Post by Drake on Apr 24, 2016 15:22:37 GMT -5
#19: Marked for Destruction Part 4
Broken Strands
By Drake
…
Mary Jane really didn’t have to call Rich. She could put it off. There was the whole break to consider. He would understand. Right? Right. No. Mary Jane dialed his number and lifted the phone up to her ear.
One ring and then, “Yes?”
She knew he knew that it was her, but why not go with, “Hey. It’s Mary Jane,” anyway.
“MJ, hey, yeah…I, God, I’m not very good at this,” Rich stammered, uncharacteristically nervous. “Listen, I just wanted to say…well, first of all, thanks for calling me.”
Mary Jane wanted to tell him to hurry up, but she didn’t. Panic wasn’t worth treating your friend like trash.
“I, uh, I just wanted you to know that I don’t actually…what I said last night…it wasn’t true. I mean, I don’t remember everything, but that’s the thing. We were both hammered. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean it when I said…y’know,” Rich continued.
He was lying. She knew it. He knew she knew it. Last night was the most honest she had seen him be since they had first met.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” MJ immediately assured, desiring more than anything for this call to end. She hadn’t done anything wrong. How could she have known about his feelings? …Why did it hurt so much, anyway?
“Yeah…yeah, it’s no big deal…that’s a lie. It’s a big deal. It’s a really big deal anytime someone drops the, um, L bomb,” Rich just couldn’t keep quiet. “It’s just not a big deal to me. Because I was lying. Not lying, that implies something bad, just…shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”
“It’s really okay, Rich,” MJ said. It really wasn’t. God, why did she feel so awful?
“I can’t judge. I’ve slept with girls who had the wrong idea. …that’s not what I meant. You didn’t take advantage of me. If you could have, which you couldn’t have because I don’t lo—“ Rich couldn’t finish.
“I love you,” Rich blurted. MJ could hear him sigh in relief, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Rich, but I’m not looking for commitment right now. You’re a great guy, but—Christ, I’m such a stereotype,” MJ replied, her face as red as her hair, even though he was nowhere near her.
“No, you’re fine. You’re just being honest. Not that I can talk for you. You’re fine. I don’t mean that in, like, a ‘hot’ way—“
“I fucked up so bad. I’m so sorry,” MJ interrupted.
“Don’t be.” He was being sweet. She could hear the pain in his voice.
MJ said, “Listen, if you want to talk about this, I’m here—or not. I don’t know how this works. I…I’ve never done this before. Not that that excuses my actions. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t have much experience in high school. I was the type of fucked up that scared boys off,” MJ almost chuckled at that last bit.
“‘We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it.’”
Silence. MJ cracked a smile.
“That’s just some bullshit I heard in a movie Peter and Gwen were watching. Swear to God, I have no idea where that came from,” Rich bumbled.
“The Breakfast Club,” MJ noted. “It’s cute, Rich.”
Suddenly, her phone began to buzz. Gwen was calling her. Why should she answer? Gwen hadn’t answered when she needed her…no, MJ had to take this. It was probably important. Plus, she understood why Gwen wasn’t available 24-7. She had a lot going on.
“Rich, I have to go,” MJ explained, before he could speak back up.
“I totally understand. See ya after break, Mary Jane,” Rich said.
“Bye.”
MJ answered Gwen’s call.
“Hey. I’m in a rush. Can you look up Alma Alvarado’s address? It should be in the Bronx,” Gwen requested.
“Hi, yeah, I can. Give me a second.” MJ produced her laptop from her backpack and quickly ran through the yellow book server. “1230 Emmet Street. Apartment 13.”
“Thanks,” Gwen said.
“Gwen, who’s Alma Alvarado?” MJ wondered, repacking her laptop.
Quiet for a moment, and then the shocker…
“Sandman’s baby mama.”
“…You couldn’t have said that in a less dramatic way…” MJ deadpanned.
“I’ve been working on my quips.”
“They’re at, like, Adam Sandler level now.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
…
“Kinsey, we do this, we’re not officers of the law anymore, you understand? We do this and we’re vigilantes. Hell, we’re worse than the…the superheroes.”
