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Night duties. [23 Apr 2003|11:42pm]
[ mood | busy ]

I just discovered pasta in my pantry. And pesto. And granola bars. And stick-me-in-the-oven-until-my-crust-gets-crispy pizza rounds. Odd, I don't remember shopping healthy...


Of course. Heh, I'm not surprised at her grocery-getting gusto. While she was staying here, dinner consisted of three major food groups:

1. Toaster Strudels
2. Microwave nachos
3. Ramen noodles (in an assortment of tasty flavors)

And now that Aunt May's staying with her sister for a while, there's really no one to mind my manners when it comes to eating. I made myself some fettuccini alfredo tonight -- warmed up some garlic bread that MJ had courteously provided me. Had a glass of good ol' bone-building skim milk (Aunt May would be proud) and a small salad with field greens. It was delicious. You know they say "a watched pot never boils"? Yeah, but with a Spider-Sense you know when it's gonna' boil, watched or not.

I boxed up the leftovers and tucked them in the fridge for Harry -- whenever he gets home. I think he's been spending more time with Dear Old Dad, and things around NYC have been relatively Goblin-Free as a result. I still do those nightly Demon Watches -- haven't seen Dae around much either.

On restless evenings I watch Mary-Jane's apartment - not in a "peeping Peter" kind of way, though - more protective. Watchful. I see her moving behind her drawn shades, the lamplight making her warm and complete.

I liked having her toothbrush lie next to mine in the morning.
I liked the flowery scent of her shampoo that lingered in the bathroom.

I even liked how she hogged the couch when we watched "The Usual Suspects" the other night. The instep of her foot just barely touched my thigh underneath the chenille blanket. I had to beat my brain to keep from starting at her with puppy-dog eyes throughout the entire movie.

C'mon, Peter. Get a grip. Super-Hero'in before Mary-Jane Woo'in.

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Midnight. [17 Mar 2003|12:43am]
[ mood | energetic ]

MJ passed me on her way to bed tonight, her dark red hair gathered at the nape of her neck in a loose ponytail. A fluttering wave ascended from her pale fingertips as she passed by my doorway, seeing me flocked with textbooks and up to my ears in assignments.

"Night, Pete," she said languidly, a yawn catching her in mid-sentence.

"Sleep well, MJ...call if you need anything."

She nodded and smiled and padded her way into Harry's room -- I could hear the door swing silently closed, almost but not quite, for MJ liked to have a shard of hallway light fall upon her while she slept. Hell, if I were her, I'd want the entire room glossed in floodlights; the demons always hide in darkness. I couldn't help imagining our little "goodnight" scene as something a married couple would do -- murmmuring warm affections and calling upon each other before sleep came.

MJ...the girl I've loved since before I even liked girls...

I have to admit it's surreal having her sleep in the room next to mine. I'm almost afraid to wake up in the morning and find her gone -- vanished like cloudstuff. I ran out tonight and bought a bouquet of bright flowers to place next to her bedside - inexpensive, of course, but still pretty. I have to make the morning rounds again tomorrow, so I hope waking up to an "apology" bouquet will be peace offering enough.

Haven't seen head nor hide of the Osborns lately.
I'm watchful...

Maybe MJ and I can do lunch tomorrow; Sinclair tells me there's this fantastic bistro on 45th...

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My mission, should I choose to accept it. [07 Mar 2003|11:21am]
[ mood | frustrated ]

Routine. Regiment. Repeat.

I woke up at MJ's bedside again this morning, my cheek redded with a series of spiral marks from falling asleep on my notebook the night before. But I would have taken on all the bleary-eyed pain to experience again and again what I saw before me:

Mary-Jane Watson, alive and breathing, fixating me with that breathtaking gaze of azure-green. Albiet that it was a look of utter confusion, but hey, I was floored that she actually came round when I was in the room instead of in class. I explained to her -- as carefully as I could -- what had happened. She seemed dazed by it, but said that she could piece together a few fragments of memory.

"I'm really glad to see you, Pete."

Her words stung my heart. I squeezed her hand and smiled, "and I'm glad to see you, MJ."

Boy, was I.

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with buildings gone missing like teeth. [05 Mar 2003|01:53pm]
[ mood | apathetic ]

I could hardly concentrate during Doctor Connors' lecture today. Too many thoughts all taking up unwelcome residence inside my head.

Harry didn't come home last night. I'm assuming he spent the night at Tudor Hills with his father. I didn't come home last night either, though. I fell asleep in a very uncomfortable slump against MJ's hospital bed. By the time the morning shift nurse woke me, I was already twenty minutes late for class and hadn't showered since the morning before. I considered not attending class at all, but the thought of being at home alone with my thoughts was more frightening that receiving the dirty look from Doctor Connors as I snuck in late. That guy puts up with a lot from me; maybe I should send him flowers or something for his troubles.

