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Spectacular Spider-man Seasons 3, 4 and 5	By : redsliver Category: Marvel Verse Cartoons > Spectacular Spiderman, The Views: 23572 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, The Spectacular Spider-man or any of the characters within. This is written not for profit and purely for entertainment. May contain traces of wheat germ.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
History 306 - Dates and Figures

“You’ve stopped selling pictures of Spider-man.” Captain George Stacy leaned against the lip of his desk. His classroom was empty but for one student. Peter Parker was unsettled with poor posture in the front row seat. He was here with an uncharacteristic excused absence from his biology class. Leaning on his wrists as the teenager looked at Spider-man’s ally and the father of the woman he loved. He truly loved Gwen. What he felt for Liz, MJ and Cat were harder to categorize.

“Disagreement with J Jonah,” Peter declared tersely.

“Gargan?” So understanding, George was just a solid good man. Peter hated lying to him, so he dodged the core of everything. “That was just the straw that broke the spider’s back.”

** ** ** ** ** **

“Hello Nurse!” Sergeant Stan Carter was covering a shift as a favor for Al O’Neil a less decorated member of the force. Besides, there were worse beats than sitting outside the hospital room of a comatose supervillain. Turns out the view was desirable as well.

“Hello Sergeant!” The nurse, a tall black woman with the hint of an accent called back with a bright smile. She was wheeling a cart with bedpans, a box of latex gloves and assorted brushes, sponges and bottles. She made her way towards a small closet near the next turn in the hallway. She gave one last flashing smile back towards the sergeant. The smile left her face the moment the door separated line of sight with her and the policeman. She had felt the eyes on her backside. Her eyes went wide when she saw the same sergeant, stripped to his underpants and trussed up on the floor of the closet. The stiff hand at her back hurried her into the closet before she could turn on the man with the scalpel she had taped to her wrist.

“Cool down, Calypso,” The familiar voice came from the unfamiliar face. “I only came to check on Sergei as well.”

“Dmitri.” Calypso acknowledged with a flat stare. There was only one man who could steal a face and voice as successfully.

“The doctors are quite capable. Bromwell instills a great deal of trust in his competence.” The Chameleon explained to the black woman. “Sergei’s augmentations... They encourage his recovery.”

The man on the floor grunted and Calypso silenced him with a short kick from the back of her heel. “Is he awake?”

“No, but the coma is instilled not a symptom. Sergei is too strong and risks hurting himself greatly if he moves too much before healing.” Calypso leaned into the soft stroke of her cheek. “My brother has faced greater odds.”

“He has overcome them all,” Calypso agreed, “Except for Spider-man.”

“I have noticed. I have my own reasons and my own plans to deal with Spider-man.” Chameleon declared. “Sergei just makes things more important.”

“I will not sit idly by,” Calypso declared.

“Nor would I have you do so.” From inside the New York Police Department uniform he pulled out several photographs and a folded printout.

“What are these?” Calypso asked, a dark smile expanding on her lips as she shuffled through each picture. A snort of derision was followed by a triumphant laugh.

“They show a weapon I suspect you would have no difficulty in wielding.” Stan Carter’s grin was almost demonic when Chameleon made use of it.

“Very well, Dmitri,” Calypso pocketed the pictures and note, “I will be going to Florida.”

** ** ** ** ** **

She[1] felt naked driving the Porsche. Her uniform replaced with, ugh, civvies. She was wearing a discreet black dress under a dark blue coat and her hair was falling loose without her chauffeur’s cap. She attached the forged placard on the rearview mirror and entered Oscorp through a side gate. The visitor’s pass clipped to her lapel encouraged the security guard to say nothing as he looked her over. She approached his desk.

“I’m looking for Morris Bench.[2]” She explained.

“Sixth floor. Room 616. Take the left out of the elevator.” The guard[3] answered after a quick check of his computer.

“Thank you,” She smiled and turned before she received one in return. She walked quickly, purposefully. The elevator was rapid and she rode alone. Morris wasn’t in his office but in a drafting workshop across the hall. He was looking over blueprints of the oil tanker that had exploded in the harbor a few months ago. He was getting good mileage out of his red Sharpie.

“Mr Bench.” She alerted him from the door. He looked up.

“It’s Morrie. Can I help you? Miss...” He asked. He enjoyed looking her over as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“Miss Jenkins, if you must. My employer would like to request your services.” She announced. Her short heeled shoes still clicked as she walked over to him.

“I’ve got my hands full with this contract to clear out the Hudson.” He explained with a soft smile, “I wouldn’t be much use to your boss until I clear my plate.”

“My employer offers great incentives.” Jenkins explained. She sneered when he took that opportunity to look her up and down.

“Such as?” Morrie saw no harm in listening.

“Paying your mortgage for your support. Explaining to the cops how you supplied Doctor Octopus with undocumented Oscorp explosives for your refusal.” She watched the color clear from his face. His lips twisted in a grimace and he contemplated punching this smug bitch.The satisfying fantasy of her broken nose kept him calm. He stood up and squirreled away his offense and anger.

“What do you need of me?”

“Your expertise, your time and your signature.” She explained and he followed her as she left.

** ** ** ** ** **

“Mary Jane! You were needed 5 minutes ago. Chop chop!” MJ learned one the earliest skills needed as a model was running from the dressing area to the studio and back in the most awkward of shoes. Her rapid click click click raced with enough poise to contain the hair the stylist had required more time on.

“Mr Parker, you're not going to hold me up now?” Desiree Vaughn-Pope demanded when his camera didn’t instantly raise up.

“No ma’am,” Peter said, his sarcastic smile lighting up the redhead model in front of him.

“Revanna Number 5 is to be sold with aloofness and confidence. So wipe the smile off, Mary Jane,” Vaughn-Pope demanded.

“Now that sounds like a quick way to lose money.” Roderick Kingsley’s voice set all employees in the studio into better posture. He and his protection, Jason, strode in with all the confidence of kings.

“What brings you down to my neck of the woods, Mr Kingsley?” The director managed to coat every falsely polite syllable in venom.

“Just because I have my plate full with Oscorp doesn’t mean I can neglect the rest of my business.” Roderick Kingsley had a gracious smarminess that sunk under the skin of Peter Parker. MJ’s eyebrow rose as she watched the photographer’s face.

“Well, this interruption is costing you money.” Vaughn-Pope shrugged. “But inspect as you will, all things are working at otherwise peak performance.”

“Not quite what the accountants are telling me,” Kingsley announced. The words entering the air like a slap to the face. He stepped passed the woman and towards Peter. “Where do I know you from photographer?”

“He was with the Bugle reporter at the Oscorp ceremony.” Jason explained from his perch at Kingsley’s shoulder. The perfume magnate seemed to prefer getting his information from his security than from Peter himself. Peter attempted to speak again and was just as quickly overstepped.

“I’m surprised you forgot. You found me on his arm.” MJ flashed her smile. Roderick took one of her hands.

“I’m surprised I remembered my name after meeting you.” The redhead blushed and Peter felt himself grinding his teeth. Quickly, he noticed both Desiree and Jason were looking at him. The woman approved; the man did not. Kingsley turned to the director once again, “Is Lily in the back?”

“She’s preparing for her next shoot.” Vaughn-Pope confirmed.

“She’ll have to reschedule.” Kingsley announced.

“I can go fetch her,” MJ stepped down from the platform and out of the bright lights.

“Thank you, Mary,” Kingsley smiled broadly and MJ found herself brushing her hair back over her ear. Her green eyes went wide in question when they met Peter’s barely concealed scowl. She was getting quite good at hurrying in stilettos.

The backroom was only separated from the studio by a heavy curtain. More than likely, Lily who was sitting at the row of vanity tables, had heard the conversation outside. She was still taking the time to double check her makeup. MJ came up over Lily’s right shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Mr Kingsley’s come to pick you up?” MJ was not much of a gossip. Talk about what happened last night or who and who got together always bored her. She was more of a what’s next kind of girl. Impending gossip stoked her interest.

“Yes we’re going to dinner with my dad.” Lily explained. She decided that she needed new earrings. She took some dangly silver and diamond ones to replace her gold loops.

“Sounds serious,” MJ decided but she watched Lily shake her head with a laugh. MJ’s eyes went wide. “You’re going out with him for your career?”

“No, that’s just a quick way to destroy any credible reputation you could hope to have. Word of that gets out and that kind of press will follow you to the end of your short career.” Lily turned in her chair and took MJ by her hands. “Look if the opportunity for you to join someone like Roderick Kingsley in bed, do it because his looks, his personality or his power excites you. Sex should be more than falling onto a sword to further the campaign.”

“Uh,” MJ didn’t know how to respond to that. Her gears turned but they felt like they were caked in rust and grinding to a halt. “Is that why you and Mr Kingsley…”

“Not at all,” Lily flashed her money making smile. “He wants to support my dad’s campaign for mayor.”

‘Oh! Your dad’s Bill Hollister!” MJ put the facts together. “I thought, with the Oscorp party and--”

“We’re not dating, but it is often lucrative to have a supermodel on your arm.” Lily interrupted. “Besides, I like those kinds of parties. That’s where I met you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” MJ pondered, “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lily stood up and gave MJ a Hollywood hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to help my dad win. The city needs a great man like him.”

