Chapter 3: Sentencing

"Tomorrow, everything changes!"

"What do you mean, Lee?" Robbie Robertson looked up from the copy Foswell had rattled off. Seems a pulitzer did let some reporters get lazy.

"I'm going to be putting together the final threads of our Spider-man Goblin piece," Ned beamed.

"Have you confirmed the identity of Spider-man or The Hobgoblin?" Robbie asked with a tired lilt. The truth was that without pictures even a proper expose could prove unsellable.

"Not as such, no," Ned waffled, "But I can feel how close I'm getting. I can taste it."

Betty stopped at that. She looked at her boyfriend with a mix of pride, concern and suspicion. He was so invested in this case and she couldn't see it adding up at all like he seemed to be claiming.

"A reporter chasing down feelings isn't endowing me with a lot of confidence, Ned," Robbie tutted, "What are you looking into?"

"I've got another informant that--"

"I'm not going to have another set of lawyers breathing down our necks. One Emily Osborn is enough thank you," Robbie caught the glint in his reporter's eye.

"No it isn't that. This guy reached--"

"Ms Brant!" The Daily Bugle stood stalwart in midtown Manhattan. The newspapermen and women of the second strongest newspaper in the Big Apple would shake their heads in disbelief to discover their owner and editor's hollering didn't even shake the building.

Betty rushed along away from Robbie and Ned's powwow. She had been on task and for the first time since she had been employed had it gotten away from her. Luckily, Jolly Jonah had been lightning rodded into another unfortunate soul. She almost made it to the coffee machine before he redirected towards her.

"--and Ms Brant!" Betty rotated calmly toward the screaming conniption and began smiling like she hadn't been distracted, "Where are you? I've been waiting 17.9 minutes for a 35 second cup of coffee!"

"It's been two minutes and it takes three minutes to brew it the way you'll drink decaf," Betty turned away from him with a smile. Jameson stuttered for a moment. Not once had he jumped the gun on Betty getting him his coffee. The crisis with John must be dulling his edge.

"I'll be in my office," He didn't bellow and the door didn't slam. The newspaper was quiet for a full minute.

"It's pretty obvious, Lizzie," Mark rested his elbows on his knees, "Dad's given up on me."

"That's not it, big brother," Liz shook her head, "He just needs time."

"I've got plenty he's welcome to. Whatever, tell me about something happier," He rolled back his shoulders.

"Petey and I--"

"No." Mark spat, "How's MJ?"

"She's a model now," Liz was angry at the interruption, "They've got posters and billboards selling some perfume." Liz had started wearing Revanna No. 5 as a countermeasure. Peter liked it and he wouldn't be thinking of MJ when he smelled it. Plus it smelled really nice. Luckily, her dad didn't mind spoiling her a little.

"And I got there first," Mark chest thumped.

"First? Really?"

"I mean before she was famous," Mark admitted with red cheeks.

"Yeah, that makes more sense," Liz sniped.

"You saying I--"

"Alright, Miss Allen, time's up." Two guards approached the vault cells. Mark sneered and punched the wall in frustration.

"Inmate will refrain from hitting the walls or suppressing foam will be used to neutralize Allen comma Mark."

"I know," He sighed, "Good-bye Lizzie. Happy fourth of July."

"Happy Third of July," She winked back. They didn't try to hug this time. There was only one shift where they'd get away with that and it wasn't these two guards. Liz did a waggling finger wave as she walked out down past the specialized cells of The Vault.

"Oh, that mamacita has a tight little booty," The Scorpion commented after the guards left, "Is it true she's a slut for gringo dick, Marky?"

"Shut your mouth, Gargan!" Mark snarled quietly. Molten Man stepped to the line in his cell.

"Hey, it's not my fault sweet tits puts the spic in spicy," Gargan shrugged.

"You piece of shit! Shut your Goddamned mouth before I--"

"Voices will be lowered or suppressing foam will be released to neutralize Allen comma Mark."

"I bet it won't take much to get that boreeka fired up," Gargan gave a low whistle. Mark squared his shoulders and huffed out impotently.

"Step back, Gargan," Rhino sighed from his neighboring cell, "Lizzie's a sweet girl."

"And you don't get to talk shit about her!" Mark growled across the corridor unable to hold off.

"Voices will lowered or suppressing foam will be released to neutralized Allen comma Mark."

