Fic- Everyone Has A Choice

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This is on ff.net as well, but it’s getting nearly impossible to upload things the way you want them there…

Title: Everyone Has A Choice
Fandom: Spider-Man
Genre: General
Rating: Probably around PG13
Pairings: Peter/MJ, Otto/Rosie, maybe implied Peter/Harry at some point
A/N: I’m actually really, really proud of this fic- but tell me what you think. I really want to have gotten the characters right, so do you think I have? Or what? ;)

1. 4th December

*****

It is either a joke or a theory – probably a joke, but most people don’t really care – that one in three people are either mad or heading that way. So take a look at your two best friends, it continues – if it’s not them, it’s you. There are, though, a few things wrong with this theory – firstly, it assumes you actually have two best friends, and secondly, it assumes you know them well enough to tell if they’re going mad.

In fact, there would not be much point in this theory…if three people did not believe it, and at this very moment were not frantically thinking of each other and themselves, going over all the events of the past few weeks in their heads, sorting through the memories, and wondering which one of them it was.

*****

Peter didn’t know what to do. For once, though, this wasn’t something great and terrible and dramatic…it was something much more mundane. Christmas.

Of course, it wasn’t Christmas yet…there was still a while to go. Christmas lights were being hung up already, however. Every time he saw some, his stomach turned over. It wasn’t as if he hated Christmas- he used to love it. That was the problem. Used to.

There was a not particularly simple reason for the used to: it was the fact that last Christmas, not only was his uncle there and not dead, but his best friend hadn’t lost his father, the woman he loved was as safe from harm as anyone else in the city, and he was not, had never been, a superhero in his spare time.

How was he going to do it? He didn’t want to – he couldn’t walk into his old house on Christmas, the happiest day of year, knowing his uncle wasn’t there and it was partly his fault. And how could he sit through a Christmas meal knowing that just because it was Christmas it didn’t mean they’d be no criminals on the streets, didn’t mean someone’s house might not catch fire, didn’t mean he was allowed a break from the job that consumed his life….

He knew that as Christmas approached, it would only get harder.

*****

Mary Jane Watson believed in doing Christmas shopping early. Otherwise, she figured, the shops would be crowded whenever you went in them and soon all the good things would be gone. She considered herself to be very good at shopping.

Besides, she wanted to feel normal, and what could be more normal than going shopping? Of course, there was still the facct that people kept frowning at her, looking at her as if they were sure they’d seen her somewhere before…and they had, Mary Jane thought ruefully. Everyone had. The front page of all the newspapers, a few weeks ago…’SPIDER-MAN AND GOBLIN ALMOST CAUSE TRAGEDY’. She hadn’t let them interview her, but the people in the cable car had shared their stories many times. They all said roughly the same thing…they’d seen the Green Goblin, then they’d fallen and been suspended in the car in mid-air, then Spider-Man had not only saved them, but saved her as well…seeing as none of them knew her name or who she was, she’d been referred to as ‘the red-haired woman’ or ‘the girl’ or once, even ‘the chick’. And then someone…she suspected it was her father, in fact, she knew it was her father…had sent a photograph of her at her graduation to the Daily Bugle. So now almost everyone had an image of her in the back of their mind.

She really, really hoped people would forget about it soon.

The newspapers had said many other things too. They said it was impossible to confirm whether both of the ‘criminals’ were dead or not, but people were already reporting sightings- there had been warnings, for a few weeks, telling people to stay inside and not go out unless they had to.
Mary Jane had been in hospital…as soon as the police boat reached them, they’d all been whisked away, despite protests…but her mother had brought her a newspaper. Her father had not turned up.

Looking at the headlines, looking at the picture on the front…it was an old one of Spider-Man, she’d seen it before…she knew that she would never, ever forget any of this. Every single thing she’d felt while being certain she was about to die was now seared into her memory forever. She carefully put the newspaper away in a drawer. Then she tried to just relax and not think about it; just concentrate on healing the few minor injuries she had, getting out of hospital and going to see Peter and Harry, who were probably both rather worried about her…although she did wonder why neither of them had come straight to her bedside.