“Really? He’s no Carlos Danger.” MJ sniffed in sarcastic derision. Lily Hollister couldn’t look MJ in the face again as she laughed her way to meet Roderick Kingsley.

** ** ** ** ** **

“You sure that’s the best move?” George asked. His voice was touched with fatherly concern and police interrogation.

“He put me and my friends in danger! He had his hand in creating the Scorpion! How can I trust him?” Peter slumped down. There was something in Stacy blue eyes that cut right through him. It made the teenaged superhero think of Uncle Ben and even of Norman Osborn. The sting settled deeper.

“He’s predictable. He hates Spider-man.” The captain explained. “He also has respect for the law and for the safety and well being of his employees. Gargan wasn’t dangerous when he was following you.”

“I can’t believe you’d defend him!” Pain fuels outrage and Peter was looking vicious.

“I have to defend all of the people in this city.” George narrowed his eyes, “Anyone who takes on the mantle of protector knows: You can’t pick and choose.”

** ** ** ** ** **

Peter Parker needed to blow off steam. Three jobs, a stifling curfew, school, money troubles, a best friend who hated him, a love who couldn’t be with him, other women who kept his head spun like a top, and a responsibility to protect the city he called home. Luckily, the last weight on his shoulders came with some pretty impressive benefits. The Atlantic wind and New York lights whipped by the young hero as he swept unhindered above the Thursday evening traffic. Three motorcycles ducked and weaved dangerously through traffic. They were chasing an old fashioned blue car that seemed to have the most capable stunt driver ever trained. Lagging behind Spider-man, were several panel vans stuck behind the mess left in the wake of the chase.

Spider-man didn’t recognize the car, but he did notice the machine pistols strapped to the back of the motorcyclists.

The lights seemed to stretch in the speed. Cutting lights created red and gold squares as the cars ducked into and around traffic. The shrill bark of horns and the high pitched screech of rubber and asphalt billowed up from the streets.The helmeted soldiers slowed little. Their control over their bikes was masterful. They still watched in frustrated awe as the old clunker of a car they chased pitched and weaved through the traffic. A garbage truck twisted hard to avoid a head on collision. The motorcycles just split and rushed around as the sound of glass doors shattering disappeared behind them. They didn’t look back; they were going too fast and they didn’t dare discover the etymology behind “breakneck speed”.

“Spider-man!” The driver of the garbage truck gasped as he found himself on a web hammock stretched between two street lights. He watched New York’s hero fly off thinking, “Great just when my wife stopped believing the ‘Spider-man made me late for dinner excuse.’” At least tonight he didn’t smell like his sister-in-law’s perfume.

The chase was still weaving through the streets of New York. The flash of police lights and the call of sirens were still too far off to matter. The air was beat with the sound of helicopter blades. The first police chopper didn’t pitch when the web connected to its belly. The hero hanging from it shouted for joy as his arc slingshotted Spider-man into the fray.

The middle motorcycle was beginning to trail. He was using his wider angle to spit warnings and orders to the others while he looked for his own opening to catch up. He smirked behind the black plastic of his motorcycle helmet as he swerved onto the sidewalk. A woman screamed as she dived out of the way. He slammed into a pyramid sign advertising $5 hamburger platter with purchase of drink. The wooden planks snapped together, twisting as he had hit them from the left edge. The smack of wood and steel suggested they had collided with the trunk of a parked sedan. He gunned the throttle. His math was good. The mess of the street was only getting worse and he intended to jump an overturned hot dog cart and land in a relatively free lane that would speed him up along the left side of the careening car. His motorcycle made the landing beautifully before it fell empty to the left and spun out and against a parking meter.

“Spider-man’s here!” he screamed into his radio. He dangled in the web that had seemed to arise instantly before him. He watched Spider-man, his colleagues and the huge payday flashed around the next right turn. He thought it couldn’t get any worse as the woman he almost knocked down started screaming bloody murder and beating his legs with her purse. What did she keep in that thing? Bricks?

The classic car rolled up on two wheels as it swung into and through the arm of a car park. The splinters of plastic were blasted all over the front of a small Toyota that was squealing as it accelerated backwards and out of the way of the driver.

“Second level,” Hammerhead crossed his fingers in his lap as his driver complied. His knuckles cracked. These upstarts were about to learn why Hammerhead had risen to second both to Silvermane and to Tombstone. His shoulders rolled and his neck echoed his knuckles. Jenkins avoided the smile he wore when she looked to her rearview mirror.

“I’m starting to hate parking garages,” Spider-man announced. He swung into the six story carpark on the fifth level. “Well at least this time I won’t have to team up with Rhino.” He slipped seamlessly to the shadows, giving up little speed as he descended to meet the motorcyclists and the car. He pulled up his sleeve and the hem of his shirt. The cartridge quickly clicked into place.

The exits were blocked. Unless Hammerhead decided to take his car straight off the edge of the higher floors, he was caged. The motorcycles were stashed on the lower floor. Each soldier slung his submachine gun to his hand. They each had two extra clips under their jackets. A big knife and a pistol completely their arsenal. It was going to be a few minutes before their reinforcements arrived. They had three options, complete the mission just the two of them, hold out for reinforcements, or pin down Hammerhead. They cocked their guns and hustled up to their target.

Jenkins had the car idling in front of the elevators. She triple checked her sidearm. She never once looked over her shoulder to check on Hammerhead. She knew he was good. He wouldn’t be dead until he told her he was.

“Courtesies of the big man!” The bullets started slamming into the car. The lucite glass started spider webbing from the impact. The armored panels started to dent. Jenkins rolled her window down nine and a quarter millimeters.

“Tomby’s still giving gifts?” The first soldier, who was giving cover fire was spun around as the web connected with his wrists. The single bullet from the car clipped the soldier’s shoulder. “I thought he was kicked out of our Secret Santa.”

Spider-man accented this with a kick to sending the stooge onto his back. The hero proceeded to strike quick tableaux out of the path of three small calibre bullets. “Hey hold off until I can get to you! There’s still another goon to take down first!”

There was a steel and bone crack. From the left side of the car collapsed the body of the other foot soldier. Hammerhead stepped out and cracked his knuckles.

“No need Webhead,” Hammerhead smirked, “I saved this dance for you.”

“Hammy!” Spider-man flung his arms opened, “I was so worried! You should have left a note.”

Partly to jump out of the way of another bullet, Spider-man dived at Hammerhead. The mobster had his reinforced skull down and was charging. Spider-man had thrown himself into a spear tackle. They collided shoulder to shoulder. Hammerhead’s heavier body carried nearly as much momentum as Spidey’s faster one. The pair collapsed into a heap. He only managed to hop back, and then cartwheel left, by the smallest of margins. Hammerhead’s knuckles left a divot in the asphalt. Jenkins’ bullet whistled A-flat passed the spider’s ear.

“Boss!” Jenkins one word carried several warnings and two alerts. A black panel van wobbled onto the scene. A pineapple grenade clattered next to Hammerhead. He’d have been caught in the blast if Spidey didn’t snatch the weapon in his web and throw it far away from the battle. The air rippled in concussion. Spider-man managed to turn himself out of line of shrapnel. Hammerhead’s fist collided with the small of his back. The hero collapsed onto the ground with a grumble.

“We got the exits covered!” The side and back of the van opened releasing five soldiers. The elevator doors crinkled as explosions blasted behind them. “Whoever kills the traitor gets an additional two shares.”

“Any bonus for Spidey?”

“Same as always.” Five shooters grinned as they replaced magazines. Bloodlust and greed fought for supremacy.

Hammerhead slammed the door behind him. He picked up a radio detonator from the seat on his left. “We set?”

Jenkins answered by putting the car into gear. Her foot slammed down on the accelerator. She clipped the first mook as Spider-man gathered himself up onto his feet. Hammerhead was rushing for the concrete lip that prevents cars from driving off the edge.

“Hey boys, you can get your own date.” The sharpness of Spider-man’s quip died as the tingles hit him harder than the grenade had. “No! Get out!” He shouted. His own web pulling him out and away from the parking garage. He watched aghast as the old car broke through the barrier flying over a small promenade, aiming for the street. The whole second floor blasted outward. Rippling detonations moving outward, collapsing the dust and debris inward.

“No…” Peter only managed to snatch his camera a heartbeat before that area started to collapse. Angry and in disbelief he raced around the perimeter of ruin. He wanted Hammerhead. How hard could it be to find an old model car riddled with bullet wounds in this city?

Minutes before his curfew, he collapsed into his bed. Frustration stepped aside for exhaustion. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his spider-shirt.

** ** ** ** ** **

Felicia Hardy owned more clothes than just white furred catsuits. In truth, she had spent a significant portion of her profits expanding her wardrobe. However, she only liked to wear jewelry that she had stolen. The gold kittens in her earlobes and the Stuyvesant tiger resting above her cleavage were her favorites. She wore her dress like she was born to it. The slide and shift of the skirt flashed her long perfect legs. She moved without hurry. The steward hurried ahead of her to make certain she didn’t have to reach for a door. She was stylish enough to project an air of invisibility upon the help. This was a meeting a long time coming.

“Miss Hardy, you’re as lovely as they say,” The man she was meeting was the youngest of the three minds that had built Tri-Corp. He was also the most eccentric. His interests expanded beyond the scientific. This meeting room was a testament to his hobbies. Old manuscripts were protected under glass display cases. Ancient relics stood on pedestals. The thief took in the veritable gold mine of ancient art and suppressed her urges. Few men would pay quite as much as he had for the baubles. That was why Felicia carried the steel briefcase in her left hand.

