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seriousficSo, hey, remember that time Mary-Jane left John Jameson standing at the alter? Yeah...
Chinese restaurant. Eat, talk things over with John, get old job back. Peter mopped at his face. Easy. He just had to keep cool. He’d managed to retrieve his clothes from Harry’s place, having put them in a protective web-bundle, but under them his spider-suit was grimy and some well-placed webbing was the only thing keeping him from bleeding through his clothes. And the burn Octavius had given him hurt like heck every time his clothes touched it.
Mary-Jane was leaning against the wall, chewing a stick of gum when he found her. “Hi, John’s…”
The words came tumbling out. “I think we can rule out Harry as the Hobgoblin. One minute Gobby’s passing by, firing off missiles, next thing I know Harry’s saving me from Doc Ock.” Mary-Jane went google-eyed. “Long story, tell you later.”
”So you’re friends again?”
That brought Peter up short. He smiled shyly. “Well, yeah. He invited me to his birthday party.”
”Birthday party? Just yesterday he thought you killed his father!”
”No, he came to terms with his father being the Green Goblin. Which is a load off, as I thought he’d try to kill me.” Peter caught his breath, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is he around?”
”He’s late. But John Jameson will be arriving shortly and would it be too much to ask for us to have a nice, quiet dinner in which you both realize that you’re both wonderful human beings?“
”Just so long as he’s ‘John Jameson’ and I’m Peter.” Peter looked at the Chinese restaurant they were parked in front of; specifically the plaster-cast dragon statue by the door. “But why a Chinese restaurant?”
”John likes Chinese.”
That was enough to launch him into a pace. ”MJ, you dumped him on his wedding day. I don’t think exotic food is going to soften the blow.”
”It can’t hurt,” Mary-Jane reasoned as he crossed in front of her.
”So, when’s he going to get here?”
”Why, you have a date?”
”No, I just…” Peter stopped walking, then abruptly whirled on Mary-Jane. “I don't want to talk about Otto.”
”Get it off your chest before you make an ass of yourself in front of John.”
Peter leaned against the wall and Mary-Jane leaned next to him. “I know that Octavius used to be a good man, but now he's... changed so much. He’s so much more powerful then me. I beat him on a… on a technicality before. Now he’s totally insane. No, make that evil. Whatever he has planned, it’s big. I don’t know if I can beat him.”
”Of course you can,” MJ said confidently.
”How do you know?”
”Because you're the good guy.”
”I wish it were that simple.”
Mary-Jane squeezed his arm. “Peter...”
”What?”
”It is that simple.”
Peter sank back into his chair. “I wish…” he said, then let the pause linger as the next few moments passed.
And passed. ”Well, isn’t this a change?” Mary-Jane said. “You’re early and he’s…”
An alarm broke through the air. Peter and Mary-Jane did identical head-swivels to see two armed robbers running out of a jewelry store and piling into a car. The waiting driver stomped on the gas and the getaway car peeled off at eighty MPH.
“Jinxed,” Peter said miserably.
”This going to take long?”
”No jetpacks… I’d say three minutes.”
”Then why are we still talking?”
Three minutes, twenty seconds later, Peter was walking into the Chinese restaurant, stuffing the mask of his costume deeper into his pocket. John Jameson, as clean-cut and all-American as ever, was sitting by Mary-Jane in intense conversation. Peter walked toward them before a waiter stepped in his way.
“Do you have reservations?”
Peter watched MJ put a consoling hand on John’s shoulder. “Plenty. I’m with them.”
”Very good.”
He stepped aside, allowing Peter to sit down next to Mary-Jane.
”Peter, this is John. John, this is Peter.”
Peter didn’t know whether to smile politely or… not, so he just ended up saying. “Sorry. I’m late.”
“S’alright,” John said. “Mary-Jane and I were getting along just fine without you.”
Peter sent a worried glance Mary-Jane’s way, then unfolded his napkin onto his lap. “So… NASA. That must be interesting.”