Kinsey blinked back at George, as if what he’d said hadn’t registered. The veteran officer could tell he was doing everything he could to keep his emotions in check. The two were standing, covered from head to toe in military-grade gear, with some weapons that surpassed anything they had imagined, outside the door to the worn down apartment that housed one Keemia Alvarado. According to Kinsey’s intel, Keemia’s mother left her home alone between six and eight during the week while she completed her shift at the local Easy Mart. The six-year-old girl had as good as raised herself.
His empty gaze replaced by lightning-fast guilt, Kinsey whispered back, “If you’re so worried, then why are you here?”
“I’m not about to lose another officer to these bastards,” George replied, after a moment’s hesitation. He cocked his assault rifle. “And this particular son of a bitch has to pay.”
George nodded toward the door. “We go in there, but we don’t touch the girl, you hear me? We just play the warrant game, say we’re looking for her father. If your brother’s right, then that’ll be enough to get Marko’s attention.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kinsey agreed, furiously rubbing the sweat from his brow.
“Kinsey…” George put a hand on the younger officer’s shoulder. The two locked eyes. “Remember your daughter. Think of her, and this all becomes a lot easier.”
Kinsey nodded, and George began to mouth out a countdown. After ‘one,’ he kicked in the door.
“FREEZE! Flint Marko, I have a warrant for your—“ George cut himself off mid-sentence.
Kneeling at the edge of the entryway in front of a dark-skinned girl, Flint Marko turned to look at the veteran detective. Both were initially shocked to discover one another. However, neither could compare to the fear Keemia felt upon seeing the two heavily armed officers or Kinsey’s own terror upon making out Marko in the darkened room. The officer’s instincts kicked in, sparking chaos.
SHOOM! SHOOM! SHOOM!
“NO, KINSEY!” George screamed, as the man raised his sonic rifle and fired it at Marko.
The rifle’s recoil was so powerful that Kinsey lost control of the gun. The first few sonic blasts passed right through Marko’s sand form, while a few more sailed over Keemia’s head and tore through their small Christmas tree. While Marko was fazed by the attacks, it didn’t take long for him to recover.
“MY DAUGHTER?!” Marko roared, rising up from the ground, “YOU ENDANGER MY DAUGHTER?!?!”
George grabbed Kinsey’s shoulder and began to drag him out. Marko surged toward them in a wave of sand.
“Run, you idiot!” George demanded, pushing Kinsey toward the stairwell.
“We gotta take him down or else—”
“Shut up and run!” George yelled back.
Kinsey hesitated, but ran off nonetheless. George stayed behind to hold Marko off. He unloaded his rifle upon the villain. The shells were explosive and blew up on contact. However, all that did was blacken the walls and piss Sandman off. He could hear Keemia screaming in the apartment. A neighbor was shouting into his phone for the police.
Marko slammed George into a wall with his right arm and held him there, the veteran cop trapped by a mound of hardened sand. The two locked eyes. George knew the look in Marko’s eyes—the look of a desperate, angry man who wanted to protect his own. The look of a man who was lost, and knew he could never be found again. George had seen that look on his face after he’d found out Gwen had been bullied in middle school, and every day since Brian had died.
“As if I didn’t hate you enough, you attack my daughter!” Marko growled, inching toward George. “Is that why you did it? ‘Cause you knew she was the one thing I actually gave a damn about in this world?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Marko. You killed my partner, you son of a bitch!” George retorted.
“Yeah,” Marko’s face fell, but he continued, “Yeah, I did. And I regret that. I regret every jackass I’ve killed, but that’s the way it is. I gotta protect her. I gotta make enough, so Keemia don’t have to kill any jackasses of her own.”
“You justify murder by saying it’s for your daughter’s future? Can you imagine the influence you’ll have on her?” George shot back, quiet but confident.
Marko looked up, red-faced again. “You got a daughter of your own, Stacy. Tell me you haven’t done bad things for her! What about this, huh? Gonna threaten my daughter to get to me? I’d never do that to your girl!”
“Oh, cut the bullshit! How many sons and daughters did you kill while you were in the Maggia?”