"Ain't shit, Marky, little Latina's giving it up to her boy Petey," Gargan enjoyed the twitch Mark snapped at the name Petey, "But little boys are a waste on fine puta like that. Chica needs a proper go and I'll be sure to make it sting."

"You son of a bitch!" Mark roared slamming both fists into the hard plastic barrier. There was harsh metal snap. The blast from the hoses slammed Mark into the ground. A symphony of bubbles and popping followed the quick roar. Mac Gargan fell back onto his bed laughing uproariously as he held his belly.

"Voices will be lowered or neutralizing gas will be released to sedate Gargan comma MacDonald."

Mac slapped both hands over his mouth and his laugh could only escape out the violent shaking of his shoulders. "I know," He struggled to mutter as the tears swam in his eyes.

"He's everywhere!" The thug panicked spinning and firing blindly into the dust and smoke. He collapsed bonelessly.

"Keep your wits cowards," The Wild Pack soldier shook the blood off the butt of his gun.

"Oh, don't be so hard on the little ones, there isn't half a wit between the six of them," The cackle followed two spark blasts that took the soldier in the body armor. His body spasmed and he fell to one knee. His assault rifle spinning out across the dusty concrete floor.

"You're dead Hobgoblin," The bullets ripped open momentary tunnels in the smoke but there was no goblin to be found.

"Keep down you idiots!"

"Don't shoot at your buddies!"

"Pick up your damned gun, coward!"

The wild pack couldn't manage the gangsters they had come to extract. Sable Manfredi had millions in arms in this warehouse and Hobgoblin didn't seem half interested in stealing any of it. The screech of pumpkin bombs was timed moments before the concussion of classical explosives.

"No! No! No!" The thug screamed as the silhouette of Hobgoblin parted the smoke and chaos. In his left hand, he was juggling two pumpkins while, in his right hand, pressed down the stem of a third. That pale yellow light sparking up the eyes and crooked grin of the bomb. The submachinegun clicked impotently. It shook worse in the thug's hands.

"A little gift for Sable," Hobgoblin tossed the pumpkin bomb like a litterer finished with his coke can, "You'll be sure to tell her I'm thinking of her."

The thug's scream lasted so much longer than he figured it had any right to. Webs, latched onto his shoulders, dragged him bodily out of the warehouse and onto the front drive.

"My spider-sense is tingling. Did anyone call for a webslinger?"[1] Spider-man asked from the roof of a heavily battered panel van.

"Spider-man!" the thug croaked, "Am I glad you're here!"

"I can't say I've ever had a mobster welcome me to the crime scene. You sure you know how this works?" Spidey shook his head and webbed the criminal to the ground by the wrists and mouth. His spider-sense rocked him back on his heels. No! He leapt down to the ground. His legs straddled the gangster's hips. He had trouble lifting a Volkswagen. His muscles strained as he grabbed the van and with a mighty shout he managed to lift and lever the van over his head and down on the other side of the thug and himself.

Sounds effects like bang and kapow and crack-ka-boom were understatements. It wasn't one explosion but it was a mighty detonation. Debris ripped through the upside down van tearing through doors and windows. Glass was blasted down, Spidey hopped a two-step to avoid some of the dangerous pieces. Dagger-like shards of metal stuck out from the second door. Nearby buildings ejected clouds of dust off of their roofs.

"That's my cue. Wish me luck," Spidey received a mumbled good luck from the perp on the ground. He leapt the battered van and rushed into the smoke and dust.

"A little late to the dance webhead," Hobgoblin's voice laughed through the smoke.

"Fashionably late, I think," Spider-man didn't dive straight for the voice,"Besides, my moves will sweep you off your feet."

"But my dance card's all full up," The Hobgoblin sighed, "If I don't get on home, daddy will worry."

The air opened up with a dozen falling pumpkins. It was all Spider-man could do to jump and weave through the shelling and over the toppled piles of slagged and damaged firearms. He had it now, the path Hobgoblin was tracking through the chaos.

"Don't you worry your pretty grotesque head about it, Hobby," Spider-man called, "I'll make sure you get home safe. Provided your home is a 10 by 8 prison cell."

"So sorry, webhead. Perhaps tomorrow? I'm really looking forward to the fireworks," Hobby's laugh was quickly drowned out as his rockets ratcheted up moments before glass shattered, He was flying out the back side of the warehouse. Spider-man raced to catch up before the villain got away, "Just so we don't miss each other, I'll leave you my number."