“Has its moments. Like playing football on the moon.”
“Yeah, but without cheerleaders, what’s the point?” Peter went for a vague sort of smile and Mary-Jane laughed dutifully. John didn’t.
This is going to be a long night.
***
Doctor Curt Connors held court over a neat assemblage of chemicals or equipment. Usually his lab had a dozen student aides running about, but at this time of night, he was alone. His wife would understand. All day long a new breakthrough had been plaguing him, lurking just out of reach. He had to test it.
Connors observed the rabbit, his eyes drawn to the stump where a leg had once been. From time to time his attention was stolen by the clock and the empty syringe next to it. Behind him, a counter full of beakers, all with the same orange liquid in various states of experimentation, waited.
Three hours. It shouldn't be taking this long...
The rabbit's stump started to change shape. Slowly at first, then it extended. After another ten seconds, the rabbit's missing leg was completely restored. Hairless, perhaps... but otherwise normal.
The camera for Connors’ video diary blinked red, recording. Connors stepped in front of it. “Success! Time is...” He pushed up the sleeve of his lab coat to check his watch. “Three hours, forty-nine minutes! The rabbit has regrown its leg. Imagine! We can move on to testing on dogs... and eventually, hu...”
A nearby crashed jostled the camera. Connors looked over the shoulder. The source of the crash was the next room. After pausing the camera, he put the rabbit in its cage and then walked through the door.
Otto Octavius was sitting at a card table, a first-aid kit in front of him. His tentacles were tirelessly pouring over diagrams and blueprints all around him. As Connors watched, Octavius applied disinfectant to his wound, wincing at the pain. The tentacles halted for a moment, as if in concern, then continued. Octavius slowly and wearily used his left hand to wind a bandage around the gash on his arm.
If there was one thing about Connors’s old friend that was truly nightmarish, it was the stark contrast between Octavius's invulnerable mechanical limbs to his all-too human ones. For a moment, Octavius studied his new limbs uneasily from the corner of his eyes. Then a tentacle alerted him to Connors.
”Hello there, Curt,” Octavius said warmly, albeit with a heady sense of irony. “Nice to see you again.”
”Otto, what are you doing here?”
”I was wounded. I needed medicine…” He appeared to lose his train of thought, rubbing at his head as if trying to drill to the source of his obvious migraine. “Weapons… supplies… Osborn’s! Osborn tricked me! Tell him,” Octavius ordered his tentacles. “Tell him what Osborn did!”
Connors took a half-step back as the tentacles wordlessly gibbered inches from his face, claws whining as they snapped open and shut.
“Otto, you’re not well. This isn’t what Rosalie would have wanted-“
”DON’T! Say her name.” Octavius stood. Although he didn’t move a muscle beyond that, his tentacles dragged him towards Curt. His feet just barely skimmed the ground. “After all these long years, you turn your back on me when I need you the most?”
Connors backed up. “You need help, Otto.”
They entered Connors’s lab. Octavius’s glasses slipping down his nose to reveal maddened eyes.
”You traitorous…! I should have known you didn't have the vision to stand beside me on the brink of a new age of enlightenment!”
Two tentacles lashed out, grabbing Connors by the shoulders. A third extended a spike and stabbed Connors through the heart. The spike retracted with a wet splich. Curt screamed as he was mobbed by the tentacles, rolling over him, fumbling him, slamming him against the walls, the floor, the ceiling… everything.
”Goodbye, old friend,” Octavius adjusted his sunglasses. “Give my regards to Rosalie.”
With a backbreaking crunch, he slammed Connors down on the tabletop with the orange liquid. Several of the beakers broke, miming the blood that flowed from Connors’s body as Octavius took his leave.
For a moment, all was quiet. The rabbit, enjoying all four of its legs, hopped past Connors.
His eyes wearily opened. “I can't...”