He was kept out of Tri-Corp’s public face. His proclivities and deviances from science would reflect poorly on the leading research and development company. These were only the first reasons. The rest was understandable the moment you saw Michael. His skin was gaunt and pale. His hair was unmanaged and limp. A wheelchair was readily available in the corner of his room. He hid a red splotched handkerchief in his coat pocket. Yet, he still managed to wear the nine thousand dollar suit as well as she wore her gown.

“I doubt that. Words cannot begin to express my loveliness,” Felicia walked over to him and allowed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Now Mr.--”

“Please Miss Hardy,” He took her hand and led her way to the long table where a decanter of brandy waited. He held her seat and pushed it in for her. She smiled at his gentlemanly way, “Call me Michael.[4]”

“Very well Michael,” Felicia never offered her first name. She lifted the briefcase and set it on the table. “Shall we start with business?”

“You have been a bad kitten,” Michael took his own seat. A tremor preventing him from maintaining his confident posture, “Tri-Corp has lost considerably to your incursions.”

“If I had any belief you would contact me as you had for a trial or a vendetta, I would’ve taken other actions,” Felicia pressed, “We can flirt if you must but let’s leave the unprovable accusations for another time.”

“I look forward to it,” Michael smiled. His hands offered the brandy. Felicia begged off with a smile but he poured one for himself.

“I notice the Urn of Morbius in your display. Does this dagger finally complete your collection?” Felicia allowed Michael is first drink before resuming her question.

“I’ve come to admire you Miss Hardy,” Michael evaded. “You’re resilience, successes and beauty.”

“A man of taste,” Felicia smiled allowing him to dodge her question.

“I am dying.” Michael explained. “I spent all my life as a student of science, biology, medicine. I have come to believe science has failed me. Failed me in part, without it I’d have been long dead, my blood poisoning me from the inside. So, I must surrender or strive for other means. Legends and myths proven tangible thanks to you and those who share your talents.”

Felicia’s eyes roamed the room. She had acquired the books under the display case against the north wall. Michael stood up as she catalogued each item. Many had disappeared from museums or private collections. Michael made his way over to a large vase. “As you’ve noticed, this is my most recent addition.”

“And?” Felicia pressed.

“The stories are quite clear. With your latest gift,” Felicia bristled at the implications of his word choice but held her tongue. Michael gripped the display case as another tremor mocked his projected confidence. “I have received a lease on life I had tried not to bank on. This all thanks to your singular skills.”

“I welcome the compliment, Michael,” She answered. “But I am more open to tangible benefits.”

“Three million dollars.” Michael expressed without hesitation. “Has been allocated over the Cayman Island and Swiss bank account numbers you have provided me.” He began making his measured way back to his seat and to his drink.

“I don’t usually expect a tip.” Felicia replied guardedly.

“Sometimes it is as important to move money as it is to make money,” Michael’s voice was growing hoarse. His hand shook when he reached for the decanter. His eyes twisted in consternation. Felicia responded immediately, she poured an ounce into two different glasses. Felicia understood money. It had several purposes, the first and foremost was to keep score. She was doing quite well in that regard. As she toasted with Michael, watching the gratitude in his eyes for not treating him like an infirm but treating as drinking partner. She considered some of money’s other uses. She didn’t want a chain holding her. She would have her man scramble the direction Michael’s money flowed until following it would be impossible.

“So what is next?” Felicia asked. She liked working for Michael. She had looked forward to this face to face. Now, she considered the benefits of keeping the man behind his mystery.

“Next I need someone with a different set of skills, I’m afraid.” Michael put down his empty glass a heartbeat after Felicia’s.

“A wizard?” Felicia taunted through a smile.

“Nearly,” Michael gave a charming smile. “Now will you join me for dinner?”

“I’m afraid not,” Felicia stood. Michael followed. They shared another hug and a light peck. “But you know that sometimes the Cat needs to be let out to play.”

** ** ** ** ** **

Gwen sighed. She sat on the edge of her bed. This was always when it was most difficult. The moments she had to herself stung. Questions and condemnations heaped self-destructively upon her own psyche.

Harry was amazing. He was affectionate, witty, and caring. He could be selfish and inconsiderate, but only at his worst. She had seen less of that since Harry's dad died. It scared her a little. He had been so driven. He had been determined to be the man his dad imagined he could be. Now, it was like he had given up. She was terrified for him. A recovering drug addict needed something, needing a purpose. Gwen became that need for Harry. She had given up her own need for Peter. When she was with Harry, she was letting herself like it.

Gwen Stacy fell back on her bed. She closed her eyes.

"Two slices," Harry ordered.

"Anything to drink?"

"Coke for me, diet for her," Harry collected their food and led Gwen out of the restaurant.

"This is delicious," Gwen announced after bite one.

"What did I tell you?" Harry said smugly. "And now for the funniest movie ever made."

"Airplane?" Gwen prompted.

"What? No. I was talking about The Big Lebowski."

"Well," Gwen smiled, "You're wrong."

"That sounds like challenge, Miss Stacy," Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You know it is Mr Osborn," The parallelism was a poor choice and for a moment Gwen recoiled at the darkness that she saw in Harry's eyes. "We can watch them at my place."

"My place is closer," Harry steeled himself, "Plus I have the better TV."

"OK, I just have to call Dad and tell him where we're ending up." Harry took Gwen's bottle out of her hand while she dialed her dad.

"Hey Dad," Gwen found some cheeriness. "No, not yet. We're going to watch some movies at Harry's. Yeah, his mom will be there. And Houseman. He'll drive me home. Love you, too."

"Sometimes he can be so-" Gwen grumbled as she put her phone back into her purse.

"Nothing wrong with worrying about such an amazing girl," Harry smiled.

"Do you always have to be so nice?" Gwen mumbled through a smile.

"Yes," Harry deadpanned, "Your dad has a gun."

"Fair," Gwen laughed. They walked in amiable silence, mouths full of soda and pizza until they arrived at Harry's.

"May I take your jacket?" Harry offered gentlemanly. Gwen had a private smile as Harry took the windbreaker from her shoulders. He immediately handed it to the passing butler and led her to the family room.

Pepperoni heartburn and sidesplitting laughter eventually bent Gwen Stacy in half. Harry's hand settled on her shoulder and she was watching the second movie laid out across the couch with her head in Harry's lap.

She kept looking up. Determined to see that Harry was laughing at Leslie Nielsen as hard as she was. Soon their kiss was slow. Soon their kiss was sweet. Gwen's kneejerk reaction, her conscious reaction, was to pull away. Soon the signal reached her brain and combated with all the years of affection, all the years of wondering and hormonal curiosity. He was a great kisser. Gwen didn't stop Harry when she was laid out under him. Gwen didn't stop Harry when his hands started running over her clothes.

"I love you, Gwen," Harry spoke into her lips.

"I--" Gwen was slow enough that Harry interrupted a reply with another kiss. He was over her. His knee between her hip and the couch. His other foot straight to the floor. Tingles scaled her spine as his hand slid across the edge her breast. She pushed up on his chest.

"What if your mom walks in?" She turned her blue eyes to the arch that separated the family room from the entrance. Harry kissed the corner of her mouth. He rose up. She shimmied. Her skirt clad legs still knee to knee under Harry's thighs. She sat up, facing him. Her butt pushed against the arm of the sofa. His hand slowly stroked her upper arm. She reached out and laced their fingers.

"Then she will see enough to turn your cheeks pink," Harry smiled sincerely beneath wolfish eyes. For the first time, since he came back from Europe, since he asked her to be his girlfriend, since she had chosen his health over her heart, Gwen kissed Harry. She held him from both sides of his face. Her kiss was soft affection. Harry had never pushed, an easy flow towards a hormonal intended goal. Gwen never felt like she couldn't keep ahead of it. Still, it was an inexorable force. Each moment promising a next. Now, she was anticipating it. Later, she might hate herself for it.

Her left leg hooked down. Her socked toes grazed the carpet. The back of her calf pulled on Harry's. He came forward, deepening her kiss with his eagerness. Her hair fell back as her torso arched up against him. She murmured sweetly.

His hands resumed, faint, at the sides of her breasts. He may have been counting her ribs. He took in all of her from her hips to her shoulders. On the second pass she laid her hand upon his wrist. She led him down and away. Their kiss broke at the hem of her blouse. They looked into each other's eyes. They rested their foreheads together.

"I--" Harry was interrupted this time. She squeezed his wrist and pushed with her mouth. The tip of her tongue butting heads with his own.
The AC was apparent as the first wisps of cool air slithered across her navel. Gwen wouldn't break their kiss. Gwen wouldn't let go of Harry's hand. Her pink top was bunching up under her breasts. He wasn't pushing anymore. She parted.

"We don't have to."

"You want to."

"Of course I do," Harry smiled. Her eyes wandering down Gwen's soft body. She had worn one piece swimsuits on their excursion South. This was the first time he had seen the soft white skin of her belly. He lowered himself. She looked on wide eyed. The blush on her cheeks was peeking out under her top. He kissed her, right against the belly button. Ticklish, nervous, aroused, confused, Gwen giggled. Her hands slapped over her mouth. Her top fell down onto Harry's nose. His eyes were threatening, when she couldn't see his smile. The predatory green eyes sent a counter set of tingles up her spine. She bit her bottom lip as her instinct was to open her knees beneath him.