“So what?” Marko raised his sand so some of it enclosed around George’s throat. “I’m bad. Yeah, I get it. All I’m saying is you’re no better. My daughter has to live in this shit ghetto because you jailed me! You ever think about that? All you cop assholes? You ever think about the effect you have on the families of the people you arrest? My Keemia is crying in there because of you! She’s living in hell because of you!”
“STOP LYING!” George roared. Suddenly, he could barely breathe, Marko choking him out. Still, shadows in his eyes, he forced himself onward. “I know, Marko…I understand…but every time we dip our hands into the dirt…it ain’t for them…no matter what we tell ourselves…our mistakes are on us.”
Marko hesitated only for a moment, before whispering, “I’ll make this quick.”
George’s response was just as fast, “You kill me, I suck this whole floor into a pocket dimension.”
George nodded down to a bomb in his hand. While they’d talked, he’d slipped it from his belt. Marko eyed it warily.
“Soviet tech. Don’t believe me, fine. Your daughter’s loss,” George guttered out.
“You wouldn’t,” Marko muttered.
“My hands are already dirty. What’s the rest of my arms?” George replied, staring right back. Marko struggled to decide.
SHOOM!
Bullseye. Most of the Sandman got blasted into the wall, freeing George. The vet gasped for air as Kinsey ran to his side, slinging the sonic rifle back over his shoulder.
“Let’s go!” Kinsey demanded.
George nodded, and the two ran down the stairs. They could hear Marko scream after them, but they were already near the exit.
“Nice going! I didn’t think you saw me,” Kinsey said, sprinting out.
George didn’t reply.
“Wait, you saw me, right? I mean, do you even know what that grenade does?” Kinsey continued.
George tossed his rifle to the side in favor of a mini-flamethrower. “It’s not a gateway to a pocket dimension, I can tell you that much.”
Kinsey frowned, but turned back to face the apartment building, drawing his sonic rifle. Marko crashed through a wall and fell to the ground, immediately reforming into an enormous sand man.
“On you, partner,” Kinsey muttered.
“Fire,” George stated. He tossed up the grenade and aimed his flamethrower.
“STOP!”
Suddenly, the grenade was webbed out of the air and into the hands of one white-clad hero. Spider-Woman leaped between the three combatants, holding her arms out wide. Neither cop pulled their trigger. Marko temporarily froze in place.
“Look up,” Spider-Woman demanded.
They did as they were told, only to discover Keemia standing in the hole Marko had created. It was entirely likely that whatever the grenade did, she would be caught in its wake, and it was guaranteed that she’d get caught in the overall crossfire.
“Daddy, stop…” Keemia begged, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Keemia…” Marko managed, gazing up at his daughter.
“You want to fight, fine, but we take this elsewhere,” Spider-Woman said.
“Please, Daddy, stop,” Keemia cried.
Marko stared down at the ground, shrinking into his regular form. He squeezed his fists tightly.
“I’m sorry, Keemia, but this is for you,” he whispered.
Suddenly, the Sandman’s arms shot out past Spider-Woman, knocking both police officers through a fence and into the road. Keemia screamed in shock. Spider-Woman’s lenses widened, but she immediately leaped to action, jumping back to protect the cops. She webbed the grenade to her waist, and then nabbed two garbage can lids, using them to block Sandman’s streams.
“God bless Pick-Up Mondays!”
Meanwhile, George tried to shake away the haze at the edge of his vision. He couldn’t, but he could still see well enough to make out Kinsey’s fallen form. Stumbling, he ran toward the younger officer. Kinsey didn’t react as he shook him. However, upon lowering him back down, fearing the worst, he felt Kinsey’s chest rise and fall. He was breathing!
“Thank Christ…thank Christ…” George muttered, collapsing back.
“Run. For. Safety,” Spider-Woman ordered. “We’ll talk later.”
George looked up at his daughter, wide-eyed. She was risking her life for him, a man who certainly didn’t deserve forgiveness, let alone this sacrifice. There was no way in hell he would leave her. Not ever, and certainly not when he had tools he could use to help her.
George stood and drew his final firearm and immediately unloaded it upon the villain. A jet of water swooshed out and knocked Sandman back.
