimmed under the current load, flickering stroboscopically as electricity flowed into his tentacles. His pseudopods, his manipulators, his children rose in recharged crescendo.

” Avenge Rosalie. Avenge ourselves! And prove to the world my genius in the process. I am not a monster! I am a man of science!”

***

There was one… and only one… upside to being sick and forced into watching Pretty Woman. This upside was lots and lots of Mary-Jane-touching. Mary-Jane sat at his bedside, touching his shoulder nearly constantly, kneading it when she was worried, sappily rubbing it during the mushy parts, and tensing once during a sexy bit. Peter was getting very open to the possibility of watching a romantic movie while not sickly and emasculated.

Even this meager bit of happiness, in the midst of illness and Julia Robertness, was enough to make the universe put its foot down and say “Time to rain on Peter Parker!” Peter imagined the universe as having a voice somewhat akin to Robert Goulet. He didn’t know why. His phone rang, with a distinct Robert Goulet bop to its trill, and he answered it despite Mary-Jane’s frantic shushing (apparently Pretty Woman had reached a good point, which as far as Peter was concerned was something like Enya music getting loud). He picked it up as Mary-Jane paused the movie and pouted fiercely.

All the good vibes drained out of the room. Peter hung up the phone. “It’s Jonah. He wants some pictures.”

“So? Tell him you’re sick.”

“He wants pictures of Doctor Octopus. Otto’s had a relapse.”

***

Mary-Jane drove Peter, hastily-dressed with his Spider-Man costume showing at the sleeves and ankles, to the hospital. From a block away, the traffic lights were out and policemen were stopping traffic. Road flares cast the only light besides the stars and the moon. The red light played over Peter’s face. Otto had been a friend, Otto had had hope…

Peter got out of the car. “Mary-Jane, listen to me. I want you to drive away from here as fast as you legally can, okay?”

“But Peter...”

“Just do it. I'll be fine.”

Mary-Jane caught his hand before he could go, pulled him to her and gave him the kind of kiss that made him fall in love with her all over again.

”For luck,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Enough of Peter’s spider-sense was active for him to hear, muted as if he were underwater, the pangs of warning for policemen and other unfriendly eyes. The perimeter was a fustercluck. Peter scented Eddie Brock’s sharp cologne and knew he wouldn’t be the only newsman who’d snuck through.

What Peter needed was a way in. Sticking to the concealing bushes that ringed the building, he circled around until he saw an open window on the second floor. He climbed up, though a sneeze unstuck him three-quarters of the way up and he had to scramble the rest of the way. Inside, he shed the bulky coat and pulled on his mask. Strangely, it didn’t make him feel like a superhero.

His feet felt like rubber and the power that usually throbbed in his dense muscles had deserted him, but he couldn’t let it stop him. I’ve got to stop Octavius… then lie down for a long time.

It was clear that Otto… Ock had found a way to recharge his tentacles off the hospital’s power grid. But the whole block going dead meant that he had taken power straight from the source, with no circuit breakers to get in his way. That meant the basement, right where the underground power lines fed into the hospital.

Spider-Man pried the nearest set of elevator doors open and slid down the cable. At the bottom, he could hear the cracking-bone symphony of tentacles in motion. Otto… no…

The maze-like boiler room bore the scars of Otto’s passage. Mutilated divots were carved into the circulatory system of pipes and power cables where clawed tentacles had gripped them. Spider-Man pulled up his mask to spit out some phlegm, then stepped forward. The lightbulbs, hanging from chains like dead men from gallows, flickered between light and darkness. Spider-Man used his sixth sense to guide himself to the kernel of danger piercing into his world. He rounded a corner, spider-sense going off louder than a KISS concert, and saw his nemesis.

Octavius had his back to Spider-Man, but enough of him was lit by the fusebox he’d plundered to see that sanity had deserted him. His lips had grown thin and curdled into an all-consuming sneer, his nostrils flaring with deep rage, and Peter was so damn thankful that he couldn’t see Octavius’s eyes through the sunglasses that armored them.

Spider-Man looked around for a weapon, settled on a length of pipe that’d been severed from the wall. He snuck forward, holding the pipe high. Then he felt a sneeze coming on.

Keep your eyes open, you can’t sneeze if your eyes are open.

He kept his eyes open.