The next day’s issue of the newspaper explained that question, and was the second thing that seared itself into her memory forever. As was the way she recieved it. Her mother came into the room, sat down delicately on a chair and said, “Dear…I brought you another newspaper.”

“Thank you,” Mary Jane said. “Am I…mentioned?”

“Only a few times, dear. And not by name.”

“Well, that’s good…may I have it?”

But her mother held it just out of reach, a worried expression on her face. “I think there may be…something you should know, darling. You see,” and now Mary Jane was starting to feel worried herself, “you remember young Harry Osborn?”

“Mum, of course I remember him, I dated him-”

“Well-”

She was suddenly afraid. “Nothing’s happened to him, has it?”

“Well,” her mother said again, and handed her the newspaper. Mary Jane took it, not sure whether she should read it right away and as fast as she could, or wait for just a second – but whatever she decided on, her eyes were way ahead of her, and she saw the headline.

DEATH OF MILLIONAIRE BUSINESSMAN; SPIDER-MAN PRIME SUSPECT

She hastily scanned the rest of it: Harry was fine…he’d seen Spider-Man walking in with Norman’s body, apparently…okay, maybe he wasn’t fine, but he wasn’t hurt or anything…it had happened a couple of nights ago but the newspapers had only gotten hold of it now…Harry was ‘being comforted by friends’, so that was why he and Peter hadn’t come right away…

“Oh God…” Mary Jane murmured. Then she folded the newspaper. “It couldn’t have been Spider-Man who did it. It just couldn’t have been.”

“Well, dear,” her mother said, in her quiet voice, “I’ll always be grateful to him…very grateful to him, for saving you- but nobody’s all good…”

“It couldn’t have been him,” Mary Jane repeated. She glanced down at the newspaper again. “Look, it says no-one saw him actually killing him…not stabbing him or anything…”

“They found stab wounds on the body.”

“But they don’t know who made them! It was…” Suddenly she was sure she knew the answer, and couldn’t understand why no-one else had. “Of course! Maybe the Green Goblin took him…was holding him hostage or something…and then killed him, and Spider-Man thought he’d better return the body, because he would-” She was shouting now, and her mother motioned for her to be quiet. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s what the papers think…”

“I have to go and see Harry…”

“No, dear. You’ll probably be let out tomorrow, but you can’t just get out of bed. You can phone.”

So as soon as her mother had left, she did. Norman’s voice, on the answering machine, greeted her.

*****

As Mary Jane paid for what was going to be Peter’s Christmas present…a brand new camera…she felt like she was being looked at. Of course, this wasn’t really anything new, not now…but maybe it wasn’t just some random person this time, maybe it was-

“Peter!”

“Hello,” he said to her. He looked tired, as if he’d rather be at home sleeping. They looked at each other for a moment, and Mary Jane was glad she’d had the presense of mind to hide the camera.

They kept just standing there, while people searched the shelves behind them.

“So…” Peter said eventually. Mary Jane knew then that this conversation just wasn’t going to work. Not after their last conversation. Not after he’d kissed her and then walked away. Neither of them could do it.

“So…are you Christmas shopping?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Sort of. Not really. I’m…not really looking forward to Christmas this year.”

“Well, it’s been a stressful time for all of us,” Mary Jane said. She had a feeling that’d come out all wrong, but at least they were talking. Even if they did sound like people who only vaguely knew each other, instead of people who’d kissed each other not too long ago. Maybe they’d be better off pretending that, and their conversation, had just never happened…

“How’s Harry?” she asked.

“He’s…” Peter swallowed, the way he always did when he was worried. “He’s…not really himself, you know?”

“In what way?”

“He’s…quieter…he stays in his room…” Peter shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll…well, I know how he’s feeling.”

Mary Jane nodded. “Of course you do,” she said quietly.

And then neither of them said anything, because the one thing it would have been good for them to talk about, neither of them could.

“Well, I’d better get going,” Mary Jane said, far too brightly. “I’ve got lot of presents to get…”

“Yeah…” Peter said. He looked so…lost. “Okay…see you around.”

She gave him a smile and a wave and left. She didn’t dare look back.

*****

I’m not here right now. Please leave a message.

He was going insane, he really was…

I’m not here right now. Please leave a message.