“Your response to my order—which was totally legit, by the way—was to fire a glorified squirt gun!” Spider-Woman exclaimed.
“Water’s gotta do something, right? It always does in the movies,” George retorted.
“Yeah, I’ve tried that…” Spider-Woman motioned emphatically toward the villain. “All it does is slow him down.”
Sandman didn’t seem to get the memo, because he was surging toward the two like a wave. Spider-Woman’s lenses widened in surprise.
“What the fu—”
She grabbed hold of her father and webbed his partner over her shoulder. At the last second, she dodged out of the way of Sandman’s strike, narrowly avoiding death by drowning. Spider-Woman’s suit shivered with relief as she dropped the two cops to the ground. It could only take so much strain, unstable molecules or not.
“Home base, remind me we need to upgrade the suit,” Spider-Woman muttered into her comms.
“And how exactly are we going to do that?” MJ sassed.
“Ma—Home base, now’s not the time!” Spider-Woman shouted, leaping over another of Sandman’s attacks. His fist had soared just under her.
“Ideas…ideas…” Spider-Woman mumbled, before catching sight of the bomb on her waste. “It could level the block, or…”
She looked back at George and yelled, “Detective! What does this bomb do exactly?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. TURN AROUND!”
Spider-Woman did just that, and nimbly rolled under Sandman’s smash.
“I’m sick of you messing with problems that don’t concern you!” Marko cried out.
Sirens in the distance.
“As if my day couldn’t get worse…” Spider-Woman grumbled.
“Hey, Sandy, mind telling me why the water didn’t slow you down?” Spider-Woman wondered as she continued to dodge his attacks.
“Lady, these are nanites. They can be upgraded,” Sandman confidently stated, bringing his arms down upon the hero. “Not that knowing it matters—you’re dead!”
“God, you are so bright,” Spider-Woman retorted, jumping onto a light pole. “Wanna tell me who upgraded ‘em, too?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Spider-Woman sighed.
“How the hell did he get upgraded so quickly? It’s been a day since you last fought him,” Mary Jane noted.
“A mystery for another time,” Spider-Woman said, leaping into action. “I have an idea.”
As she expected, Sandman struck her last position, tearing the light pole apart. Sparks flew through the air. A jet of water temporarily slowed Sandman down, stopping him from immediately going after Spider-Woman. However, George’s attempt at help proved ultimately fruitless, as the villain quickly dried and turned his attention to the police officer.
“Detective, blast him with all you’ve got,” Spider-Woman demanded, rolling back around to the damaged light pole.
“It won’t stop him!” George protested, despite raising the gun.
“Ya heard the man! Sandman’s invincible!” the villain declared, soaring toward the vet.
“Doesn’t Sandman know it’s so cliché for bad guys to talk in the third person?” Spider-Woman quipped, grabbing two wires from the pole. She flinched at the sudden tingly feeling in her arms, but the suit absorbed most of the shock.
“FIRE!” Spider-Woman shouted.
George pulled the trigger. Sandman’s chest and head sopped with water, but he didn’t slow down. They had seconds till the detective was mincemeat. Spider-Woman pushed off her legs with all her might. Just a second before Sandman reached her father, the heroine drove the electrical wires into his wet form.
ZZZTTTT!!
“RRRAAGGHHH!!” Sandman cried in agony, falling sinking back to the ground.
His wet cells exploded. Quickly enough, only his arms and legs were left intact. However, he did not move. Police cruisers stopped and parked inside the block-turned-battlefield.
“Oh my God…did I kill him?” Spider-Woman whispered, losing her grip on the wires.
“Who cares?” George muttered gravely.
“You can sleep peacefully, Spider-Woman, knowing Sandman is both alive and very much incarcerated,” came a voice both Stacys recognized all too well.
“Norman Osborn…?” Spider-Woman whispered in disbelief as the man himself stepped out of a police cruiser followed by the driver: not a cop, but a man in a suit.
“The one and only,” Norman offered with a handsome smile. He extended his hand, but neither Stacy took it. Recognizing their resentment, he continued, “Flint Marko cannot die so long as a single of his nanite cells remains intact. He’s only indisposed because your blow dealt a—pardon the phrase—shock to his system.”