Spider sense tingled from all directions. "Oh, poop."

Bombs triggered munitions that set off canisters of fuel. The Hobgoblin was quickly flying out of reach. There were men left in the warehouse. It didn't work once but Spider-man had no other recourse. The spider tracer zipped out through the shattered window on a wad of webbing. Spider-man dived back into the inferno. Minutes later he was dragging two final members of the Wild Pack out on to the street.

"Spider-man," Captain Stacy arrived with his men, "Anyone still inside?"

"No sir," Spider-man sighed. He looked to see the four other police officers. Three looked uncertain as to whether they needed their guns. Lieutenant DeWolff's mandate was clear. Except Captain Stacy was just chatting and Sergeant Carter was elbowing Officer Gonzales to point at the vigilante. Gonzales pulled out his zipties to pick up the thugs scattered behind the torn up van, "But there is one more bad guy to go after."

"Yeah, there's always work to do," Stacy shook his head and turned, "Carter! Stop gawking and get those soldiers booked! Gonzalez is making you look obsolete."

"Captain." Work was only a salute away from being properly done. Yet, Carter didn't even make a move until after he gave the retreating Spider-man an appreciative smirk.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up!" MJ was dressed in lingerie when she snuck up against Peter to snap in his ear. "You're lucky that Kingsley hasn't been in yet!"

"I'm thinking he got here just before I did," Kingsley was the most obvious subject and Spider-man had chased his tracer all the way back to Kingsley's offices. It was a quick jaunt back to his webbed up clothes before he entered the studio legally as Peter Parker.

"Mr Parker!" Jason Macendale, head of security, walked with every ounce of authority his title provided, "I have better things to do with my time then deal with disrespectful truants. You're wanted behind your camera ASAP. Miss Watson, your passport."

Jason delivered the booklet along with a stapled printout. MJ took them with her best grin. "Thank you, I've never been on a plane before. I'm so excited."

"Good for you. I think you're wanted in makeup. Mr Parker! What did I just say to you!" With his final shout Jason left through the stairwell, likely to the next part of his rounds.

"Hurry up, webhead," MJ giggled in his ear, "They've got this amazing black bikini for you to shoot me in."

"I think Kingsley's the Hobgoblin, but it could be Jason doing his dirty work." Peter shook his head, "Keep your eyes open."

"I'm going with Mr Kingsley to Grand Cayman in two days," MJ pushed Peter's shoulder hard, "You wouldn't let that happen if he's some sort of supervillain?"

"No, I promise," Peter nodded.

"Mary Jane!" Speak of the devil, Roderick Kingsley appeared. The billionaire was dressed in a dark violet suit with a bright white floral boutonniere, "My irreplaceable treasure. You're needed in prep."

"Yes, Mr Kingsley," MJ squeezed Peter's shoulder before zipping through the heavy black curtain and into dressing and makeup.

"And you need to start calling me Roddy," He called after her. His charm dissolved into infinite impatience when he turned to Peter Parker, "You're not taking pictures yet, Peter?"

"No, Roddy, I'm on my way," Peter moved to hurry past his boss. A large hand gripped tightly on his shoulder. It was all Peter could do to ignore the tingles and let himself be grabbed. Kingsley had a powerful grip for such an effete man.

"Watch the lip, Parker. There are millions of you out there," There was further tightening on his shoulder. Peter wondered if he could see the Green in a man's eyes. Damn! There was so much he had to follow up. He had hoped to do some sleuthing undercover. But now it looked like he was going to be under a microscope.

"Yes sir, Mr Kingsley," He managed to slip the death grip and rush ahead, "Right away, sir."

"Sorry, I'm late," Peter announced as he slipped into the studio. Another photographer was there and the lighting guy, but no models.

"No need to hurry, kiddo," his colleague said from the director's chair, "Our illustrious Miss Hollister was running late as well. They just got her into prep. Should've seen her. I'd have to get pictures of such a goddess looking like she had just spent the last two hours in a sauna dressed in a gimp mask. The girls back there have their work cut out for them."

"Yeah?" Roderick and Jason had been immaculate but if Peter had made the mistake of putting his clothes on over his uniform he'd be smelling like a chimney. In that body armor with that mask who could tell whether a goblin was a girl? No, Lily might be a bit of a diva but a supervillain? Dammit! She was tall enough. Suddenly, the idea of basking in the near naked glory of a supermodel grew unappealing.

