by Peter David
He looked at Madeline and asked, “What, is this about the Parker kid?”
Both of the women were astounded. “How… how did… ?” Mary Jane tried to say.
“Mary Jane, I might’ve been the crappiest father in the world, but I still got eyes that see and ears that hear.”
“Mary Jane,” Madeline said gently, “let me ask you two questions, okay? You don’t even have to answer them out loud. The first question is: Do you love the man you’re supposed to marry? And the second question is: Do you love Peter Parker?”
As it turned out, she indeed did not have to reply aloud. Her expression, the softness in her eyes, the smile—that said it all.
“Well, cripes!” Phil Watson said with characteristic impatience that, for the first time in two decades, benefited his family. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“What the hell are we doing here?” grumbled Jonah Jameson, standing near the altar and looking at his watch.
John was near him, waiting in the bridegroom’s customary spot. He patted his father’s arm. “Patience, Dad. These things take time.”
“Take time! I don’t have to take time! I pay other people to take time for me!”
“Mother,” sighed John, “can you talk to him?”
John’s mother glanced at Jonah, looked back to John, and then said, “Why start now?”
Jonah glared across the aisle at Louise, who forced a smile. “And what are you doing up here?” he demanded. “Shouldn’t you be back there, lighting a firecracker under her or something?”
“Last minute mother-daughter talk,” explained Louise.
“What, is she giving her marriage tips?”
“If she is,” murmured Jameson’s wife, “I hope she’s recommending drinking heavily.”
Jameson fired her a look. “Very funny.”
“Was it?” his wife said blandly. “Oh.”
“Uh-oh,” said John.
His father glanced at him. “What do you mean, ‘Uh-oh’?”
“Not liking the look of this,” said John, and he pointed down the aisle. A number of the guests, who were starting to become fidgety in their seats, turned and looked where he was pointing.
One of the ushers was sprinting down the aisle, and he was holding what appeared to be a note. With a shaking hand, he handed it to John. John, for his part, was utterly calm as he unfolded the note and read it. Then, without a word, he handed it to Jonah.
Jonah read it, then crushed it, which was more than enough to start a babble of speculation from the attendees, which only escalated in volume when Jonah Jameson snarled, “I never liked that girl!”
Now there was uncontrolled confusion and disarray, everyone talking to one another, and even worse, society columnists from rival newspapers were scribbling notes like mad, obviously eating it up. Jonah was ready to spit nails. There was such a pounding in his ears that at first he didn’t hear his son saying, “Dad, it’s okay!”
“The hell it’s okay! It’s not okay!”
“It is!”
“That she’s doing this to you… that gutless—”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” John called to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, please… settle down! Listen!” There was a lull in the cacophony of voices. All eyes were fixed on him. “Folks… there’s…” He paused, and then said, “There are some people I would have liked to have had here today… who won’t be. One of them, as it turns out—and as I think many of you have figured out—is the bride.”
People looked at one another, a few of them laughing very uncomfortably.
“But there are others,” John continued, “friends of mine, who went up on missions and never came back. Missions that failed over some fault that… well, that went undetected. And sometimes it even seemed as if good judgment was overridden in order to have the mission go forward, and corners were cut, because no one wanted to wind up looking bad. What I’m saying is that sometimes things… well, they don’t feel quite right, and it’s far better to abort the mission and risk looking bad than have the mission go down in flames. That’s not being gutless,” he said pointedly to his father. “That’s just good sense.”
There was dead silence for a long moment.
And then Jonah bellowed, “She did this because of some other man! I know it! And when I find out who it is, I’m going to make his life the living hell it so richly deserves to be!”
Then, of course, everyone started talking at once, and it was pure pandemonium. John rolled his eyes, looked up at the priest, and gestured helplessly. Someone nudged his arm and he looked down. Louise was standing there, smiling up at him.
“So,” she said brightly, “you doing anything later?”
Meanwhile, in the room in the back that had only moments earlier been occupied by a bride, Madeline and Phil Watson watched out a window as their daughter sprinted down the street, wedding gown billowing behind her, and flagged a cab. Madeline finally turned to Phil, looked him up and down, and said, “You have more flaws than any other man I’ve ever known, and I could never live with you again… but, damn, Phil, every so often, you have your moments.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I’m a work in progress.”
“Aren’t we all,” she sighed. “Aren’t we all.”
Peter sat on the front stoop of his apartment building, and watched his uncle Ben pull up in his car. He moaned softly.
Ben rolled down the window and leaned out. “What? No hug?”
“I gave it all up for you, Uncle Ben. Okay? I did what you wanted. I’m Spider-Man again. I’ll never stop making it up to you. It came down to you and Mary Jane, and you won. Happy now?”
“Well, I’m happy that you haven’t forgotten me and your responsibilities…”
“Good. So could we please—”
“But the Mary Jane business… Good Lord, Peter, how dare you?”
Peter gaped at him. “How… how dare I what?”
“Do you think she’s stupid?”
“No!”
“Feeble of mind or dim-witted in some way?”
“Of course not!” said Peter, starting to get angry.
“Do you consider her less competent than your aunt May?”
“No!” Peter rose from the stoop and came toward Ben, his fists balled in annoyance. “How could you even ask that?”