"I'm not ready for third base," Gwen rushed out. she could not be sure who she was talking to. Harry projected an air of victory. He wasted little time, not forcing further but not giving Gwen an inch of breathing room to retreat from this. Her arms whipped up as Harry pulled the garment high and off of her body.

Panic. Fears of the smallness of her chest, the plainness of her bra. Her mind battled with insecurity. Her shoulders shivered. Her eyes grew watery. Panic.

"My God you're beautiful," Inspired awe was not an outcome Gwen could have predicted. Harry's eyes were swishing over her chest. He leaned and kissed her in the pit of her throat. She arched back, staring up at the ceiling fixture. Heightened awareness from the hypersensitized state. Gwen saw the lights with profound revelation. Her mind demanding that every sense become as overloaded as touch. The smooth leather couch made its imperfections known against her back. Her palms were sweating. Her eyelashes wouldn't stop flickering in front of her eye. Each breath struggled into her lungs and seared out over her lips.

Harry kissed his way down. Gwen jumped when she felt his hands land on the cups of her bra. He grasped her stronger than she thought she had wanted. Her fingers roughly traveled over the waviness of his hair.

"Holy crap," Gwen whimpered. She had felt him nip at the top of her breasts' swell. She slipped her hands to the back of his neck. She had no idea whether she would pull him tighter or push his shoulders off of her body. Her body twitched with nervous uncertainty. Her knee rose up against his butt. "Harry!"

Her voice had carried little more than a whisper. She looked into his eyes. Struggling to see passed the hunger and pride. Where was his fear? All she saw was the excitement. He was so present. The stiff member pushing through his pants and against her skirt, how big was it? It felt enormous and she was only feeling the base as the rest rose towards Harry's abdomen.

She went rigid as the wire of her bra rose up. Harry sank. The pink of her nipples had crinkled into short edifices of lust. The pale circle was hard to distinguish from the slight flesh it topped. Gwen let go of Harry. Her hands once again slapped over her mouth. Every muscle in her jaw was tight to the point of aching. There was a scream at the bottom of her throat and she wasn't letting it out.

Harry lapped his tongue against her nipple. Her feet and knees kicking as she felt her eyes threaten to roll back. She risked gulping in a breath of air. He pulled her nipple with her teeth and she grabbed for him, her hand cupping around his ear as she whimpered.

"It is time to take your girlfriend home," Emily Osborn interrupted. Gwen shouted and scrambled out and over the arm of the sofa.

The movie had ended some time ago. Gwen, flushing red from forehead to navel, rolled her bra back down over her breasts. Harry passed Gwen her top even as she wouldn't meet his eyes. When she was dressed: she finally breathed. Emily was gone.

Gwen opened her eyes, staring at her ceiling. She was dressed up in her PJs. The ceiling was looking particularly intense tonight. She turned her head to the closet. Her old stuffed dog was in there. She was seriously contemplating dragging the four foot beast and snuggling up to it like she did in grade school. She rolled onto her back.

Fingernails ran over her lips as her eyes drifted closed. Her other hand fingered the top button of her pajamas. The man she always took to her bed, in her mind, was Peter. Now behind her eyes she saw Harry's face. She opened her eyes again.

Sleep didn't come easily tonight.

** ** ** ** ** **

“That must be a lot of responsibility.” Peter calmed down. He looked up at George.

“But its a responsibility I’ve taken upon myself,” George agreed. “What a man does and who a man is is defined by the decisions he stands by.”

“Yeah, my uncle used to say something like that,” Peter agreed.

“Ben Parker was a good man,” George admitted. “I see a lot of him in the man you’re becoming Peter.”

“Thanks,” Peter hadn’t realized how much he had needed this. Just a word from a man he respected. Recognition of who Peter Parker was. He shook off his initial antagonism. He looked at George Stacy as a new man.

“But you still have a lot of growing up left to do,” George admitted, “No matter how fast you're pushing yourself to do it all right now.”

** ** ** ** ** **

L’Hissy Fitte was an upscale restaurant complete with elitist waiters, smug valets and a reservation list that held bookings for the next seven months. Sable Manfredi walked in as if she owned the place, and in a manner of speaking, she did. She was a head turner. Her platinum blonde hair fell around her strong feminine features. She had a soft violet shade across her lips. Her eyes drew heated looks and returned imagined promises. Deference, a commodity in short supply, was hurried towards her. She first approached the bar. There were several couples talking animatedly, though in hushed tones, paired all along the mahogany counter. The waitress behind the bar offered nothing more than a smile before mixing Sable her martini. Sable took the seat next to a lovely blonde in a long blue gown.

“Not your usual environment,” Sable commented. She sipped her drink and only acknowledged the woman next to her in the mirror behind the bottles.

“I just drive the car,” The woman mentioned, her own cocktail glass held the light pink of her lipstick but looked untouched. “Where I end up, I make fit.”

“You certainly do,” Sable smiled to the bartender. She knew her meal would be awaiting her in the booth when she decided to sit. “Tell Hammy to come after close.”

“I will, Ms Manfredi,” Jenkins took an imperceptible sip of her drink and turned to leave. L’Hissy Fitte had the most incredible duck l’orange. It was almost as tasty as making Hammerhead wait for hours.

“Beautiful Sable,” Hammerhead entered just after three in the morning. The only employee left was the bartender and the last guest had left fifteen minutes before. Sable pushed the chair across from her out with the tip of her shoe. A martini sat in front of her, her second of the night and still half full.

“To what do I owe the honor, Hamster?” Sable asked. She appeared relaxed and at ease. She still loved the man who took the seat like he owned the room. Men had come and gone since her affair with the mobster but they quickly slipped from memory while Hammerhead remained her primary source of fantasy, sexual and often violent.

“A good man needs a good friend in times like these,” Hammerhead announced. The bartender appeared with a seven hundred dollar glass of scotch whiskey before disappearing.

“That explains why you’re so short on them,” Sable commented. She still remembered Valentine’s Day with heated anger. He had drugged her. She crossed her legs, assuring herself the small calibre pistol was strapped inside her thigh. An interesting surprise for Hammerhead no matter how this meeting turned out.

“No need to be vicious, Sable,” Hammerhead moved to stand, “If you don’t wish to help, I should leave immediately.”

“Sit your hardheaded butt back into that chair,” Sable demanded. There were a few rare times where she used her authoritative voice on Hammerhead. This was one of the rarest, Hammerhead listened. “What do you need?”

“Protection. Muscle. Enough to keep the few men Tombstone still manages off my back and eyes and ears to stay a few steps ahead of the feds.” Hammerhead declared.

“And why should I risk my neck alongside yours?” Sable put down her empty glass. The bartender was smart enough to slip in and take it away, and smarter still to not have another one ready.

“Old time’s sake?” Hammerhead’s smile was shark-like.

“There ain’t no such thing as old time’s sake.” Sable quoted.

“I’ve got money,” Hammerhead announced.

“I’ve got more.” Sable tilted her head and her smiled broadened. In any other situation Hammerhead would have been lost in her beauty. He was lost in his rage.

“Then what do you need, princess?” The affectionate term was clearly struck with scorn.

“I need an army,” Sable declared, “Something to assure my standing now that the rest of the bosses are taken down.”

“Taken down isn’t taken out,” Hammerhead declared. He was afraid of Tombstone, declawed by police oversight or not.

“That’s why the army,” Sable assured, “I know of a few wild men I can use. You get to be my litmus test. See if the boys hold up.”

“So either you get what you want or I get dead or jailed?” Hammerhead raised an eyebrow.

“Stakes too high for you, Hamster?” She taunted.

“Never.” Hammerhead stood up and leaned in to Sable. She suffered six kneejerk responses, unholstering the gun before she got in wet. She sighed into his kiss.

“See you around, princess,” Hammerhead straightened.

“Stay alive, Hamster.” Sable said to his back as the mobster struck out into the world that wanted him anything but.

** ** ** ** ** **

The antiseptic clean seemed further away than the smell suggested. Dr Ashley Kafka closed her fingers tightly around her clipboard. “I hadn’t expected to see you quite so soon, Miles.”

“Time waits for no man,” Doctor Warren strode into Ravencroft. Ashley fell into step beside him.

“I haven’t put my name on your request yet.” Kafka hid no amount of distaste. Miles didn’t notice or at least did not rise to her tone.

“Ravencroft has come to hold near as many supercriminals as Osborn’s Vault.”

“Ravencroft houses patients,” Ashley sneered. “These are not well men. Rehabilitation cannot rest in a sick mind.”

“I heartily concur,” Miles announced, “And without your therapy many of these patients would be dead or worse.”

“Thank you,” Ashley weighed the compliment. Their path led them through the extra security before the dangerous patients wing. Placards were nailed onto doors under slide shielded windows. Maxwell, Dillon. Brock, Edward. Jameson, John. Kasady, Cletus. Octavius, Otto. The names flitted by midst moans and shouts. Miles stopped before Brock’s. He spoke after sliding the window closed. “Is he still claiming to be Venom?”

“His delusions are severe,” Kafka answered clinically. “He hasn’t dealt with the losses he has suffered. This coupled with the real and imagined betrayals by the only person he still considered family has forced him to erect a shield. Using his own loss of vocation as a muse, The shield he chose was the antithesis of his betrayer’s livelihood. Peter Parker, his ‘bro’, makes his living as the photographer of Spider-man.”

