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| Issue #1 April 2003 |
"Getting Back in the Swing..." Written By Joel Phillips |
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It was the early morning hours as Spider-Man swung back into his apartment, transforming himself back into plain old Peter Parker. It had been a very hectic few days: he’d stopped about a dozen muggings and a couple of liquor store robberies, and had rescued a handful of people from an apartment fire downtown. ‘But hey,’ he thought, ‘all in a day’s work for Spider-Man.’
Peter walked across the apartment, dropping the mask from his hand and going straight for the refrigerator. This was the first time he had been home in nearly twenty-four hours; it had been over a day since he had anything substantial to eat, and it had been twice that long since he slept. He took a carton of milk from the refrigerator, sniffed it, and put it back.
“God,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve become THAT guy.”
Outside the building, as he was swinging in, Peter couldn’t help but notice all the people grabbing their early morning papers at the stand across the street. This morning it was the Star everyone was after, and there was only one reason: the Star had three exclusive shots of Spider-Man rescuing a little girl from an apartment fire the day before. The shots were terribly shot, blurry and grayed from the smoke. But they were the only pictures anybody had gotten of Spider-Man in weeks. Peter, crawling sight unseen up the side of his building, had even gotten close enough to overhear one of the readers saying “Boy, the Bugle used to have such great pictures whenever Spider-Man was around. Wonder why they never seem to do pieces about him anymore?”
Peter was why. He’d given up photography when he decided to teach full time. His boss, J. Jonah Jameson, almost had kittens when he told him he was getting out of the Spider business. Jameson shouted at him; gave him lots of reasons to stick around; he even offered him a raise, which was so unlike JJ that Peter knew he must be desperate. But Peter had turned him down.
“It’s not about money,” he had told him. “It’s about having something, a knowledge and a love of science, that I want to share. It’s about being an adult whose got better things to do then follow around a weirdo in a suit trying to steal a snapshot. It’s about finite hours, and spending more time with my wife.”
As Peter sat there alone at his kitchen table, wearing his torn Spider-Man costume and chewing on stale crackers, he remembered the last thing Jameson had said to him (or rather yelled at him) as Peter left his office.
“What am I supposed to do, huh? Spider-Man isn’t going to just go away because you wanna spend more time with the little woman! Damn it, that ‘weirdo’ MADE you, Parker!”
Peter shook his head. He was right, the windbag. Spider-Man didn’t go away. But his wife, MJ, did, and he couldn’t really blame her.
Mary Jane, after being nearly killed by someone trying to hurt Spider-Man through her, had had enough. And try as he did, Peter had no response for her fears. After all, Spider-Man was who he was, wasn’t it? MJ had moved out and gone to California to restart her acting career, and to try and distance herself from Spider-Man.
It wasn’t long after that that Peter’s elderly Aunt May took ill with pneumonia. The doctors didn’t know how she had come down with it, not that it really mattered after the fact. They had admitted her to the hospital and placed her on oxygen, but she was an old woman and there was only so much to be done. They had told him to prepare himself for the worst, but for all the times Peter had been through this, through death and loss, it still completely knocked him over.
Since then he’d been in this cycle: patrol, come home, try to sleep, fail, patrol some more. He was barely eating, and he hadn’t been to work since Aunt May had gotten sick. The dean’s secretary kept calling him to find out when he’d be in again, but he had not called her back. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Suddenly thinking of it, Peter glanced over and saw the little light blinking on his answering machine. He staggered over and pushed the button.
<BEEP>
“Professor Parker? This is Ms. Lieberman… from the University? I left you a message the other day? Profess... Mr. Parker, we’re all deeply sorry for your loss but I’m afraid that if you don’t start coming into work soon… well, the dean is inclined to… restaff your position. In fact… he told me to tell you that if you aren’t in class on Friday, you needn’t come on Monday. … Mr. Parker, if you could just contact us then we could sort this whole thing…”
<BEEP>
“Parker?! JJ. Did you see the Star today? Did you see what passes for photography now, THANKS TO YOU? I especially like the one on page three where you can see the thumbprint from the guy who developed the film! And you know the worst part, Parker? We got scooped! They’ve got those lousy, amateur-night-at-PhotoMat shots, and we don’t even have that! Are you hearing this Parker?!? I’m trying to run a paper here, Parker, and the mouth-breathing masses aren’t gonna pick us up without the pretty pictures! Parker…? Come on, Parker, I need something, any…”
<BEEP>
“Peter? Peter, it’s MJ. I… well I heard through the grapevine that Aunt May wasn’t feeling well, is she okay? I wanted to call, to make sure everything was all right. Are you there, Peter? Peter? … I guess not. I’ll… I’ll call again on the weekend, maybe… hopefully I can get a hold of you then. I… uh…”
<CLICK>
Peter stripped down and got in the shower. As the sweaty suit fell away from his skin he wished so badly that it was just that easy, that he could just take Spider-Man off and leave him on the floor somewhere for someone else to worry about.
Peter leaned in, letting the water run into his eyes. ‘ I AM Spider-Man,’ he thought. ‘I can’t just stop. This isn’t some strange obsession I can learn to do without. It’s a way of life and it goes so far beyond me now. Other people depend on me. There are shopkeepers in parts of this city who know that their stores are safe for one reason, and I’m that reason.’