The funeral was over, his father was laid to rest, he had to come out of his room eventually, and stop playing the answering machine-

I’m not here right now…

It was just two bloody sentences. He should’ve left something else. After all, when he’d finally decided to do a task he’d been putting off for ages…clearing out his father’s desk….he’d hoped, really desperately hoped, that he’d find a letter or something in there. A last letter that his father had written before he died, telling Harry he loved him, or was proud of him, or something. But he hadn’t found any such thing. There also weren’t any pictures of his mother in there, although he hadn’t been expecting them. There was only one picture of Harry, a blurred one taken at a picnic or somewhere. Peter was in the background.

That was the only thing in the entire desk…the entire room…that indicated Norman Osborn had ever even had a son at all.

2. 18th December

It was one week before Christmas when Harry realised that he’d have to become a murderer. It occured to him when he was doing the same thing that he now did every morning: standing at the window looking out for Spider-Man. Exactly what he would do when he saw him he had no idea – he had a gun, but he wasn’t about to shoot it out a window – but he had to do something.

He supposed he seemed crazy to everyone else. The few servants -the ones most loyal to his father- who had stuck around treated him mostly like he shouldn’t be living in the house at all. He wondered if his father had ever talked about him to them. What would he have said? That his son was lazy and stupid and couldn’t even stay in one school for very long…

There were police sirens in the distance, maybe that meant that the Bug…as Harry had now called him…was about to show up..

He waited, tense and sweating, for about fifteen minutes, but he didn’t come. Harry wasn’t sure whether to be angry or relieved. He didn’t want to be relieved.

He wished he knew what was going on inside the wallcrawler’s mind.

*****

Peter was thinking about the night Norman Osborn died. In hindsight, he realised with a sigh, he’d done some really bloody stupid things.

Although he had to admit it, his memories of the night the Green Goblin died were a little…blurred. He was, in truth, astonished he hadn’t just collapsed from pain and shock. He’d stayed in the ruins of the building for a few minutes, head hung, in complete despair, knowing he had to get moving before the police came.

Don’t tell Harry.

Eventually, moving more automatically than anything else, he’d disconnected the glider from Norman (throwing up only once), took the green armour off him, thrown it into a pile, looked around for the mask…it wasn’t there, it wasn’t anywhere, it had gone.

Don’t tell Harry.

Feeling …there wasn’t even a word for it, it was so bad…he gave up hunting for the mask, found the last remaining pumpkin bomb, stood well back and blew all the armour up. It was reduced to ashes, like he had almost been.

Then came the difficult part.

He shouldn’t have taken Norman back to the house. He should have guessed Harry would be there. The clever thing to do would have been to leave him in an alleyway somewhere, or somewhere else where it’d look as though some random street thug had stabbed him…but he hadn’t. It hadn’t…seemed quite fair.

Anyway, it was done now. Harry thought Spider-Man was a murderer, and that couldn’t be reversed. He’d tried to think of something he could do…anything to convince Harry things weren’t like what he thought…but it seemed almost like…almost like there was something else going on, something else living in that creepy old house with Harry…and he really didn’t want to think about it. It seemed crazy. Besides, he knew if he kept thinking about it, he’d reach a conclusion he’d rather not reach.

*****

Halfway through the day Mary Jane lost her temper with her father. This was becoming a more and more frequent occurance. She was beginning to hate her house, even her own bedroom. She wanted out so badly, but she wasn’t sure where to go.

She knew why she hated her bedroom, though. It was because at night, not too long ago, someone…a human being, dressed up in insane-looking armour…had picked the lock on the front door, sneaked (somehow) up the stairs, read the plate on her door which said MJ’s Room, released some sort of sleeping gas inside, and kidnapped her. And nearly killed her.

How could she feel safe after that? Her parents couldn’t protect her. The night of the kidnapping, her father had been down the pub and her mother had been visiting friends. It wasn’t unusual for her to be alone in the house.