The rabbit twitched its nose at him. Connors reached out. Past the rabbit. Grabbed a beaker of the orange liquid and raised it to his lips…
Chinese restaurant. Eat, talk things over with John, get old job back. Peter mopped at his face. Easy. He just had to keep cool. He’d managed to retrieve his clothes from Harry’s place, having put them in a protective web-bundle, but under them his spider-suit was grimy and some well-placed webbing was the only thing keeping him from bleeding through his clothes. And the burn Octavius had given him hurt like heck every time his clothes touched it.
Mary-Jane was leaning against the wall, chewing a stick of gum when he found her. “Hi, John’s…”
The words came tumbling out. “I think we can rule out Harry as the Hobgoblin. One minute Gobby’s passing by, firing off missiles, next thing I know Harry’s saving me from Doc Ock.” Mary-Jane went google-eyed. “Long story, tell you later.”
”So you’re friends again?”
That brought Peter up short. He smiled shyly. “Well, yeah. He invited me to his birthday party.”
”Birthday party? Just yesterday he thought you killed his father!”
”No, he came to terms with his father being the Green Goblin. Which is a load off, as I thought he’d try to kill me.” Peter caught his breath, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Is he around?”
”He’s late. But John Jameson will be arriving shortly and would it be too much to ask for us to have a nice, quiet dinner in which you both realize that you’re both wonderful human beings?“
”Just so long as he’s ‘John Jameson’ and I’m Peter.” Peter looked at the Chinese restaurant they were parked in front of; specifically the plaster-cast dragon statue by the door. “But why a Chinese restaurant?”
”John likes Chinese.”
That was enough to launch him into a pace. ”MJ, you dumped him on his wedding day. I don’t think exotic food is going to soften the blow.”
”It can’t hurt,” Mary-Jane reasoned as he crossed in front of her.
”So, when’s he going to get here?”
”Why, you have a date?”
”No, I just…” Peter stopped walking, then abruptly whirled on Mary-Jane. “I don't want to talk about Otto.”
”Get it off your chest before you make an ass of yourself in front of John.”
Peter leaned against the wall and Mary-Jane leaned next to him. “I know that Octavius used to be a good man, but now he's... changed so much. He’s so much more powerful then me. I beat him on a… on a technicality before. Now he’s totally insane. No, make that evil. Whatever he has planned, it’s big. I don’t know if I can beat him.”
”Of course you can,” MJ said confidently.
”How do you know?”
”Because you're the good guy.”
”I wish it were that simple.”
Mary-Jane squeezed his arm. “Peter...”
”What?”
”It is that simple.”
Peter sank back into his chair. “I wish…” he said, then let the pause linger as the next few moments passed.
And passed. ”Well, isn’t this a change?” Mary-Jane said. “You’re early and he’s…”
An alarm broke through the air. Peter and Mary-Jane did identical head-swivels to see two armed robbers running out of a jewelry store and piling into a car. The waiting driver stomped on the gas and the getaway car peeled off at eighty MPH.
“Jinxed,” Peter said miserably.
”This going to take long?”
”No jetpacks… I’d say three minutes.”
”Then why are we still talking?”
Three minutes, twenty seconds later, Peter was walking into the Chinese restaurant, stuffing the mask of his costume deeper into his pocket. John Jameson, as clean-cut and all-American as ever, was sitting by Mary-Jane in intense conversation. Peter walked toward them before a waiter stepped in his way.
“Do you have reservations?”
Peter watched MJ put a consoling hand on John’s shoulder. “Plenty. I’m with them.”
”Very good.”
He stepped aside, allowing Peter to sit down next to Mary-Jane.
”Peter, this is John. John, this is Peter.”
Peter didn’t know whether to smile politely or… not, so he just ended up saying. “Sorry. I’m late.”
“S’alright,” John said. “Mary-Jane and I were getting along just fine without you.”
Peter sent a worried glance Mary-Jane’s way, then unfolded his napkin onto his lap. “So… NASA. That must be interesting.”
“Has its moments. Like playing football on the moon.”