"Your camera ready, kiddo? Here she comes." Alright, less appealing. Temporarily.

"Doctor Warren, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes," Gwen had put away the last of her gear. Her labcoat lay folded in her cubby locker. Technically, the Midtown sponsored internship ended with the school year, however Dr Warren was happy to have either of his interns continue volunteering as his work continued through the summer. Gwen had yet to miss a day. Peter made his own hours.

"Of course, Miss Stacy," Dr Warren looked up from the simulations his computer was calculating, "Miss Whitman, go ahead and pack up we're done for the day."

Debra gave an affirmative nod and proceeded to her end of shift inspection. Dr Warren offered Gwen the next stool at the bench. Gwen wasn't entirely comfortable with the short skirts MJ had transposed into her wardrobe. With Harry and Peter, she couldn't stop worrying about her legs or her posture or where their eyes were. With Dr Warren, she didn't think twice. In her mind, he was too old, too professional, too respectable to consider the sexuality of a nearly 17 year old girl. In his mind, he was archiving the absolute perfection of her legs as she settled across from him. Was that flash of pink her underwear? Of course it was, Miles, Gwen hasn't grown into the type of woman this base world desires.

"I've seen the files on Eddie and Max," She made sure she sat with perfect posture as she crossed her legs, "I want to help. I want to make them better. Please, let me be a part of this."

"Our patients extend further than simply Mr Brock and Mr Dillon," He suggested, "And the work is highly experimental. I was under the impression that you had been attacked by Electro and by Venom. Even though only Eddie's delusions tie him to Venom it may be dangerous to involve you."

It was true. Gwen still had nightmares. Black organic thunderclouds, bright lightning and then claustrophobic cold water. Fear didn't matter. Facing your fear is what would define her. Gwen loved science. She believed that the world could and needed to be a better place. She would make it a better place. She had the brains, the tools, the opportunity and the responsibility to help. She didn't have the words to convey that sentiment.

"I can face my fears," Gwen declared, "For Eddie, for Max, for John," she could see Harry in her mind, "For a friend: I can do what is needed. I will help them."

"You're emotional attachment to the subjects encourages me to withhold access, Miss Stacy," Doctor Warren laced his fingers and reclined, "This is hard science and our emotions can not overcome our reason or our results."

"I can be professional. It won't be a problem, I assure you."

"I believe you," Gwen swelled up with pride, "But that is only the first worry I have. Mr Brock has shown exemplary manners however Mr Jameson, Mr Dillon and Mr Kasady, especially, are quite obviously dangerous."

"I'm not going to let fear stop me," She squared her shoulders and spoke with an even voice. Max Dillon, Electro, she had seen him fall from affable handyman to mad supervillain. He had shocked and kidnapped her. She wanted to see the old Max. The friendly Max. She was afraid.

"I am humbled by your courage, Miss Stacy," Doctor Warren smiled wanly, "But that doesn't mean I'm not afraid. You will not be a part of these experiments. That is final."

"Using the fundamental designs of my..." Alistair sneered as he spoke, "Shocker suit, and the mechanical aspects of your father's Silvermane armor, I have begun a composite battlesuit for the lovely Ms Jenkins."

"It's in my colors at least," The driver scoffed as she saw the blue and black armor hanging in the display case.

"Daddy's armor failed pretty quickly when Spider-man tore out his servos," Sable looked at the armored mannequin with trepidation. Osborn, Octopus and Tombstone were out of the picture, yet the Manfredi empire was infertile and dead. It seemed the only way to compete was to produce the costumed supercriminals that Spider-man had become very competent at breaking down. If it wasn't for the likes of Jack O'Lantern and now The Hobgoblin muscling her out of her birthright she'd have been content to let the psychos take the spotlight while she ran things from the shadows. This must be a bad idea.

"Yes, that weakness has been circumvented," Alistair rolled his wheelchair forward so he could present better and look his clients in the eye. Much better than his father's method of ogling Janice and Sable from behind, "The spider-slayer's armor proved resilient to all but the most contained explosions. I've managed to apply it in a three layer pattern over the torso and limbs. The joints are less defended by bulk armor but the undersuit is of carbon fibers and bullet resistant plastics. Only the Rhino has better defenses. Theoretically, I could surpass that armor but that would be too heavy for the magnetic flight modules."