Her anger at her father had been slowly building up all day – hell, it had been building up all week. First, she’d discovered he’d deleted all the messages on the answering machine. Messages for her. Then she’d heard him yelling at her mother, about something stupid and pointless like how much beer they had left. And…this was probably the worst thing…he wouldn’t look at her. He treated her like a stranger, instead of his daughter. He’d only talk to her if he was angry, and that was half the time, but dammit…

At tea time the dam finally broke. She looked at him…stared right at him…and he just avoided her gaze. So she snapped, “Why aren’t you looking at me, Dad?”

He didn’t say anything.

“You ashamed I was stupid enough to get myself kidnapped?” He shook his head. “Then what?” When he still didn’t answer, she growled and got up to leave the table. That just made him angry in turn.

“You should’ve married Flash Thompson, you idiot,” he called to her as she left, “Then you’d be off living the high life and not having us pay for you and not getting kidnapped!”

“I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me either!” she yelled, well aware she sounded like she’d stepped out of a soap opera. “And I didn’t ask to be kidnapped, and maybe if you hadn’t gone out to get drunk I wouldn’t have been!”

“Like I could’ve done anything!” he yelled, standing up now and roaring.

“You should! Or you should have tried, you’re my father for god’s sake!”

She did leave the room then, being careful not to look at her mother. She waited at the bottom of the staircase, not wanting to go to her room, but not wanting to go out into the cold…

She went out into the cold.

*****

The trouble with snow, now, was that it could cause so many accidents. Cars skidding on ice, people skidding on ice…even snowball fights had the potential for danger. Peter wished he could sit back and just appreciate the fact that New York City was covered in snow, giving it a softness not generally associated with it, but of course he couldn’t. He had a job to do.

It wasn’t always like this. The first Christmas after MJ’s family had moved in next door, when his uncle was still alive and his family still whole, it had snowed then. He’d run into the back yard to make a snowman, and MJ had done likewise, and they’d had a little snowman-building contest…

Yeah…it was a long time ago.

He plucked his Spider-Man outfit from the wardrobe and was about to put it on when the phone rang. It made him jump. He answered it.

“Hello?”

“Peter?” It was Harry.

“Hey, Harry.”

There was a rustling sound on the other end, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if he was moving piles of newspaper clippings out of the way. “I know you’re almost definately going to be busy, but I was wondering…do you want to come over to my house on Christmas Day?”

His house. Harry still had half of his pocessions at the apartment, but in the past few weeks he had all but moved out. Peter couldn’t fathom why. Maybe he wanted to keep company with his father’s ghost. “I’m sorry, Harry. I really am. But I’m going to my aunt’s house for Christmas.”

“Oh.” Peter knew Harry had phoned expecting to be disappointed.

“I could come on Christmas Eve,” he offered.

“Okay. You do that…thanks.”

“S’alright.”

He hung up the phone, got changed and jumped out of the window.

*****

Harry put the phone down and went back to the piles of newspapers. He had a sharp pair of scissors clutched in his hand…anything about Spider-Man he cut out and put in a drawer. There was a surprising amount of articles…well, he’d heard that the editor of the Bugle had some sort of grudge against him. And heck, he wasn’t the only one.

He found a report about the attack at the World Unity Festival. He’d been there when it happened…but he’d been lying on the ground knocked out for a good percentage of it. He wasn’t sure exactly what he missed, except for Spider-Man saving Mary Jane…

Why had he done that, anyway? Was it because she was Harry’s girlfriend, or had been back then? That had to be it. The wallcrawler had been stalking him since day one.

He began to read the report. It began by listing the people who had died in the explosion…okay, the explosion had been the Goblin’s fault, hadn’t it? Something about a bomb. Two costumed murderers in one city…

Was the Goblin dead? There hadn’t been any sort of offical confirmation, and there probably would never be, but there were always rumors…people said they’d seen him in alleyways, or on roofs, and there were those who claimed he’d walked into their shops and stolen things…

What strange world were they all living in?

He kept on reading. Whoever had written the article seemed more curious about the Goblin than about Spider-Man. “No-one knows where he came from, or what he wanted. This mysterious creature seemed to be neither monster nor man…”

Maybe the answers to all his questions were staring him in the face, and he couldn’t see them.

He starting cutting things out.

Chapter three will come tomorrow, probably. :)

(And I wasn’t kidding about the feedback thing. ;) )