Authors: co-written by liliaeth and XxBrooklynnxX
Summary: One glimpse was all it took, one moment of being caught on tape and Peter's life would never be the same.
Categories: Fanfiction, Fanfiction > Spider-Man, Fanfiction > Spider-Man > Spider-Man Movies Characters: Gwen Stacy, Mary Jane Watson, May Parker (Aunt May), Peter Parker (Spiderman)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Friendship
Warning: Character Death
Ben Urich was about to leave. He’d gotten a call from a source in the department earlier that had made him rush here about an hour ago, his source, who apparently wasn't as exclusive as he'd thought the man was, had told him that this would be the one. The big one, and the one that his boss had told them to find out about, if they didn’t want to lose their jobs.
It was bad enough that the news networks had beaten them to the actual scoop, finding out Spider-Man’s real face. And the Bugle had then gone on to beat them to his real name. Admittedly because the hero had been hiding in their own staff, but still….
Leaving them with what? A shot at seeing Parker arrive for a full interrogation, maybe an interview or two with the cops bringing him in? Some long shot of a chance at actually talking to Parker himself? Not that Ben expected that to actually happen. At best Parker might eventually decide on a press conference. He was a kid after all, he’d probably fall for the fame and the celebrity all too soon and before long you wouldn’t be able to turn on a TV without seeing him guest on some talk show or be one of the celebrity contestants in one of the many game shows.
None of that helped the matter that they were here in the cold, waiting for the big arrival. Ben patted the pack of smokes in his pocket. He was desperately trying not to light one; the pack just a reminder of his promise to his wife Doris that he'd stop smoking. But the longer he had to wait there, the harder it got to not just pull one out and take a good long drag.
Ben did not consider himself a sleazy reporter. But as more and more arrived to the supposedly exclusive spot, he wondered how he was any different. Cameras were already rolling and lights were already flashing, and Spider-Man wasn’t even here yet! He stood there quietly in the chaotic mob, waiting for his story to arrive. He wondered how he’d write it, he wondered if he’d gotten the story first, would he have cataloged it with that other file he kept in his drawers?
The cops tried to hold them back, and mostly it worked. It was successful for the sole reason that most reporters were smart enough to know that none of them would get a good shot if they got in the way. It was best to leave the police some space to get past. Not much, but some.
They were almost too late as it was. An unmarked car with no lights flashing pulled up, and two detectives and a civilian stepped out; a young man, more like a boy. At first sight he seemed almost unobtrusive. Just a kid, dressed in a woolen sweater, his face showing some bruises. It wasn't until Ben looked at the boys pants that he got his first clue. Blue pants, blue tights and red boots. He was the first to notice him, but not the first to take a picture.
The kid held his hand up to shield himself from the lights and the cameras, cringing under the flashes. The two cops surrounded him and soon several others ran up to join them and keep the press away from the hero.
Ben noticed the kid's expression. Nothing. Not excitement, not pain. There was nothing there. His eyes stood frozen, he seemed in another world, completely oblivious to the swarming mob of reporters. His gaze dropped down to the ground as the officers led him through the doors to the station. Ben couldn’t help feel sorry for his sake; he hoped the kid wouldn’t crack under it.
For Peter it was like entering a hornet nest, feeling everything fall still as he came through the door, finding himself the subject of a hundred glares. Happy, angry, indifferent, some didn't look at all. And some of them gave him the finger. Peter pretended not to notice any of them.
Part of him wanted to stop, simply stop, sink into the ground or back up against the wall and fall down and tremble. But he had to be strong, his aunt May would want him to. Questions were thrown at the boy and at the cops, and all of them were ignored while Peter tried to pretend none of them were there. That was until he stopped almost in front of the station doors. And he saw her.
Ben wondered why the hero froze, and then he saw her--Joy Mercado, one of the Bugle's top reporters. He remembered reading the Bugle article; Parker had been working as a freelance photographer. Jameson would be rolling in his grave, if anything ever got him in it.
Ben saw Joy nod at Peter, smiling at him. Peter didn't smile back. He had nothing to smile about. "Jameson is going to love this," Joy said aloud to Peter. Ben snorted. As if the kid would care. And he was right. Peter didn’t. Peter then entered the station, and Ben knew he had a story to write. He wondered if Joy would answer any questions about the kid, probably not, the Bugle were going to have it hard enough trying to make something out of this and saving their face. He thanked god that Parker hadn’t tried to sell his pictures to the Globe, because Bushkin would have gone for them as quickly as Jameson did, probably faster.
Peter was frozen inside. He felt like he floated out of his body, and he was screaming and he wanted to run and leave. The stares of the officers were worse than the ones he had received outside. The first thing he knew, without a doubt, was that he was not trusted. The station seemed to stop in time as Stacy led him through the hall. Peter was tempted to stretch and show them that he wasn't handcuffed, and that he was a 'good guy', but his mind set was far from confident at the time.
Captain Stacy opened a door. Peter peered inside. Oh. An Interrogation Room. Just what he was looking forward to. Peter stepped inside and sat in the metal chair set before a metal table. He had only seen how interrogations work through the movies and TV, and almost all of them did not involve a super hero.
" Do you want something to drink? Some coffee, a soda maybe?" Captain Stacy asked.
Peter was a bit startled but he nodded, "Some coffee please."
The Captain smiled and went outside for a second. Peter could hear him order someone there to go for a caffeine run.
Peter twiddled his thumbs as he waited alone in the cold room. The sweater started to get itchy, and he started to sweat. He looked around and saw his face reflected in the full length mirror. No doubt people would be watching. People would be watching him all the time now. Mentally he planned an escape route, in case everything didn't go as planned. And as much as he hated crashing through glass, it was his best option.