“Curious,” Miles held back his relation to Peter Parker, “The mind is a baffling puzzle.” Miles’ wonder was the first attribute that sat well with Ashley. He turned towards her, “You’ve read my paper on reversing altered genetic damage.”

“I have,” Ashley admitted guardedly, “I am very hopeful for what it could do for Max--”

“Electro!”

“However,” She continued, “This sort of pharmaceutical therapy is years of testing away from even considering human trials.”

“I beg to differ,” Miles shook his head, “And the New York State Department of Corrections agrees with me.”

“I will not sign off on this.”

“You could resign in protest. That would delay me a few days, maybe a couple of weeks. It would create the opportunity for you to state your case or force the NYSDC to have a different bureaucrat read the proposal.”

“I can’t and I won’t abandon my patients,” She was angry, hiding nothing. Nostrils flared. Eyes narrowed. Knuckles whitened. Shoulder stiffened. A voice rose. “You are well aware of this. Jameson, no doubt, helped you grease these wheels. This breach of protocol and morality leaves me disgusted.”

“It is a shame you cannot see the opportunity in this Dr Kafka,” Miles shook his head. “I would welcome your expertise.”

“I will continue therapy with each patient throughout,” Ashley slumped. She was defeated. She wouldn’t cry, not until she stripped off the lab coat at home. “If anyone misses a single session: there will be hell to pay.”

Miles shrugged and then gave a small nod. Ashley’s chickenscratch signature decorated the form on her clipboard with loud angry snicks. Miles retreated a step when she slammed it into his chest. Her steps were stomps as she stormed off back towards the community therapy room.

“Electro!”

** ** ** ** ** **

Jean DeWolff nodded to Agents Briggs and Wade[5] as she entered Lincoln Enterprises tower. The pair of FBI agents were sitting in their obvious black sedan watching the entrance. She would be noted going in and out but it wasn’t uncommon for the NYPD to send an officer or two to follow up since the Valentine’s Day Summit. Jean’s grimace resonated with the federal agents, some jobs were just tedious.

“I’m here to see Mr Lincoln.” Jean crossed into the lobby and spoke to the security woman sitting behind the desk. “I have an appointment.”

“Not that he has the choice to turn away the police these days,” The dreadlocked woman snarked. “He’s in his office.”

“Thank you,” Jean offered professional politeness as she walked to the elevators. The lift was very quick but Jean felt it moved sluggishly. Had there been no camera, the fear may have cracked her mask. The door opened before the policewoman and she walked forward with march precision.

L Thompson Lincoln. The Big Man of Crime. Tombstone. A towering giant of a man in rolled up shirtsleeves and a loosened black necktie was pummelling a reinforced heavy bag. Sweat rolled on his albinic forehead. His teeth appeared filed to points as he grimaced. The power behind each cross and jab was evident in the whumpf against the leather and in the shrill grind of the chain links that held the bag vertical.

“Lonnie,” Jean closed the door behind her. It was well known that the warrants each agency had filed that Tombstone’s office was bereft of bugs. His lawyers were perhaps more vicious and tenacious than his army of criminals. The policewoman stopped in the middle of her room. Her right hand rested near her sidearm.

“Jean,” The charm that oozed from the crime king was at odds with his appearance. Those who knew him expected it. Lincoln had been called a true philanthropist. Dozens of New York’s rich and elite still rallied behind him, unwilling or incapable of believing Spider-man’s accusations. “What brings you to here, my lovely?”

“We can’t prolong this, Lonnie,” She declared, “The evidence is hard fought but it would be insane to think no one has managed to unearth anything.”

“I have two promises to keep,” Tombstone crossed over to Jean and cupped her chin raising her eyes to his. “Yours and Hammerhead’s.”

“You can’t be thinking about foolish pride now, Lonnie!” Jean pushed away the hand. “Look if we move--”

“Not to worry.” Lincoln brushed aside her imploration. “I have your packet prepared. The opening for Lieutenant will be filled by you. And your continued outspoken words against Spider-man will give me the leverage I need to return to my kingdom.”

“I’m not a child, Lonnie,” DeWolff scowled. “I do not need to be told over and over again the same plan. You’ve taken his betrayal poorly. Now I understand though, you do have to finish with Hammerhead. But you have to finish quickly. Tonight. And no more amateurish guns for hire. The scene at the carpark was inexcusable.”

“Agreed,” Lincoln did not take the dressing down without rancor. Tombstone was a man of mettle and reason. He respected truth and forward thinking and he wasn’t in the best place to discipline an unruly subordinate. “My plans are unfolding as we speak.”

“Where? When?”

“That isn’t--”

“Last time Spider-man interfered. If your men can’t put Hammerhead in the ground, mine will put him in a small windowless box for the rest of his life.”

“Another feather in your cap.”

“Stan’s. This one goes to Carter.” Dewolff explained.

“Better,” Tombstone considered. “Very well.” He marched towards his desk. The view was incredible. Like Yertle the Turtle he had been king of all he could survey. He had been careful, cautious, never stacking his turtles too high. Now he could feel the whole empire shaking and all because of one insignificant spider. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk. There was a FedEx bag sealed clearly containing documents. He picked it up and turned to DeWolff.

“This contains the directions and information you require.” She accepted the package and put it under her arm. “Pass it to the woman at the front desk and it will be en route to you as soon as Hammerhead is taken care of.”

“Excellent,” Jean agreed. Knowing precisely the number of cameras that would record her running Tombstone’s errand. Another feather in her cap. Another nail in her coffin.

** ** ** ** ** **

“Everyone makes mistakes Peter,” George assured him.

“Some bigger than others,” Peter scowled recalling the face of Walter Hardy.

“Granted,” George nodded, “But it isn’t the size of our failings that defines us, it is the actions we take after our failures.”

“That is a lesson I’ve taken to heart.” Spider-man declared.

“You really need to look at what you’re missing out on when you burn a bridge like you did.” George squeezed Peter’s shoulders confirming their bond, through Gwen, and Peter suspected, through Spider-man, was true and solid.

“I take responsibility for everything I do,” Peter defended himself.

“I know you do Peter,” George had never looked sadder. “This is just the first time I had ever seen you run from trouble without immediately working on a plan to come back at it even harder.”

** ** ** ** ** **

“Oh, hey Aunt May,” Peter was hanging upside down twenty-two stories above midtown. He had pulled his mask up, well down, over his nose to prevent the distortion through the cloth. It wasn’t much of an identity defense, but since the incident with the Bugle and Mary Jane’s subsequent discovery of his secret, Peter Parker was keeping as many differences between himself and Spider-man definitive.

“Peter? What is that sound? Wind?”

“Uh, yeah, Harry has the top down on his convertible.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were with Harry tonight.”

“For the next little bit, anyways. He’s giving me a ride down to the Silver Spoon,” Peter lied. It rolled out so easily. How easy it was, that was the worst part about lying. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, just a little nostalgic and lonely,” She sighed.

“I can come home if you need me.”

“No, Peter, you hang with your friends,” Aunt May enunciated the slang, “Ben never liked pulling you away from your social life for silly little problems.”

“You’re feelings aren’t silly, Aunt May.” Peter asserted. “Not today.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Her voice was soft and warm, “Now have fun with your friends.”

“I will,” Peter lied again, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you,” She said farewell.

“I love you too,” It felt good to say something that was true. He hung up his Osberry and slipped it into the belt of his Spider-man uniform.

The search was exhausting. Scouring the city for a car that should stick out like a sore thumb. The wind beneath his webs was invigorating. He really needed a way to track the bad guys.

“Beautiful night, swinger,” Peter shifted in flight the instant she had spoken. Black Cat was seated on a ledge, overlooking a dockside warehouse. The moonlight shimmered across the stretched material of her outfit and in the waves of her platinum hair.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face, Cat.” Spider-man landed next to the thief with a snarl.

“Easy, swinger,” Cat laughed, “No claws out tonight. No alley cats looking for you either.”

“So why are you here?” Spider-man breached personal space and pushed his mask a mere inch from her mask. “Something shiny you’re looking to take home in the warehouse.”

“Not at all,” Cat pressed her mask, bringing the specialty lenses over her eyes. The one aspect her deal with Warren and Gaxton hadn’t strengthened was her eyesight. “Let’s just say I’m window shopping.”

“Cat...” Spider-man fell back on his haunches. He turned to follow her eyes. A NYPD patrol car turned away from the river three blocks down. He looked back at her and didn’t appreciate her smile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cat picked a cell phone from her belt, “I have to take this. Then you and I,” Her left hand rolled the tips of her fingers over the edge of his jaw, “Will have the city to ourselves.”

“That’s a big playground, Cat.” Spider-man couldn’t help the smile under his mask and he started to look away, hoping the motion of his skull would shake his thoughts reasonable.

“Yeah, but the swings are so fun,” She purred, “And I know you like the slide.” She held up a finger across her lips as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Clear.” She hung up as soon as she spoke. “So where were we, swinger?”

“Right where I’m needed.” Spider-man responded thwipping out four quick blasts of webbing. Black Cat was angry at herself for being surprised by the first one. Her right wrist glued to the wall. She twisted and avoided the second spurt from plastering her hair and left shoulder to brick. Her ankles crossed as the third shot fettered her boots heel to heel. The last blast was fatter and belted her waist against the wall.