“You can’t have him. You created him,” Spider-Woman growled. George eyed her, surprised.
Norman appeared unfazed, slyly replying, “I create a great many things.”
When the two met eyes, Gwen somehow knew he recognized her suit, her web shooters, everything. He knew her origin, if not her identity.
“We’ll talk soon. I have…plans for you,” Norman cryptically said, motioning to the suited man, who produced a glass container.
“I’m not Spider-Man. I won’t become your corporate shill,” she retorted.
The suited man bent over Sandman’s remains and collected them inside the container as Norman continued, “Whatever you say, Ms. Stacy.”
Spider-Woman’s jaw dropped.
“Oh shit,” MJ muttered.
George stepped forward. “Listen here, you son of a bitch—“
Norman wagged his finger. “Ah ah ah. It would be so very tragic if the Commissioner was to hear about this…skirmish, wouldn’t it? What would happen to you? To your daughter?”
“What the hell are you playing at?” Spider-Woman asked, more nervous than angry.
“My dear, that’s classified,” he teased, before slipping back into the police cruiser.
Norman Osborn waved back at them as the car disappeared into the crowded New York City streets.
…
"Wake up, Peter," came an all too familiar voice.
"Uncle Ben...?" Peter mumbled, opening his eyes to discover a bright light. He tried to blink away the glow. A shadowy hand reached for him.
"Wake up," Ben continued softly.
The hand gently tapped Peter's face. He blinked again. Everything began to come into focus.
"Is this Heaven...?" he wondered.
"Not quite."
Suddenly everything became clear and Peter found himself lying in the middle of a large room paved with dark stone. He recognized the architecture; this was Doom's castle.
"Oh God. I woke up in Hell," Peter grumbled, sitting upright.
"That's more accurate." Peter now recognized the voice belonged to one Otto Octavius. Cripes. He had imagined his uncle Ben.
"Head trauma's a you-know-what," Peter said, looking at Otto for the first time. "But, boy, am I glad to see you among the land of the living. Unless, of course, we're both dead and actually in Hell, in which case fuck my life. Or afterlife. Why not both?"
"I have seen Hell. It does not compare to Castle Doom," the almighty Dr. Doom declared.
Peter finally took in the rest of the room’s occupants: Doombots galore, Lady Latveria, and the king himself seated upon an iron throne. They appeared to be in, for all intents and purposes, a medieval style courtroom, or in other words the throne room.
Noticing that his suit was intact, and that his body felt undamaged, Peter looked up at Doom, confused. "So, uh, someone mind filling me in? I feel like this is a 'Previously on Lost' moment."
"You see-"
Doom interrupted Otto, saying, "Silence, Octavius. You are my prisoner, and therefore shall speak only when spoken to."
Otto eyed the tyrant with such a fury that Peter had never seen in the good doctor before. Nonetheless, he remained silent, motioning Doom onward.
"Octavius and his peers were arrested shortly after I discovered a bug on the man beside you, just as I learned of your arrival. My reach is without bounds," Doom spouted, before continuing, "The others were released after their innocence was proven, but Octavius was not so lucky-nor virtuous," Doom explained.
"What?" Peter exclaimed, looking between Otto and Doom.
The lord of Latveria continued, "Perhaps you knew not of this conspiracy, Parker. I assume as much, as your record-excluding your deal with Osborn-is clean. You appear to be a hero, nothing more, nothing less. That is why you yet live."
"Osborn bugged you?" Peter furiously asked Otto. "Why?"
The doctor looked ashamedly away. Doom smirked behind his mask.
"Octavius was not simply a spy for Osborn, but for SHIELD as well. The two had concocted a plan to steal Latverian secrets in order to begin a coup, all while negotiating a trade deal. Such a diabolical scheme could not be tolerated," Doom stated.
Suddenly the whole situation became much clearer. Peter knew Osborn was scum, but this? He endangered not just Otto's life, but the life of every other man and woman who came to Latveria to organize a pact with the dictator. Yes, certainly Doom couldn't be trusted, but this plan was just as coldhearted and villainous as anything Doom would pull.