"I'll be able to fly?" To the room it seemed as if Jenkins was just asking a question. Her voice was soft and unexcited. Sable's ears noted the schoolgirl giddiness.

"Not with the precision of Vulture but very near. Much better than a helicopter. Also the top speed will be near the speed of sound," Alistair looked to his father. The son rolled his eyes, he turned his chair and began pointing to the armor, "The weaponry and manoeuvrability are all controlled by intuitive muscle movements in the shoulders, ankles and fingers. The arsenal is quite extensive."

"And it's sized for Janice?"

"There'll be final adjustments when she is suited up," Spencer dripped lecherous slime.

"You'll be able to wear clothes underneath the armor. A tank top and running shorts at least," Alistair reassured the woman, "We can finish calibrations as soon as you get suited up. We'll give you some privacy."

Alistair earned a tired eye roll from his father as they left the immediate room. The father and son scientists stopped short behind the door.

"This is going to have Tri-Corp all over it. Dr Twaki is not going to approve."

"Let the washed up clerk pitch of fit if he needs to," Spencer replied with the impolitic dismissal only Alistair ever bore witness to.

"And Michael?" Alistair knew the answer. The third head of Tri-Corp was most often a silent partner. Michael let the smythes and Dr Twaki follow whichever line of research they chose, except he had revealed obvious interest when Tri-Corp had reached out to Dr Miles Warren over the Scorpion debacle.

"Miss Sable is quite the looker," Spencer bypassed the office politics.

"Yes, quite attractive," Alistair agreed with mild impatience.

"She also seemed quite impressed with you, my boy," Spencer nodded his head, "It would do you some good to take an evening away from your work. I can hardly imagine a better means to distract oneself."

Alistair slumped in his wheelchair. He had just built a fighter jet one could wear as a shirt and his father only noticed the shapely figures they were selling to. Alistair wouldn't be so crass as to ask Sable out. It would be terribly unprofessional at best.

"We're ready for you," Sable Manfredi opened the door. She spoke to Alistair. Spencer took hold of his son's wheelchair as the crime boss stepped back into the room.

"Oh, she's ready all right," Spencer leched, "Fit to be plucked."

Alistair managed to shake the red out of his cheeks by the time he had been rolled out to the dais. Jenkins sat in the suit's underarmor. Manfredi watched from several paces away. Spencer walked over to join Sable and Alistair rolled up to Janice.

"How does it fit?"

"Like a loose t-shirt," She moved showing the give in the suit.

"That'll have to be corrected before we move to the shell," He beckoned for her to come closer and she did. Her underarmor was just a thin cat suit with panels at the shoulder, waist, ankles and gloves. Jenkins knelt and turned for Alistair to send commands at each panel. Eventually there was a tight hiss. The underarmor closed tightly on her body.

"That's tighter than Black Cat's slut suit," Sable appraised. The armor had closed up until it was snug around Jenkins' body.

"Simple commands to either shoulder will loosen it enough to take off when you want to. Now for the shell."

Suiting up was much quicker than Sable had expected. The armor opened from the back and Jenkins stepped into it. It automatically closed when she pulled the helmet down over her face.

"How do I look?" Her voice came out with a computerized rasp.

"Powerful," Spencer Smythe was always the salesman.

"In a way," Sable grinned, "But what do we call you?"

"The armor is called the Mach 1," Alistair proudly stated.

"No, that won't do," Sable tutted, "Supervillains are named for animals. That armor makes you look like an insect."

"Then it's obvious," Spencer clasped his hands behind his labcoat, "She's the Ladybug."

"God no!" Jenkins was revolted.

"If you must," Alistair was still a bit miffed that they weren't calling it the Mach 1, "Beetle is a good name."

"Yes, Beetle," Sable tapped her smiling lip, "I couldn't have thought of better myself.

"I have to say these certainly don't taste heartsmart!" Anna laughed having her third rum butter cookie.

"So long as you don't say things like that when Peter's around," May swatted her friend. The two had come together on the holiday and had chosen a few guilty pleasure baked goods and glasses of wine over the crowds and fireworks out in the city, "But the truth is they're not bad for your heart at all. It's your liver we need to worry about."

"Well in that case we'll take everything in moderation," Anna reached for a fourth.

"As Ben used to say, it's very important to take moderation in moderation," May remembered fondly, she took her second cookie.