“Spider!” Cat threatened raising her left claws so she could slash the webbing from her costume.

“No such luck,” Spider-man had grabbed her wrist where it was high and above Cat’s strength and leverage. She was strong. Much stronger than a human should be. Stronger than Kraven had been as Kravinoff. Spider-man was certain he would look into that but for the moment, he had a kitten to discipline. Cat’s arms were webbed from palm to elbow. “You’ll have to excuse me Cat, but it seems I have to call our date short.”

Timing was serendipitous. The blue car, in such immaculate shape that Spider-man suspected Hammerhead must have more cars than suits, careened below. It weaved across the street before ducking into the warehouse.

Inside the warehouse were stacks of drums bristling with Det Cord wires. Six men were waiting. They sat around a large felt table reassigning their expected payday on the backs of pocket queens vs suited connectors. Four of the men were dressed in black turtlenecks, cargo pants, wool toques and combat boots. They were armed and outfitted like the dishonourably discharged soldiers they were. On the backs of all their left hands was a matching tattoo. A black ashen wolf’s mask with red eyes overlaying an Eastern European script they claimed read “Wild.”

The fifth was a nervous man, big and rust brown haired. He was dressed in blue, navy and dark. In most cases the darkness may have shadowed him into invisibility, but he stood out next to the soldiers. The final man was the beacon, so bright and obvious that the fifth man’s camouflage might be good enough. The last man was armored in green. His body armor was repurposed riot gear and a copper meshed motorcycle helmet that was wreathed in blue bottomed flames. All six heads looked up as the car twisted in and barricaded the wide berth entrance from soldiers.

“Are we prepared Morrie?” Jenkins stepped out of the car. Her uniform seemed bulkier, the soldiers recognized the shape of the a flak jacket under her blue coat. They immediately reached for the vests they had hung on the back of their chairs.

“Wired for sound,” Bench declared. “Though we’re a little too near the stage for my liking.”

“Risks?”

“Heat stroke, shrapnel, tonitis, dust.” He rhymed off easily. He had a pair of earmuffs designed to depress the damage to his ears.

“The fight has to begin here. Boss?” Jenkins turned to the car and Hammerhead stepped out. He was looking wild-eyed and smiling.

“I think we’re done with you, Bench. Get out of our sight.”

“Hey, he’s still five hundred in the pot,” Jack O’Lantern complained. A fistful of bills immediately erupted from Bench’s pockets. The soldiers didn’t know who to despise more, Jack or Bench. They were happy to see the large man rushing out of the building.

“Hammy! Is this a surprise party for me?” Spider-man took this opportunity to land on top of the car. Immediately, five guns trained on the webhead. Jack rolled out a new pumpkin bomb. They looked different from Osborn’s orange agents of death. These were black with bright red lights as if their manufacturer hadn’t taken the time to paint them. “I guess first thing I should do is blow out the candles.”

Spider-man leapt into action. Twisting around the first nine millimeter round before landing on the ground in the middle of the soldiers. One took a nasty fall as Spider-man swept out his leg. The other three dived back. Jack’s new pumpkin bomb shrieked as it burst tossing prone man over like a log. Spider-man drove his fist straight for Jack’s center of gravity.

“The party’s not for you wall crawler.” Jack was knocked several steps back but Spider-man took a heavy cross from Hammerhead’s weaponized fists. He spun out, dizzy, slamming back into one of the many barrels looping the warehouse. Bullets from AK-47’s whipped into the barrels. Det Cord shredded and sick smelling viscous liquid oozed out of the barrels. The wounds in the metal clotted over with green Gobweb.

“Oh boy,” Spider-man commented from his perch on top of the barrels and over the hail of bullets. “I better find a scalper and see if I can’t upgrade my seats.”

The words were overrun by the squeal of rubber. Two armored trucks crashed in through the door and jamb that could not quite accommodate them. “Oh goodie,” Spider-man moaned, “The caterers have arrived.”

Bullets turned towards the newcomers. Jack O’lantern flipped the table. His imitation glider hummed to life below. Jumping on, armed with a whole sack of orange pumpkins, Lantern stayed on the Spider.

“Hey you know how this ended last time, Squash Brain? Do we really have to dance again?” Spider-man seemed all too happy to turn his attentions to the Jack O’Lantern. The soldiers and the newcomers were throwing bullets back and forth. The battlefield was chaos. Not once, did Jack O'Lantern take a bullet in the armor, twisting out with a curse as his green screaming explosions rang out over the war zone.

“Ah, little Spider. You forget we’re one for one. I for one don’t like leaving any game a tie.” Jack threw his bomb as he ignited his left wrist mounted flamethrower. The bomb was an easy dodge, Spider-man diving aside so it could slam into one of the armored cars. The flames collided with the bomb. It detonated early. Spider-man pulled himself downward with a lance of web. He landed behind one of the men come to get Hammerhead. The man ducked his head from the explosion. Hammerhead barreled through.

“Oh poop.” Spider-man said over his Spider-sense as the danger from all sides began to overwhelm.

“I’m going to revel in watching your demise Spider-man.” Hammerhead announced gleefully as his second punch connected with the hero. Spider-man rolled with the blow. Tripping up another hitman. He ducked and dived. Bounding low and between the hips of two of the Hammerhead’s goons. The pumpkin bomb detonated behind his feet. Jack wailed psychotic joy as he rained destruction down over both sides of the conflict. Spider-man avoided it by skidding across the concrete floor and under Hammerhead’s car.

“Whoa!” Spider-man shouted as his legs spread-eagled as he dodged Jenkins bullet. This was the first moment in his life he was glad his dick wasn’t a couple inches longer. Pushing off a tire, he spun out and dodged another two blasts. She was quick. She was accurate and if she had been using both hands to steady her gun instead of holding a detonator switch in her left hand, she may have come dangerously closer to hitting the webhead.

“Lady! How about we put the dangerous toys town!” Spider-man slapped a blast of webbing gluing the woman’s right wrist the driver side window of the car. At the same time he kicked the detonator from her left hand. Her frightened eyes and self satisfied smirk did not sit well in concert with the horrible klaxxon of his Spider-man’s spider sense.

“Dead man’s switch?” Spider-man realized as the walls of the warehouse erupted in a calamitous firestorm. The roar was like a waterfall and only the screams of two pumpkin bombs and a woman affixed to a suddenly airborne car overcame it. Spider-man ducked as the car cartwheeled over his head. Before him the fight raged on despite the chemical fire that lanced throughout. Six hitmen were down, none of Hammerhead’s soldiers looked winded. The man in the pinstripe suit was taking relish in the seventh man to be taken off the other side’s roster. And all of these fighters were silhouettes. Background to the skidding forward form of Jack O’Lantern. Two black pumpkins were coming forward.

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” The collisions between web and bomb were as near instantaneous as quantum physics allows. The bombs racing back on white lines towards their caster. Jack ignored them, raising both wrists and flamethrowers to bear. Spider sense said there was no where to dodge. The inferno to his left and right and all over the roof blocked off any dodges. Spider-man was going to get burned.

“This is it Spider-man!” Jack O’Lantern shrieked as the red, blue and burnt dived through his attack. A fist hammered hard and into the helmet just as the two returned bombs exploded over either of Jack’s shoulders. The whole green suited villain twisted up and around like an olympic gymnast but landed hard like sack of potatoes. Spider-man howled. The burn had crossed his right shoulder, the punch taking the worst of the attack.

“Hammerhead!” Spider-man roared. He grabbed Jack by his slack arm and tossed the supervillain bodily over the battle and across the tops of the armored vehicles. Spider-man charged forward. The mobster turned, his eyes delighted in the firelight. His four soldiers were hustling forward. The hitmen were retreating, over half their number still on the floor of the warehouse. Spider-man dived him.

“Third times a charge webhead.” Hammerhead announced as his third punch of the night landed. Metal knuckle impacted abdominal muscle. Spider-man knew he would be hyperventilating but this is where it ended. His uninjured left crossed Hammerhead’s jaw, proving not all of the criminal’s skull was armor plated. The blue pinstripe suit puffed out as he fell face first onto the ground.

Hyperventilating in a smoke fogged chemical fire was not the best means of regaining one’s equilibrium. Struggling, Spider-man knee walked a short distance. In his adrenaline and pain he hardly noticed the strobe of blue light intermixing with the red-orange of the fire. Not until the policeman dropped to one knee next to the hero and forced his own breathing filter over Spider-man’s mask.

“You hurt Spidey?” The cop asked with genuine concern and excitement.

“I’ve been better,” Spider-man admitted once his lungs worked again. “There’s a woman, back there. With the car.”

“We’ll get her.”

“Thanks.” Spider-man stood up.

“Stan, Stan Carter.”

“Thank you Stan.” And Spider-man lashed his webline out towards the last contested exit. A lady cop rushed to Stan and berated him until he put the mask back over his face. Stan got his mind off the hero. There was work to do.

“Cat?” Spider-man landed on the ledge. His webs were shredded and hanging from the bricks. The strands were just beginning to dissolve. He overlooked the emergency response below, sinking down into a spider crouch. he scratched the top of his head. Sweaty hair under a lycra hood was not the most comfortable feeling. “Can’t see why I expected her to stay.”