“Yeah, but without cheerleaders, what’s the point?” Peter went for a vague sort of smile and Mary-Jane laughed dutifully. John didn’t.
This is going to be a long night.
***
Doctor Curt Connors held court over a neat assemblage of chemicals or equipment. Usually his lab had a dozen student aides running about, but at this time of night, he was alone. His wife would understand. All day long a new breakthrough had been plaguing him, lurking just out of reach. He had to test it.
Connors observed the rabbit, his eyes drawn to the stump where a leg had once been. From time to time his attention was stolen by the clock and the empty syringe next to it. Behind him, a counter full of beakers, all with the same orange liquid in various states of experimentation, waited.
Three hours. It shouldn't be taking this long...
The rabbit's stump started to change shape. Slowly at first, then it extended. After another ten seconds, the rabbit's missing leg was completely restored. Hairless, perhaps... but otherwise normal.
The camera for Connors’ video diary blinked red, recording. Connors stepped in front of it. “Success! Time is...” He pushed up the sleeve of his lab coat to check his watch. “Three hours, forty-nine minutes! The rabbit has regrown its leg. Imagine! We can move on to testing on dogs... and eventually, hu...”
A nearby crashed jostled the camera. Connors looked over the shoulder. The source of the crash was the next room. After pausing the camera, he put the rabbit in its cage and then walked through the door.
Otto Octavius was sitting at a card table, a first-aid kit in front of him. His tentacles were tirelessly pouring over diagrams and blueprints all around him. As Connors watched, Octavius applied disinfectant to his wound, wincing at the pain. The tentacles halted for a moment, as if in concern, then continued. Octavius slowly and wearily used his left hand to wind a bandage around the gash on his arm.
If there was one thing about Connors’s old friend that was truly nightmarish, it was the stark contrast between Octavius's invulnerable mechanical limbs to his all-too human ones. For a moment, Octavius studied his new limbs uneasily from the corner of his eyes. Then a tentacle alerted him to Connors.
”Hello there, Curt,” Octavius said warmly, albeit with a heady sense of irony. “Nice to see you again.”
”Otto, what are you doing here?”
”I was wounded. I needed medicine…” He appeared to lose his train of thought, rubbing at his head as if trying to drill to the source of his obvious migraine. “Weapons… supplies… Osborn’s! Osborn tricked me! Tell him,” Octavius ordered his tentacles. “Tell him what Osborn did!”
Connors took a half-step back as the tentacles wordlessly gibbered inches from his face, claws whining as they snapped open and shut.
“Otto, you’re not well. This isn’t what Rosalie would have wanted-“
”DON’T! Say her name.” Octavius stood. Although he didn’t move a muscle beyond that, his tentacles dragged him towards Curt. His feet just barely skimmed the ground. “After all these long years, you turn your back on me when I need you the most?”
Connors backed up. “You need help, Otto.”
They entered Connors’s lab. Octavius’s glasses slipping down his nose to reveal maddened eyes.
”You traitorous…! I should have known you didn't have the vision to stand beside me on the brink of a new age of enlightenment!”
Two tentacles lashed out, grabbing Connors by the shoulders. A third extended a spike and stabbed Connors through the heart. The spike retracted with a wet splich. Curt screamed as he was mobbed by the tentacles, rolling over him, fumbling him, slamming him against the walls, the floor, the ceiling… everything.
”Goodbye, old friend,” Octavius adjusted his sunglasses. “Give my regards to Rosalie.”
With a backbreaking crunch, he slammed Connors down on the tabletop with the orange liquid. Several of the beakers broke, miming the blood that flowed from Connors’s body as Octavius took his leave.
For a moment, all was quiet. The rabbit, enjoying all four of its legs, hopped past Connors.
His eyes wearily opened. “I can't...”
The rabbit twitched its nose at him. Connors reached out. Past the rabbit. Grabbed a beaker of the orange liquid and raised it to his lips…
The_Lurker
Date: 2009-09-03 12:08 pm (UTC)