Authors: Peter David
Thank God . . . I'm safe,
Mary Jane thought with relief.
That was when the ledge gave way.
Mary Jane clutched at the air, frantically tried to walk on
it, and then she fell. Her arms flailed about, and insanely all
she could think of was that the dress she had worked so hard
on was going to wind up being totally ruined. The street
sped toward her, and she hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.
Then, suddenly, she was in Spider-Man's arms. He was
snapping back upward, and she had absolutely no clue what
was happening. Then she saw that he was clutching a web
line and realized that he had used his webbing to effectively
bungee jump after her.
Spider-Man rebounded past the balcony, giving her a
glimpse of the section that had collapsed. She saw Harry further in, away from the crumbling section, not in danger and just starting to come around. His eyes focused on her,
and he seemed not to realize what it was he was looking at.
Then he was gone as the arc of his web line took them up,
up further, and then over.
They whipped through the canyon of skyscrapers, Mary
Jane looking around in amazement. He moved with a speed,
a certainty that she wouldn't have thought possible. She
should have been terrified. She was being held aloft by a
total stranger, swinging through the asphalt jungle as if it
were a regular jungle and he was making his way on vines. When he would reach the end of his web line, he'd simply release it and there would be the brief start of a descent,
whereupon another web line would take its place and off
they went again. They swept low over the street, just brush
ing past the top of a cab, the driver of which stopped, exited,
pointed, and bellowed to whoever would listen,
"What the
hell's that?!"
She started to wonder where he was taking her. To the
spider cave under his mansion? Back to his place in the
frozen north? No matter what, this moment was breathtaking. Particularly when she came to the realization that she
wasn't afraid. That somehow she knew, beyond question,
that he wasn't going to do anything to hurt her.
M. J. was mildly disappointed when she discovered that their destination was neither subterranean nor iced over, but
instead a garden rooftop near Rockefeller Plaza. It was
at that point that his intention became clear to her; he just
wanted to make sure she was far away from the danger, just
in case the nutball on the glider came back. They alighted on
the rooftop, to the astonishment of several young folks who
were relaxing with their lunches on benches, chairs, and a spread-out blanket.
"Don't mind us," Spider-Man said. "She needs to use the
elevator."
It was the first time that he had spoken near her. There
was something much more youthful about his voice than she would have expected. It was muffled, the exact tone hard to
make out, but he sounded vaguely familiar. Someone she'd
heard on the radio, perhaps.
Satisfied that she was attended to, he started to turn away,
but she stopped him with a quick, "Wait!"
He looked back at her, waiting for her to speak. She
wished she could see through the eyepieces, at least. The
lack of eye contact was the spookiest thing about him. "Who
are
you?"
"You know," he said.
Taken aback, she said, "I do?"
He paused for a long moment then, as if seriously con
sidering saying something else. But instead he said simply, "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
Then he sprinted for the edge of the building. Despite
everything that she'd just seen, she still felt a moment of
panic as he vaulted off the edge of the roof, doing a double
somersault as he went. But as he plunged she heard a
thwippp
noise, webbing shot out, and he swung gracefully
away.
"Spider-Man ..." she whispered, waiting for the excited beating of her heart to slow, but at the same time kind of
wishing that it never did.
XIX.
THE AFTERMATH
Harry burst into the apartment, the picture of a young
man in turmoil. He had his cell phone in his hand, and he
was frantically dialing a number. Peter, at the window, was a
portrait of calm, serenely drinking a glass of milk. He could afford to be calm, of course, since he knew precisely where
Mary Jane had been dropped off, and that she was out of
danger.
But there was no way to convey this to Harry without tip
ping off to him things he was better off not knowing.
Besides, a small, sadistic aspect of Peter, one that he'd
really rather have not admitted to himself, was pleased to see Harry in such a tizzy. After all, Harry had enjoyed the inside
track to Mary Jane for a while now, and in secret. In the back
of Peter's mind, it seemed justifiable payback to have his own secret about M. J. and to let Harry stew for a while.
"Pick up, pick up!" Harry yelled into the phone, as Peter
took a deep breath and enjoyed the night air. "If somehow
you get this, call me right away!" He snapped the phone
shut, shoved it in his pocket, and walked quickly over to Peter. "Pete!" he said, his voice almost manic. "I'm glad you're here. Any word? Has she called?"