He mistook the blip in his spider-sense for the ringing in his skull. Jack O’ Lantern’s bombs were hell in closed doors. The platinum blonde took the char red and bruise blue hero with a spear tackle to the base of his spine..

Black Cat! He was astounded by how the thought had twisted pain and relish together. The ground rushed towards him. Her clawed gauntlets were tight around his waist. She pressed her face against his back. Live or die, she had trusted the decision to him.

The nostalgia queued up without his intention. A night as warm as this one and one of his earliest encounters with a villains. It had been first fight against The Enforcers. He forced himself and his passenger into a roll. His feet gripped the glass of a twentieth story window. He tucked, cartwheeling Black Cat over his head. He caught her by both of her wrists and looked into the her mask. She had her night vision lenses over her pale blue eyes.

“Hi, did you miss me?” He baited her and had to quickly arch up his hips to dodge her vicious kick across his abdomen.

“You don’t get to just leave me tied up like a street thug!” She hollered angry and hurt.

“Hey you leave me all the time.” Spider-man growled back. “And not always to the nicest things.”

“Yeah but I leave you free to chase me!” Her legs weren’t coming as weapons and so Spider-man allowed her to twist up and grip around his waist with her legs. He still kept a tight grip on her gauntlets, the wicked sharpness of her claws evident in New York’s ambient light.

“What’s the point of the chase if you’re nowhere to be found!” He didn’t know that she had hurt him. He had only remembered his first time with pride and happiness. He had pushed away the weeks of searching from his mind. That pain came back. It didn’t help that she seemed to be quietly laughing at his pain. Just to shut that smile away, just to hold on to any dignity he could fake, Spider-man drove his face forward. The kiss was awkward and ineffective through the fabric of his mask. She didn’t flinch, giving in, mouth and biting the tasteless fabric as they shared what little they could. He pulled back. She gripped the cloth in her teeth, her self-satisfied smirk had not left. She arched her neck, pulling the hood up and over Peter’s nose. Laughing softly, she bit his revealed nose.

“Cat!” He grumbled and pulled out with her wrists before taking her mouth in a kiss again. This time, his adrenaline fed resentment and lust spun up into something fiery passionate. It was a self-sustaining storm, each action feeding emotion each emotion feeding action. She bit his lip and purred. Every sense became overstimulated. The dizzying height framed her supernatural beauty. The hum and doldrums of New York were envious underlying the sounds the two cultivated. The smell of gunpowder and ash gave way to the enchantment of her perfume. Her heat cut through the May chill. She tasted of spice and sweetness.

Spider-man demanded more. He immediately reached for her chest.The momentum of her top end dropping forced him to crab forward and catch her. Her strong legs tightened hard around his waist. Another man may have felt his spine break. Another man would have probably plummeted.

“Spider!” Cat shouted. Spider-man looked over her shoulder into the window they had been balanced on. He was looking into someone’s living room. The man on the couch was rushing to find where he had tossed his cell phone. Before the man could take over Peter Parker’s abandoned livelihood, Spider-man’s webs shot upward. The pair sprung upward back to their ledge.

“Can’t take the audience?” Cat asked when she was seated on the stone lip. Her clawed finger traced the black spider on his chest.

“Ugh,” He tried to answer but she grabbed the back of his head and drew him back onto her chest. They started their passionate kiss again, but Spider-man was distracted. His eyes kept looking to where he had left his own camera. Mostly he saw inside his own hood. He pulled back and she whimpered. “Let’s go to the roof.”

“My Swinger’s not getting camera shy?” Black Cat taunted. Spider-man went rigid. She knew? No, her laugh was just making fun of him. “Come on.”

Her grapnel gun shot up forcing Spider-man to pull his shoulder to the wall to dodge the bit. She flipped him as she started the recoil and was off running up the glass. Spider-man watched her body move before he gave her the chase she wanted.

No webs for spider-man, he used all his hands to lunge up the wall. Using every ounce of strength, he was kicking off or throwing himself after the sculpted perfection in glossy leather. She still managed to take the lip a heartbeat before him. They met with a heavy collision. Spider-man dragged her down onto the edge of the roof.

“The hero caught the thief,” Black Cat falsely whimpered. “What’s he going to do to me!”

‘Teach you how dangerous spiders can be.” He was on his feet straddling her right leg, his shin held down her left. He pulled her by the hair to his kiss. The zipper’s cry split the empty night. He didn’t stop until he reached her belt buckle. That accessory was discarded with a clatter of gravel.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have run so fast,” Cat teased when he let her go. Both of his hands had gone to her shoulders. She laughed in pleasure as he ripped her catsuit down her sleeves. Balling her fists, the sleeves pulled straight over her gauntlets. She was naked down to her waist. Her unfettered breasts jiggled free. She rolled back on her shoulders, twisted her hips and kicked her legs. Spider-man rolled with the move, not letting go of her leather. The catsuit caught at her calves, stuck at her boots. Spider-man grinned, letting go. Cat, impatient as her Spider, kicked her feet over her face and ripped the boots and catsuit of with one contemptuous tug. If it wasn’t for Spider-man’s quick web and tug, the garments would have been thrown from the roof. He tossed them behind him. She was on her feet, a creature of magnificence. Spider-man went to wrap his hands and pull her too her but she grabbed his shirt.

“Oh, lover...” She grinned. Her fingers danced over the muscles of his chest. His shoulder was red and raw from the burn. Several bruises were forming at the contours of his abdomen. He had been through hell tonight and now she was heaven before him. “I approve.”

MJ! She would approve. She would punch Peter in the shoulder. She would say something like--Goddammit! He couldn't do that to Cat not intentionally. Spider-man picked up Black Cat by the recently denuded hips. She kicked her ankles up behind her as she tangled her wrists behind his head. "Where are you taking me Spider-man?"

"Wherever I want," Spider-man didn't answer: "Out of camera range."

The camera was across the street, reset after the Hammerhead battle. Old habits died hard. He pulled her back from the edge, she pulled his face deep into her cleavage. The rooftop was clear but for a couple vents and the roof access. Tit in teeth, Spidey felt her entire body shake as she was thrust against the wall.

"Someone's frisky," Cat purred. She kicked at her heels behind Spider-man's pants trying to knock her socks off. She flashed eyes and teeth at Spider-man inviting him to join her.

Spider-man remembered their first kiss, his first kiss. The inverted lips and insistent tug behind his mask. Her lips still had that warm toxicity that seeped straight into his bones. Her clawed gauntlets gripped his shoulders. He recalled their sting and he feared he liked it. Her tongue came to him. It was war. The battle fierce and hard fought. Thrusts reinforced with moans were met by parries wreathed in hard breaths. He was in a fight and he was damned if he was going to run.

Her ass was squeezed in Spider-man's hands, in the confines of her thong and against the rough concrete of the roof access. Sex ground into sex. The frustrating confines of silk and lycra had both lovers intermingling groans of pleasure with hate.

"Slow down," Cat had to pull Spider's face by his chin. "I need you in me."

Spider-man pulled Black Cat off the wall. The roughness of the wall left pebbled pits in her back. She rose, burying Spider in her breasts again. She relied on his power as she slit the waistband of her thong over either hip. A bead of blood swelled on her left.

As the ruined silk fell, Spider-man was escaping his own garments. No thermals made the peel instantaneous. Excited he pulled the pants over his boots and kicked them to the rear.

"God, Swinger, don't keep me waiting," Black Cat growled impatience. It was her turn to direct the action. She grabbed Spider by the ribs and twisted him against the wall. There was superhuman power in her throw. Spider-man grabbed on with his forearms and fingertips. He could reach the ground with the tips of his toes. He pulled his knees up, intent to push off in a sexual tackle. He craved to drag Cat to the rooftop and fuck her hard. She moved first.

She pounced, her claw slashing into the wall next to Spider-man's shoulder and straight over his head. Her feet settled on the backs of his boots. He grabbed her hips and they locked eyes under masks.

"Make me howl, lover," Cat pleaded and dropped her hips hard and accurately. His cock split into her needing sex. Her back arching back as she cussed at the sky.

Liz! The feeling of sex called her to mind. The puerto Rican had left him heartsick and chained. The woman never let Peter's thoughts alone. Twisting him and taking from him. He gave to her until all he carried was guilt, regret and confusion. He felt the tether snapping, uncertain if he was falling or free. He took in his immediate lover. Cat was not so greedy. She only wanted Spider-man and that is all she would take. She gave too but held enough of herself back that Peter didn't get Black Cat. She belonged to Spider-man alone.

She was sex and everything exciting. Her body was sculpted perfection. Lines and curves and strength. She had control, riding his hips as he used his superpowers to stick to the wall. His left knee kicked up in a synchronized rhythm of lust. Cat's gauntlets clawed into the masonry. Dust and screeches spat from the wall. Black Cat's heavy breasts rolled up and along Spider-man's chest. Her matte platinum hair dangled sweat damp in a curtain. Her addled smile and sharp stare connected through the red and blue mask.

"You've got better, lover," Cat panted as her forehead fell onto his shoulder. "You'll be amazing in no time."

"I'll be spectacular right now!" Huffed spider-man as he pulled Cat up by the hair and kissed her hard. Her purr echoed down his throat and her hips rolled faster. The slick echoes of their flesh rang out in the New York night.