Peter took a deep breath and faced the tyrant. "So, what? Is 'off with their heads' the next step, or are we actually gonna get a fair trial?"
Doom eyed Peter, and took a few moments to think before speaking, "No. You are both guilty of crimes against the state of Latveria and its king. However, I understand you have been played like the pawn you are, Parker." Peter dug his nails into his palms, resisting the urge to scream at the metal monster before him.
Doom continued, "I shall allow you to go..." Relief quickly overtook anger inside Peter. "And to take Octavius with you, as a reward for your bravery in coming here, however foolish. He is of no consequence to Doom. Consider this a warning. Neither SHIELD, nor Osborn nor any spies are welcome in Latveria. If you or any man--spy, scientist, or super'hero'--steps foot into Latveria with ill intent, then that person shall be met with a slow, painful end, and the organization behind the recently deceased's infiltration shall understand why I am called 'Doom.' Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," Peter agreed with a nod.
He grabbed Otto's sleeve, and began to step back. However, Doom stopped them.
"Parker, there is another option for you."
Peter froze.
"I welcome refugees of all types in Latveria, so long as their intent is pure. You are persecuted, a hero ignored by his people. Escape your suffering. Join us. You would be welcomed as the hero you are," Doom said.
"No." The response was instantaneous.
Doom remained still, but Lady Latveria stepped forward and bellowed in anger, "You dare deny Doom’s goodwill?"
"Yeah. I dare. I appreciate the offer, but no thanks," Peter said, all too aware he could have just spelled his downfall.
Lady Latveria's hand rushed to her sword, and she began to draw it before a single motion from Doom reminded her who was in charge.
"Your reply is not unexpected," Doom answered. "But at this time the offer still stands. I am well aware of your 'superhero' career, and one day your public will betray you as quickly as they have embraced you. Know that someone who may be considered a 'masked menace' in the rest of the world will still be welcomed in my country, so long as they follow my rule. Do not say Doom is without compassion. Go now, and inform Norman Osborn that he is still but an insect to Doom, and that he can live the rest of his short, meaningless life in the agony he brings to himself," he coolly said.
…
“Agony. You have to play that up. You’re in agony. Now give me your best ‘in pain’ face,” Gwen said.
George looked sternly back at his daughter. “Gwen…”
“Not bad,” she stammered on, “But you could, uh—”
“Gwen, they’ve already checked me over. They bought the story. For all they know, Kinsey and I were beaten down by masked thugs. I’m fine,” George repeated for the third time, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off and turned away. “Good. Yeah, great. In that case, I’ll just go ahead—.”
“Gwen, please,” George begged, “We need to talk about this.”
“Santa, all I want for Christmas is to go home and sleep,” Gwen half-heartedly joked.
“I understand this is the coping mechanism you’ve developed since becoming…becoming Spider-Woman, but Gwen, just look at me and talk to me seriously. How do you feel?” George said.
Gwen met her father’s gaze, venom in her eyes. “You really wanna do this? Here? In front of his room?”
Gwen motioned to the door beside them. Kinsey was just behind it, resting, recovering, his family at his bedside. He’d suffered damage to the nerves around his spine. There was a chance he wouldn’t be able to walk again.
George faltered. Gwen rolled her eyes.
“That’s what I thought. You’re a coward, Dad.” She began to walk away. “I’m gonna spend the holidays at a friend’s. Call me if you want. Preferably don’t.”
George didn’t try to stop her as she left, despite how much he wanted to. He knew the risks. Whether the department discovered the weapons they’d hidden or not, whether he continued on as a cop or not, he didn’t care. He just wanted to keep his daughter by his side, but he had always known there was a chance he would lose her. It had come to that.
“Goddammit,” he whispered, collapsing back against the door to Kinsey’s room. He held his head in his hands. Tears crept between his fingers.
It had come to that.
…
Peter and Otto discovered a jet out at the border waiting for them. As it turned out, Doom had allowed the SHIELD vehicle a one-time pass, under the assumption that if they tried anything, every SHIELD operative in the area, including Peter and Otto, would die. Of course, that didn’t mean Doom let them leave alone. Lady Latveria and a legion of Doombots escorted them to the plane. The Latverian super soldier shot Peter a venomous glare in farewell. He teasingly waved back.