Any word? As it so happens, buddy, yes. The word is that
M. J. didn't want to kiss you. Further word is that she looked
at Spider-Man as if he was a god descended from Olympus.
I'm on the fast track, friend, and you can eat my dust.
"Not yet," Peter said. "She will."
"She will?" Harry clutched at Peter's shirt. "How do you
know! You don't know that!"
Peter delicately pried the hand loose. He certainly didn't
need to have his shirt ripped open to reveal the costume un
derneath. "A feeling I have," he assured his roommate. "You
okay? How's your head?"
Harry shrugged, as if his condition—and even the ques
tion itself—were of no consequence. "They patched it up.
It's nothing." At that, he started pacing and talking rapidly,
although to no one in particular. "What would he do to her?
Thank God my father wasn't there. That whole scene,
where'd that thing come from? What was it? What's that?"
he asked, eyeing Peter's glass. "Milk?"
"Uh-huh. Got milk?" Peter asked lightly. He pictured
what it would be like to appear in a milk advertisement, a lit
tle white mustache perched just under the masked bridge of
his nose.
Harry stared at him incredulously. "Why aren't you wor
ried?" he demanded.
"Oh. Right," Peter said, as if remembering to cue an emo
tion. "I am worried."
Beginning to pace again, like an expectant father, Harry
announced, "I've put it together. Spider-Man knows she's my
girlfriend. He'll want a ransom from my father."
Peter cocked his head and said, "Really? What could he
get?"
Harry's cell phone rang. Harry quickly flipped it open
and said, "Hello?" then he relaxed with visible relief. "Oh,
thank God." He turned to Peter and said somewhat unneces
sarily, "It's her." Then, back to the phone, he said, "Where
are you? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?" He paused, lis
tening. "He was what?" His brow furrowed. "What do you mean, he was incredible?"
Peter raised a hand to cover the smile.
Harry shook his head as if he were a dreamer trying to
shake himself back to wakefulness. "Are you sure you're all
right? Are you ... drugged? Where did he take you?" An
other pause. "To a roof garden?" He looked to Peter as if to
ask whether he was losing his mind or not. Peter just
shrugged.
"No, I've never been there," Harry said, carefully meas
uring his words with forced calm. "Listen, I'm coming
over." Yet again a pause. "Because you need to tell me every
thing, that's why. And what did you mean by incredible ... ? What? You're going to sleep now?!" He looked as if he was
going to argue the point, then remembered that Peter was
standing there, and so he said, "Well . . . then call me in the
morning. Are you sure you're feeling all right?" He scowled.
"Stop saying 'incredible!' "
It was all Peter could do not
to laugh out loud at Harry's frustration. "Call me when you
wake up. We'll go for breakfast and ... I'll buy you some
thing beautiful . . . Why? Because I want to. It'll make
you ... feel better," Harry told her, sounding a bit uncertain.
It was understandable. If Mary Jane felt as good as she
seemed to, she'd float off the planet. "All right, g'night, get some sleep, uh . . ." Plainly he didn't want to disconnect and
was searching for things to say. "Uh . . . sleep tight . . . don't
let the—"
Mary Jane hung up.
Harry snapped shut the cell phone. Then he cleared his
throat.
"She's ... still a little rattled."
Peter nodded as he tipped back the glass, finished the last
gulp, and lowered it. He glanced in a nearby mirror in approval. Milk mustache.
"At least she's all right."
"Yeah ... look ... about M. J...." Harry said after a
long moment. "I know that was a picture you didn't want to
take."
Ahhhh
. . .
so Harry was going to admit that he'd spotted
Peter during the festival. "I didn't take it," Peter said indif
ferently.
"I know. I should've told you about us," Harry said, ex
haling deeply as if trying to get the weight of the world off
his shoulders. "But you have to understand, I'm crazy about
her."
"We're friends. You didn't have to lie," Peter reminded
him, sounding sharper than he would have liked.
"I always knew you wanted her for yourself, but you
never made a move."
That was a bit more candor than Peter had expected from the moment. He lowered his gaze, his momentary anger re
placed with self-reproach. "I guess I didn't."