"Wise man, your Ben," Anna grinned as she bit through her cookie, "Peter's acting more like him everyday."

"You have no idea," May grinned, "You should see all the pretty girls after Peter. It reminds me of meeting Ben at ESU."

"Except Ben needed a pretty girl to step on his foot and smile in his face for him to notice her," Anna laughed, "And if I recall only you had the guts to do it."

"Oh, I don't know about that," May sipped her wine.

"I know very well," Anna declared.

May had another retort but the doorbell rang. May snapped through the last of her cookie and wiped her hands off on her skirt. "I hope Peter remembered all the people he had made plans with tonight."

"Good evening, May," May was surprised to see Dr Bromwell at the door. The man had on a charming smile and carried a bottle of white wine with a patriotic bow tied around its neck.

"Come in, Nicholas," May hurried him in behind her. If he hadn't been holding the wine May might have worried, he was rather well dressed for a social call. Some men are just good dressers, "This is my good friend Anna watson. Anna meet Dr Bromwell."

"Oh, the handsome doctor," Anna made May blush, "Come join us, you have to try May's incredible cookie."

"Oh stop it, you incorrigible fiend," May laughed but happily led Nicholas to join them on the sofa.

"These are the cookies?" Nicholas was waved in to reach for one. He bit in, "These are something strong!"

"Oh, a glass for your wine!" May nearly rocketed up to her feet but Anna was already en route to the kitchen.

"I'll get it, May," She tutted, "Sit down with the doctor."

"What brings you here tonight, Nicholas?" May sipped her wine again.

"The last house call I made, you talked about how you were thinking about having a quiet night in with a friend or two. I wasn't certain it was an invitation but it was certainly worth finding out," He smiled and reached for a second cookie.

"Oh, you don't need an invitation to come and visit," May waved off the idea, "We're always happy to have you over."

"Here you are, Nicholas," Anna returned with the wineglass, "What kind of treat did you bring us tonight?"

"It's a riesling," He accepted a corkscrew from Anna, "German, from 2002. My son recommends it."

"Your good taste runs in the family," Anna declared as she watched Nicholas and May take their drinks. Anna hurried through the last sips of her glass.

"Thank you Anna," Nicholas smiled warmly, "It's nice of you to say."

"Oh, I just have an eye for these things," She put her empty glass on the table, "It was lovely to have me over, but I think I might call it a night."

"Oh, you're not feeling ill, are you?" May worried.

"I'd be happy to have a look," Dr Bromwell offered.

"No, I'm feeling very well actually. Just overworked myself helping Mary Jane get ready for her trip. My brother isn't the most accommodating of men. I could use the night off," Anna looked to Nicholas, "Don't let this one keep you up to all hours."

"Oh, go home, you pest," May laughed and saw her friend to the door and gave her a warm hug, "Have a good night, Anna."

"With friends like these," May joked about Anna as she returned to the sofa.

"Life is never dull," Nicholas beamed. They clinked their glasses and took another sip.

"Life has been interesting," May reminisced. A double edged sword that curse: may you live in interesting times. It hadn't been the worst. She took a sip looking at the man who had become her first new friend in a long time. May supposed she should consider Mary Jane but that wasn't quite the same.

"You are an incredible baker," Nicholas grinned after he had chewed through his third cookie, "I haven't had a treat like this in a long time."

"You're very welcome. I was considering some more interesting recipes for my third book. This was always one of Richard's favorites. I remember dropping the care package off at his first day in his master's program."

"Richard was Peter's father?" Nicholas caught the melancholy in May but could see the warmth left behind.

"Yes, what a complete rascal he was," May giggled, "I had a lot of respect for Mary. That woman had that hungry wolf turned into a lovesick puppy in less than a week."

"They sound like terrific people," Bromwell reached out to pat May's knee. His hand lingered and squeezed.

"If only they could see Peter as he is today," May looked down at her wineglass, suspicious at how it had grown so quickly empty, "Richard would be incredibly proud of him. So excited by his internship at ESU and bragging about his jobs at The Bugle and Kingsley Inc. And Mary, I can only imagine what she would think about her little heartbreaker."

"She called him that as a child, didn't she?"

"It was a running joke between Jamie and me, that Mary had never even heard of Peter Parker," May rested her left hand on Nicholas's fingers and squeezed absently, "I keep thinking, I have lived a lot of life but it only recently feels like I've lived a long life."