Peter toweled off and threw himself into bed, his skin heavy on his bones like lead weights. His mind wandered back to his Uncle Ben, to the saying he had given him and that Peter had tried to live by his entire adult life.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter said aloud. ‘That’s not a rallying cry,’ Peter thought. ‘It’s a warning to anyone who seeks power out, and it’s a curse hung around the neck of anyone who has power thrust upon them.’
Peter closed his eyes, determined not open them again until he had slept. This wasn’t living, this moping around, and it had to stop. Peter had been struggling with this “issue” in his head for so long, he had tricked himself into thinking he might have another option. But there was just the one. People need Spider-Man, and he needed Peter Parker. He had to be both… or be nothing.
With the sun low in the sky, Spider-Man set out again into the city skyline. Everywhere his down-turned eyes found dirty bits floating on the surface of the city: hookers turning tricks, crack addicts huddled in back alleys, fleeing as he approaches like rats from the light.
Sadly, to Spider-Man, this was a quiet night. There’s something mildly peaceful about nights like this, nights where the crime and the suffering are of a self-inflicted kind, a kind he has neither the time nor the inclination to involve himself in anymore. He looks forward to the quiet nights, when it’s just him and the simplicity of the task: block by block, street by street, one after the other until the city has blurred itself away under him and the threat of night is over.
Of course, sometimes the quiet is a warning of louder things to come. Like the sound of a crook in a Rhino suit busting through a bank vault.
“Ahem.” Spider-Man cleared his throat. The Rhino tilted his head up to see him, silhouetted against the moon.
“Awww, geez…”
Spider-Man swung down, kicking the Rhino squarely in the jaw and sending him flying back into the bank vault. A groan escaped the Rhino as he hit stone and steel, the air knocked out of his lungs.
“Well, well, my old pal the Rhino. Haven’t seen you in a while. For a second there I was starting to think the system works.”
The Rhino rolled up onto his knees, still gasping for air.
“Uh, Rhino? Pal? You’re lettin’ me down here. You going soft on me?”
The Rhino looked up and smiled. “Naw. I’se jus’ messin’ wit ya. Don’t suppose you wanna let me get a free lick in ta square us?” Spider-Man shook his head. “Fair enough.”
The Rhino charged forward, horn down, moving at a remarkable speed for his size. Of course Spider-Man was faster, flipping in the air above the Rhino’s charging head and kicking him behind the ear. The Rhino lost his balance and fell, skidding forward on his face and out onto the street.
“Care to go for three?”
“Uuuhh…” The Rhino just gurgled a bit, and obviously had no intention of getting back up.
“Guess they don’t make ‘em like they used to, eh folks?”
The crowd of onlookers started clapping as Spider-Man webbed the Rhino up and stuck him to the wall of the bank. With a playfully salute, Spider-Man swung back off into the night, careful to retrieve his camera as he did so.
“Hiya JJ. How ya been?” Peter smiled, walked right into J. Jonah Jameson’s office, sat down and put his feet up on the desk.
“Parker! You got a lot of nerve coming back here after leaving me high and dry!” Jameson slapped Peter’s legs off the desk. Peter just chuckled.
“Relax, big guy,” Peter said, producing a manila envelope from his jacket and waving it in front of him. “Peace offering?”
Jameson snatched the envelope from Peter’s hand and peeled it open. His jaw dropped, and his cigar fell into the garbage can. Inside the envelope was a whole roll’s worth of full color photos of Spider-Man beating the Rhino.
“Peter, son! Great to have you back, great to have you back! I knew you’d come through for us, you always do!”
Peter smiled as Jameson thanked the photos, never once looking anywhere near him.
“Not so fast, JJ,” Peter said, his smirk widening. “We need to talk money.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Jameson said, sitting behind his desk and tossing the photos carelessly down upon it. “Well, you did leave us in a lurch there, Parker, and I can’t have word getting out that I play favorites, but…” Jameson leaned in close across the desk, and Peter leaned in to listen, playing along. “I suppose I could reinstate your old salary.”
“Well that’s very nice JJ,” Peter said, leaning back in his chair, “but the Star offered me almost twice that much.”
“THE STAR!” Jameson’s face went bright red as he jumped to his feet. “YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE GOING OVER THERE, PARKER! WHY I…”
Peter just smiled, resting his hands behind his head. Jameson’s ranting lowered into a grumble as he sat back down.
“Of course,” Peter continued, “I would never agree to any deal without giving you a chance to match it, JJ. After all, we do go back a ways.”
Jameson slowly started to smile again. “You always did remind me a little of me. Too much in fact.” Jameson drummed his fingers on the desk, mulling things over in his head. “All right, if we match the Star’s offer…?”
“That’ll be fine, JJ, just fine.”
“Well, good… good! And, can we expect regular submissions from you from now on…?”
Peter laughed under his breath, standing up to leave. “We’ll see. It was good seeing you again JJ.” Peter put his hand out, but Jameson was too busy staring at the photos again.
“Hmm, what was that…?”
Peter walked out the door. “I said your trashcan’s on fire.”
“Wha…?” Jameson looked down to see the papers in his trashcan ablaze. He was still dousing it with water when Peter got in the elevator and went downstairs.
+++++
Well, I hope everyone enjoyed my first try at this fan fic thing. It was a lot of fun to write and there’s lots more where this came from. NEXT TIME: What does Spider-Man call it when a trio of costumed creeps are trying to kill him? Saturday. “Living for the Weekend, Part 1 of 2” next time!