Next up, Agent DeWolff.
“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I just did,” Peter quipped to DeWolff in greeting.
The SHIELD agent’s lip slipped up into a smirk. She motioned Otto into the plane. He passed her, offering only a nod in thanks. This was one experience you couldn’t shake immediately.
“I’d ask ‘how’d it go,’ but considering you can still crack stupid jokes it couldn’t have been that bad,” DeWolff retorted.
“Har har,” Peter replied, nearly passing DeWolff before he stopped, the agent’s badge reminding him of something.
“The insider, the agent I was supposed to meet, what about them? What happened to them?” Peter asked.
DeWolff looked grimly away. “We lost him.”
Peter’s heart sunk.
“Agent Cherkov defected,” DeWolff finished.
Peter frowned. That wasn’t quite what he expected. First the dictator released them, and now Peter learned that Doom was capable of luring one of the good guys to his side? That begged the question: just who were the good guys? Was Doom so bad after all? His people didn’t seem depressed, let alone oppressed. Some of Doom’s tactics seemed unorthodox, possibly even cruel, and yet….
“God, being an adult sucks,” Peter exclaimed, entering the plane.
“Tell me about it,” DeWolff agreed, although she couldn’t know what he was thinking.
Peter chose to ignore the comment. However, he just couldn’t shake the thought that a king named ‘Doom’ could potentially be one of the good guys. What did that say about people? What did that say about Osborn? Was there goodness in him?
Sometimes answers weren’t simple. Other times, there wasn’t one at all.
…
Epilogue
Peter tried to sneak in through the front door, but failed spectacularly. Both May and Gwen heard him enter, and turned to face him. They each held ornaments in their hands, and had on Santa hats. Gwen in particular had embraced the holiday season. She wore an ugly Christmas sweater and equally geeky stockings. Standing atop a ladder, she had just placed a decoration high up on the tree for May. While Peter’s aunt immediately smiled upon his arrival, Gwen appeared relatively blank-faced.
“Um…I brought eggnog?” Peter held up a bottle of the holiday drink. He shrugged. “It’s non-alcoholic, because, y’know…eighteen.”
“It’s wonderful! You know I don’t like to drink, anyway,” May said, rushing over to him. She took the bottle from his hand, and looked knowingly between the two lovebirds. “Now, I’m going to pour us a few glasses, and I’ll be back in a minute!”
“Welcome back, Peter.” May pecked him on the cheek, gave him a demanding look, and nodded back at Gwen. Without anything else to say, she hurried into the kitchen.
Left alone, the two teenagers gazed away from one another. After a few moments, Peter managed to look up at Gwen.
“I can explain—“
“—I can’t do this right now. Please, just don’t,” she interrupted.
Gwen climbed down the ladder and began to march toward him. Peter prepared himself for an angry outburst, a slap, anything. However, when she neared him, Gwen threw herself into his arms. Surprised at first, he froze. Slowly, he steadied himself and embraced her.
“I’m so sorry, Gwen,” Peter said, nuzzling her.
“Me too,” she mumbled back.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I—“
“Peter…”
The boy quieted. He caressed her hair, and took in the moment. The smell of her shampoo. The warmth of her body. The relief he felt whenever she was near. That was what he fought for. That was why he couldn’t lose to Osborn…and why he couldn’t lose her.
“Gwen, I’m making a New Year’s Resolution—“
“—it’s not even Christmas yet—“
“Please. Just listen…my New Year’s Resolution is to be there for you every day. Any time. Whenever you ask, I’m there. I promise.”
Gwen took a deep breath, and then whispered under her breath, “Peter…don’t make promises you can’t keep…”
Peter leaned back just a tad. “What was that?”
Gwen pulled him close. “Nothing.”
He frowned, but didn’t push any further. Instead, the two enjoyed the comfort they found in one another. When May returned with glasses of eggnog, they drank it happily. They spent the night putting up decorations and singing along to carols. They joked and laughed. They told stories and told lies. Both Peter and Gwen knew it, too.
They lied about their days. They lied about their jobs. They lied about their lives, and no one was fooled into thinking it was the truth.