Octavius turned around anyway.

“Ahh, Spider-Man. You weren’t trying to sneak up on me, were you? Bob me on the head? Mmm? Not very superheroic of you.”

“Otto. The tentacles are messing with your mind again.”

The tentacles snapped at him, crackling like live wires right beside Spider-Man’s head. “No, they’ve removed the scales from my eye. I can see clearly now.”

“Will it be a bright, bright, bright, bright sun-shiny day? Can you see all obstacles in your way?” Peter chided himself for provoking Otto. He needed to be talking him down, like he had before. “Listen, Otto, artificial fusion isn’t viable, you said so yourself! It’ll take decades to fix!”

Octavius rose to his full, imposing, tentacle-assisted height. “This isn’t about science, this is personal! This is justice!”

Peter’s spider-sense barely gave him warning enough to avoid the tentacle that kicked at him. It plowed through a nest of pipes, which vented hot steam. Soon, it was just like a fogbank had filled the room. Spider-Man ignored the heat to hide, then flung the pipe end over end. Octavius caught it and neatly clipped it in half with a manipulator, then sent them into the steam to probe for Spider-Man.

“What sort of stunt was that, Spider-Man? I know you can throw harder than that! If this is some kind of trick, it’s uncalled for! Don’t hide in there like a craven coward. Come out and earn the dignity of a warrior’s death!”

Yup, Ock’s definitely lost the cards he needs to play with a full deck.

Spider-sense informed Peter that there was a tentacle groping toward his right foot. He lifted his knee up to his chest. Then felt another sneeze coming on. Ah… ah…

Ock zeroed in on the sound and yanked him out of the steam like a bad tooth. It happened fast as a rollercoaster drop. He was crashed against one wall, then the other, then jammed into the siphoned fusebox for a defibrillator shock. Octavius pulled him away when he screamed, adjusted his tentacles’ hold on Peter’s wrists and ankles, then shoved the webslinger back in. Peter saw his life flash before his eyes and the only thing he could think to think was wow, this would make a great movie.

“Fight back, coward! Don’t water down my victory by making it too easy!” He pulled Spider-Man out of his electrocution to let him dangle, spread-eagle, from metal claws. “You’re putting up less of a fight than usual, Spider-Man. It’s too much to hope for that you’ve finally conceded defeat to your betters. Perhaps this will prove an incentive.”

Octavius’s hands, his real hands, if such a distinction even mattered anymore, grabbed hold of Peter’s mask and pulled. Peter felt every agonizing inch as the fabric inched upward.

“How could I forget that I must see your face before I blacken it to cinders. Who knows, you might even be someone I recognize. A celebrity, like Tony Stark.”

“Nah, he’s clearly not the hero-type.” Peter aimed his spinnerets at Octavius’s face, but no web came out.

With a disgusted snort, Doctor Octopus unmasked Spider-Man.

It was almost a relief. Ever since the Goblin, Peter’d agonized over the thought of a bad guy finding out who he was, who his friends were, who his family was. Now he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. He could start worrying about a car bomb blowing up MJ or a sniper bullet finding Aunt May.

“Parker,” Octavius drawled. “Peter Parker. So you thought you’d put on a ridiculous costume and fight crime.”

“Not one of my better ideas,” Peter shrugged. May, MJ, everyone, forgive me.

“That leaves only one question.” Octavius pulled Peter taut so fast his arms and legs were almost ripped from their sockets. “Where’s the real Spider-Man?”

He thinks I’m a fake. HethinksI’mafakehethinksI’mafakehethinksI’mafake! Peter would’ve done cartwheels if he weren’t being torn apart. “Have you checked up the waterspout?” He had to struggle to keep the ecstasy out of his voice. Go on, kill me. I’ll take my loved ones’ safety to my grave.

Doctor Octopus looked inclined to take him up on that. “How dare you waste my time! Every hour could take Rosalie’s killer further away! I’ll repay you that delay!”

Before he could carry out his threat, a supersonic blur smacked into the back of Octavius’s head. Ock pitched forward. When he righted himself, his sunglasses were askew.

“I know his costume’s no good, Doctor, but that’s no reason to get blood on your pretty metal hands.”

Billy club in hand, Peter’s guardian devil stepped out of the shadows and swirling sulfur.