He had been a quarter through tapping the Spider-Man theme song on the table when Captain Stacy entered the room with two cups of smoking hot coffee in ceramic mugs. He slid one across the table to Peter.
"Thanks," Peter said. "A real ice-breaker." He took a sip, make that literal, he nearly spat it back out.
"I got something else for you." He put a bag on the table and opened it. It was filled with donuts. It smelled delicious.
"You're trying to put me at ease aren't you?"
"Is it working?"
Peter wasn't sure; he kept looking at his reflection, fighting the inclination to make faces at the mirror and through it at the people probably staring at him from behind it.
"Then yes." Stacy sat down in front of Peter, eye level, making it impossible for Peter to keep ignoring him.
"So…how is this gonna work, exactly?" Peter asked, taking a donut, it was still hot. He grabbed a tissue to hold it around the donut and blew on his fingers.
"Just answer our questions honestly. That's it."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" It seemed a bit hard to believe, especially considering how often cops used to shoot at him.
Stacy nodded. "Peter, you've been involved in various crimes that the police have limited information on. Starting with the death of Norman Osborn."
Peter looked down. He'd just tried to help people, but how could he explain that? How could he even prove it?
The Captain leaned over the table.
"Peter, I know, and you know, that if you wanted to leave, there is nothing a single one of us in this building could do to stop you;” He had that right. “Not without killing or severely harming someone, most likely you and neither of us want that to happen. But we need to ask these questions. There's more about stopping a criminal, than just beating him up and tying them together in some kind of web cocoon or whatever you call those things."
Peter nearly rose out of his chair, looking the captain in the eyes for the first time since he came in.
"Then what am I supposed to do? Just let them go, let them harm innocent people?"
"You know that's not what I meant, Peter," Captain Stacy said and Peter wished he’d just stop calling him Peter, the very name send shivers down his throat.
"Then what do you mean?"
"I'm not about to say that some members of the NYPD don't hold a grudge against masked vigilantes. But now you have been given the chance to prove them wrong and help us."
Help you, like letting Osborn’s victims know their killer was gone.
Peter nodded. "You want to know everything about Osborn?"
"And about Octavius, and Brock and the black suit, and that Sandman guy and about all those petty crimes you helped stop in between."
"That's a lot of talking, Captain."
Stacy smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."
"I guess neither am I" Peter sighed and dipped his donut in his coffee before biting it. "So where do you want me to start?"
Neither Peter nor the captain were aware of the forces arriving around them, Peter just knew his spider sense was glaring and something, something bad was coming.
Stacy seemed to consider it for a second. "The beginning would be nice. Why you decided to start doing this?"
Peter put his attention back on the captain.
"Answering questions?" Peter mumbled halfway through his donut, anything for a delay.
Stacy picked it away from him, somehow being too fast and unexpected for Peter to stop him.
Peter finally smiled. "I guess it all started with a girl..."
"The Watson girl?" Stacy asked, making a clear interruption of Peter’s soliloquy.
"How do you know about her?" Peter snapped, too defensive by far.
"Peter...seriously, three separate superhuman assailants went after her to get to you in the past few years. Did you really think we wouldn't know her name?”
"Oh,” Peter said, calming down. “Well, yeah. Her. Mary Jane. We..." he stopped himself. Was he ready to do this? Peter looked at Captain Stacy, and at his eyes. He nodded and continued.
"We were on a school field trip. I...was taking her picture for the school paper. Next thing I know, there's this sharp pain on my hand. I look down, and there are two holes. Bite marks."
"What bit you?"
Peter smiled. "A spider."
"A...spider..." Stacy sat there stunned, refusing to believe it.. "A spider bite gave you spider powers. Please tell me it wasn't radioactive?"
"How am I supposed to know?” Peter asked. “I haven't seen the thing since it bit me."
"It was big spider." Peter answered a bit defensively
“It was a really really big spider.”
"You're not trying to be funny, are you?" Stacy asked.
"At a time like this?" Peter asked.
Peter didn’t think Stacy was buying it.
"No. One moment I'm a two bit weakling that got wedgies--even from the other nerds. The next I could lift cars."
His spider sense again, it was like he was lifted out of his body and he could see through the keyhole, someone was coming, men in black.
"You lifted a car right after you got bit by that spider?"
Two men in black with guns, danger Will Robinson.
"No, at first I got sick, really sick. I think I must have had a fever and ran cold sweat all night. But when I woke up in the morning... I'd changed."
"I had muscles." Peter corrected himself, “I had muscled before, but not like this. I went from looking like a burst of wind could blow me over, to ... well, like I look now. I was seventeen at the time; it was right before... before my uncle was murdered."
"Peter...I'm sorry to bring this up, but port authorities said there was a second man in the warehouse. That someone went after the carjacker; the one that fell from the warehouse and died."
Peter fell back in memories. “It was my fault, I… I could have stopped him, earlier, right after he stole the money. I had him right in front of me, and I let him go, I even held the elevator open, because I was angry, because the promoter was refusing to give me my money. And he ran off and uncle Ben died. It was my fault.”. His eyes went cold. "I broke his wrist. He had a gun on me. He stumbled backwards and fell. I didn't push him." he said very straightforwardly. "I've never killed anyone, not even when I thought he killed uncle Ben."
Stacy nodded. "I believe you, Peter. I…"
He was stopped from continuing by a knock on the door. Before Stacy even got out of his seat to open it; two men barged into the room aiming their weapons and glares at Peter.
"Who wants to know?" Peter asked.