“Because you put the truth out there for your aunt May—or at least as much of it as you reasonably could—and then backed off and let her accept you or reject you on her own terms. But you didn’t remotely give Mary Jane the same courtesy. This is the twenty-first century, son. You don’t get to make up women’s minds for them. Come to think of it, it’s pretty much been that way no matter how many centuries you go back.”
“But… I knew it was best—”
“Peter,” Ben said, almost laughing, “you barely know what’s best for you. Don’t go around saying you know what’s best for others.”
“But… I thought it’s what you wanted… that I wasn’t meant to…”
“To be happy? Ohhh, no,” said Ben, stabbing a finger at him. “Don’t fob this one off on me, son. You want to spend your life beating up bad guys on my behalf, I’m all for that. But if you want to spend your life beating yourself up, then keep me out of it, thank you very much. In case you haven’t checked the scorecard recently, Peter, you’re one of the good guys.”
Peter stood there, feeling dazed. “But… she’s married by now. I let her go.”
“You didn’t let her go. You pushed her away.”
“I…” Peter lowered his head. “Yes, sir. I did.”
To his surprise, Uncle Ben replied with a cheerful tone. “You know what’s funny, though? What’s that physics thing you quoted every now and then? About when something happens, something else happens?”
“For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction?”
“That’s it,” said Ben. “So I’m thinking… you may be due for an opposite reaction to your action
.” He waved. “It’s been good talking with you, Peter.”
“Will I…” He cleared his throat and suddenly discovered that, for all the heartache the past days had been, he didn’t want his uncle to depart. “Will I be seeing you again?”
“Probably not, son.”
“I’ll… I’ll miss you.”
“Nah, not as much as you think. Not with her around.” He chucked a thumb behind himself and drove away from the curb.
“Her? What her?” Peter called after him, and suddenly he was jolted awake by the sound of a car horn.
He was surprised to discover that he wasn’t on the stoop. He was in his apartment, having fallen asleep on his bed. But there was a car honking outside his window, all the same. He rubbed the slumber from his eyes, went to the window and looked out. A cab was sitting there. There was no one in it but the driver. The passenger door was open, as if someone had jumped out of the cab with such urgency that they hadn’t bothered to close it. Finally, the clearly annoyed cabbie climbed out of the driver’s side and closed it himself, shaking his head and muttering in Spanish.
Wonder what that’s about, thought Peter, and turned around… to see Mary Jane standing in his doorway. She was wearing her wedding gown, but her hair was in total disarray. She was staring at him with wide eyes and flashing a lopsided smile.
“Had to do what I had to do,” she told him.
Peter bit his lower lip, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Automatically, he glanced at her hand. There was no wedding ring… or even an engagement ring. “Mary Jane… ?”
“Peter… I can’t survive without you.”
“We can’t—”
She shook her head firmly. “I know why you think we can’t be together, but can’t you respect me enough to let me make my own decision?”
In spite of himself, Peter smiled. How familiar did that sound?
“Peter,” she continued, “I know there may be risks, but I want to face them with you. It’s wrong that we should each be only half alive… half of ourselves. I love you. So here I am, standing in your doorway. I have always been standing in your doorway.” She moved toward him, and added softly, “Isn’t it about time somebody saved your life?”
At that moment, Peter Parker heard something that he couldn’t quite identify. But then he realized: It was the sound of his soul breathing a sigh of relief.
A slow smile appeared on his face. “Thank you, Mary Jane Watson.”
He took her in his arms and a moment that seemed an eternity in coming finally arrived. Their lips pressed together and Mary Jane almost melted into him. It was that night in the rain all over again, and they both knew it without having to say a word. And there was nothing that was ever going to separate them again, nothing that could possibly spoil this perfect mo—
The howling of sirens floated through the window. Police cars, three of them. Peter turned and saw them speeding up the street. People were scurrying to get out of the way, and the cop cars were barely slowing down. Something fairly major had to be happening.
He turned back to Mary Jane, and he was absolutely certain that he was about to totally screw up this new phase in their relationship before it had even begun.
Mary Jane simply smiled.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” she said.
As Spider-Man hurtled above the streets of New York, following the call of the sirens, he imagined that the shadow of Uncle Ben was pacing him—no longer carrying a message of guilt, but instead one of approval over how Peter was going to be able to balance his life from now on. Peter realized just how much of the discord had flowed from his relationship, or lack thereof, with Mary Jane. It was the center of his universe, without which the universe could not hold together. More important than that, Uncle Ben appeared to realize it, as well. Hell, the old man had probably known it all along, and had just been waiting for Peter to figure it out for himself. He was like that.
Sometimes the boy gets the girl, Uncle Ben. Now the eyes I have dreamed about are waiting for me at the end of the day. But power and responsibility remain my job, my destiny… because I am still… Spider-Man.
By Peter David
Published by Ballantine Books:
BABYLON 5: LEGIONS OF FIRE TRILOGY
The Long Night of Centauri Prime
Armies of Light and Dark
Out of the Darkness
The Hulk
Spider-Man
Spider-Man 2
A Del Rey® Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2004 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. All rights reserved.
Spider-Man and all related characters: TM & © 2004 Marvel Characters, Inc. Spider-Man 2, the movie, © 2004 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. All rights reserved.
Super Hero is a co-owned registered trademark
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Excerpt from “Four Quartets: Burnt Norton” by T. S. Eliot
www.delreydigital.com
First Edition: May 2004
eISBN: 978-0-345-47875-7
v3.0