It wasn't enough. Spider-man dropped to his feet. His strength easily carried Cat by the tone of her ass. Her arms snaked behind his head. She broke from his lips and pressed her forehead to his. Both naked torsos shimmered sweat slick in muted starlight.

"What're you up to, swinger?" She teased. Her words and lips brushing against the tip of his nose. Her hips hadn't stopped and she reveled in the uncommon unbalance to his step.

"Taking you where I want you!" His words sharp as their crack of skin. They're discarded close were still twisted in a heap on the roof. He took her down to the ground. She still had her claws. He still had his boots. They never considered losing the masks. Cat gasped as her body was forced to the ground.

"Swinger?" She was surprised at his force. She wished she could see his eyes and understand. She flooded around him at the anonymity, the untouchable immutable quality of their sex. It was hard. It was deep. It was all the way into her. All the way to the four chambers of her thunderous heart. She yelped and drew her Spider closer. She was everything, pushing as deep into him as his balls collided with the crack of her ass. She shared so much that always seemed so far beyond Peter Parker.

Gwen! Peter railed giving over to Spider-man. She loved him, and he wasn't chasing that incredible prize. He was caught here. A woman of excitement, danger. A mirror to the freedom and strength of Spider-man. A beautiful creature beyond the scope of Peter's genius imagination. She took him, held him, wanted him, fought him. She was insatiable, every touch reached through Peter's skin to find fire in his blood. He slashed and riposted her agile tongue. He grabbed her hand from his hip. Their fingers threaded. The back of her hand slammed down onto the room in the splay of her hair.

"Fuck me, Spider!" She hoarsely begged. Her toes were scattering the smooth gravel of the roof. Her ankles were pressed into the firmness of her butt. She was slamming her hips up against his with the same vigor he used to spear her sex. He released her throat and grabbed her arm just above her elbow. He had her shoulders nailed the ground. "Fuck me, Spider!"

Her back rolled up with Spider-man's compounding force. First one foot, then her other, kicked out on either side of Spider-man's hips. She garbled her impending scream as she crossed ankles. Her heels soon rested on the flexed muscles of her lover's ass.

Black Cat erupted. She saw white specks. Her sweat slick back squeaked against her catsuit mattress. Her locked ankles pulled all of her superhuman strength against Spider-man's hips. Her whole torso twisted, corkscrewed as her muscles thrummed like guitar strings. She gasped and gummed as her half breaths rushed out of her throat.

Spider-man felt her tugging and spasming through his cock. Her conflagrant sex called to him. The demand was clear. The need was unmistakable. All the muscles in Spider-man's throat and chest were locked tight. His breath unattainable.

Climax: a decisive point of maximum intensity. Black Cat understood. Spider-man knew. The perfect feeling they shared. A moment, an infinity, a shared heartbeat. They shared everything and hid behind their masks. They dropped, pooled together their inhuman strength momentarily fled. Cat suspected she had been the first to breathe. Ecstatic her affirmation of life was infectious.

Cat squeezed Spider's hand. Her claws nicked the back of his hand even as he pressed the gauntlet deeper into the gravel.

"Something's got into my Spider," Cat opened her eyes to the mirrored shields of Spider-man's mask. "I like it."

"Of course you do," defeatism and triumph, contempt and confidence oozed out of Spider-man's words. "Just know that when I want you, Cat, I will catch you."

"Not going to stop me from running Spider," she stroked the edge of his cheek under the scrunched corners of his mask. "The chase is half the fun."

** ** ** ** ** **

“You’re a lifesaver,” Jenkins brushed off her blouse and checked the powder burns on her right hand. She had hurried down the quayside. Besides the fleet of fire trucks, there had only been one cop car on the scene. After landing the shark they had managed to let a few of the guppies through their net. It wouldn’t be long though, one cop meant more cops. She had not believed her luck when she saw the black limousine.

“Never a problem for an old friend,” The woman across from the rescue brushed her platinum blond hair behind her right ear. “I’ll take you to my guy, get you cleaned up and those nicks and scrapes treated. You need a place to sleep tonight, Janice?”

“That would be better than I deserve,” Jenkins admitted.

“You’ve known me a long time and I’m all about getting better than I deserve.”

“Thanks, Ms Man--” Jenkins was interrupted by the finger pressed against her lips. “Thanks Sable.”

** ** ** ** ** **

Peter felt like fifteen different kinds of heel when he opened the door to his Forest Hills home. He hadn’t been home since school. Nothing fit in his life tonight. All of his troubles, Cat or Liz, MJ or Gwen, Kingsley or Jameson, which seemed so devastating earlier held little meaning as he saw his Aunt sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes were wet; unshed tears threatened. She held the picture Peter had framed for her at Christmas. She didn’t look up as Peter sat next to her and pulled her shoulders to him. He felt the frame against his shoulder blade. He squeezed tightly.

“I can’t believe it has been a year,” May murmured. “I never knew I was strong enough without him.”

“You were always strong Aunt May,” Peter smiled as they separated and looked to the picture she held. “He just brought it out in you so you’d have it when you needed it.”

“Thank you, Peter,” May squeezed the hand he had left over his shoulder. “I see him every time I look at you.”

Peter felt his insides curl. He was proud. He loved her. He felt so guilty. How would Ben look at him if he knew what he did tonight? Cat. Hammerhead. He had been so angry, so lost and he left May to sit here in her grief while he took the easy way out of his own.

“I’m feeling like cinnamon rolls,” May announced. Her bright sincere smile cut to Peter’s quick. “How about you lend me a hand? We haven’t made sweets together since you started bringing Gwen over.”

Peter’s smile matched the sad one he had seen on Gwen so often lately, “I’d love that.”

“Good, now go get the mixing bowl.” May squeezed Peter’s hand and stood up. Peter turned and watched the woman for a moment. Yeah, maybe he was a screw up and sometimes selfish. But he was becoming a better man. It was moments like this one: when he realized he had the support and care of great people like May or MJ or George Stac. He just had to keep these moments in his heart and mind. That’s how Peter Parker would survive.

** ** ** ** ** **

“Is that everything Captain Stacy?” Peter stood up, confused and tired. The bell was due to ring in a moment. He had other classes to attend. He’d be seeing Captain Stacy immediately after lunch.

“I just want you to think, Pete,” George said as Peter opened the door to leave, “Maybe it’s men like Jameson that keep Spider-man honest.”

Next: History 307 - Empires Rise

[1]Hammerhead’s driver. Unnamed in the show. The last villain I need for my series. I was struggling for a way to bring in this villain without too large a shoe-horn. Even if she isn’t the most classic version, her skill sets involving helicopter piloting, driving, small arms combat were a great foundation to work with. Wouldn’t be the first character SSM gender altered either, not that there isn’t a girl version in the comics. Rambling continues. Abby Jenkins or Janice Jenkins?

[2]s02e03 Destructive Testing. Works for Osborn with explosives. I chose to consider his inclusion in Octopus’s test as not an accident, unlike Peter.

[3]And now an apology pertaining to Mac Gargan. I somehow failed to notice that Osborn thanks Gargan for finding Menken’s address in the nearly 10 times I watched the series finale. Had I noticed that, I’d have used the black security guard at Oscorp as my jumping point for Gargan. [This is the guard I cast at the Oscorp function that gives MJ and Peter a hard time getting in because Ned Lee brought Betty.]

The scene in s1e09 where he jumps in his seat:

“Mr Osborn! And through the front door no less!”

“You want to rule the world: you don’t punch time clocks.”

Would have been a much better beginning for the Scorpion. However, my vision of Gargan being a classic PI does not clash with this delayed revelation. While I am disappointed in myself, I will not be going back to rectify this mistake.

[4]To find the foreshadowing with this character you will need to look for “With great power comes great--” “Gullibility!” within the original canon.

[5]The two FBI agents Captain Stacy meets at HomeSec in s02e04. Sadly Wade is a last name, shoehorning in a southern belle Deadpool would be the best worst idea I ever had.

a/n: At this point I now have every character, with three predicted exceptions, that will appear in this series properly established and named on screen. So if there is any Spidey fight or character to be sexed at, upon, or into you were hoping for you will have to make due with what’s on the table. I hope that doesn’t leave anyone disappointed. I also hope I haven’t missed any of the characters and their purpose in the show. (Aquamarine dreadlocks girl still bugs me but I have decided to let her go.) SSM has the habit of combining two characters into one: (Liz Allan and Michele Gonzales, Shocker and Montana, Jackal and The High Evolutionary. And before season 2 I had believed Debra Whitman and Gwen Stacy), so I fear I may have missed some of these. I have not written anyone out yet (as you can see from my inclusion of Kraven in this chapter), this is a huge unwieldy cast (not quite 100 characters), but I don’t believe we are done with anyone so far.

Redoing the research and making new notes is actually helping me but there is a lot of work to do yet. I want to thank anyone who has had the patience to pick up the story again after my months long hiatuses. I have the next 10 chapters cast. However, with each chapter I write I feel I am neglecting a few characters. Doctor Octopus is my major one, not that there has been a place for him yet but I really doubt Doc Ock wouldn’t have at least one major episode in every season. I don’t think I’ll be able to include him before season 4.

I want to put out a heartfelt thank you for everyone who has read this story and to everyone who has reviewed. I literally find myself rereading every review each time I type the asterisks to move onto the next camera. I hope this story continues to meet and exceed your expectations.
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Spectacular Spider-man Seasons 3, 4 and 5