There was a nice bouquet by MJ's bedside when I came back this afternoon. Lilies of the Valley -- one of her favourites. Harry must have sent them; I don't know, there was no card. The nurse said that Mary-Jane had roused for a few minutes this morning while I was away at class. Managed to take in a few bites of hospital-regulation gruel. I kicked myself for not being there when she woke up. She was alone for so many days with the Goblin...how could I leave her alone again?

I brought my bio book back with me to fill the pregnant moments between hart monitor blips. I'll stay right here until she wakes again; not death nor pain nor Goblin can stop me.

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he makes a stand / in the auditorium [07 Feb 2003|08:48am]
[ mood | conflicted ]

I've got class with Doctor Connors in just a few minutes, but I wanted to stop in for an update.

I saw MJ walking to her apartment yesterday. She had on that blouse and skirt combo that I really like on her -- the green one that really brings out the fire in her hair. I was carrying groceries home for Aunt May; there's a little food shop caddycorner to Mary-Jane's apartment - I suppose the location's why I chose it. Anyway, I came out of there and she was climbing the steps to her front door, bag slung over her shoulder, titian hair snared at the nape of her neck with a clip. I felt something move inside of me, something warm. I knew I was smiling like a fool -- I didn't care. All that mattered was that she was safe. Home. Alive. And happy.

Is this the way it'll have to be? Me, always her protector? Standing off to the sidelines in fear of putting her in jeopardy? Lois Lane was tenacious, too. Fearless. Like MJ. Lex Luthor seized upon this weakness and used Lois as bait to lure Superman into a web of trouble. I think that's why I keep my distance most of the time; I'm afraid of hurting her more so than I already have.

And Goblin's still out there. Somewhere.

As long as he's prowling the City, my vigil can never stop.

Never falter.

Now, perhaps more than ever, I have to be careful.

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Who makes the rules? / Someone else! [05 Feb 2003|02:28pm]
[ mood | working ]

I've been on "Goblin Detail" for the last couple of nights. Nothing so far, except that I can sometimes detect the faint aroma of glider exhaust wherever I swing.

Osborn's been strangely quiet since his "resurrection". Frankly, I'm a bit surprised. A man like Osborn pines for media attention. It's sure pissing off Sinclair, though. I can't help but grin as she storms through the bullpen every moring, crumpling yet another "Please Call Another Time" notice from Osborn's offices. She could probably super-glue that phone to her ear for all the hours she's spent on hold with OSCORP.


I think I'm going to spend some time at Aunt May's place this week; she called last night and invited me to a late supper tonight. I might as well pick up her weekly grocery ration on the way home from the Bugle tonight -- maybe some flowers to put in her kitchen. I'll probably drop in on MJ on my way to Queens -- it's been too long since I've talked to her.

Argh...catch you later, Jameson's barking at me.

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[22 Jan 2003|12:09pm]
[ mood | awake ]

Sinclair's article made the front page today:


"Returns"? I doubt he ever really left.

The article was sparse in its content, but Sinclair promised the people of NYC that the Bugle would be their primary source for the latest breaking "Osborn-Info". She's gunning to get an exclusive interview with "The Man" himself. Ambitious? Sure. Tenacious? Yeah. But altruistic? I don't think so.

'Looks like I'm on patrol tonight -- later than ever.

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School daze. [14 Jan 2003|10:06pm]
[ mood | working ]

I left Doctor Connors a voicemail this afternoon, inquiring as to whether or not I was accepted into his Bio class this semester. The clock's ticking down -- next semester will be here in a few days, and I need to make sure that Doctor Connors' class is validly inserted into my (hectic!) schedule.

I had lunch with Aunt May today -- chicken salad on croissant rolls, milk ("you need strong bones, Peter, take this advice from an old lady without them!") and rice squares (ahh, generic bliss) for dessert. I brought her some groceries, ran some errands, and got her all fixed up for the coming week. She seemed glad to have me in the house; all that nostalgia. Me...her...and Uncle Ben.

Right. And Uncle Ben.

It's ten PM...do you know where your angst is?

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Signs. [12 Jan 2003|08:46pm]
[ mood | awake ]

I had that dream again.

You know, the one where I'm holding MJ in my arms. The sun is shining, practically filting through us both like some solar osmosis. It turns her red hair into a nimbus of fire; it almost hurts to look at her -- she's so beautiful...

We stand there, eclipsed by one another but not shadowed by it, eyes held by an invisible line of knowledge for each other...truth.

And then the sun turns dark, and within my arms MJ begins to darken as well. Her fine, flawless, satin skin turns to begotten ash, flaking away as a western wind picks up the scent of brimstone from beneath our feet. She dissolves from my grip, my hands stained red now, feet sinking into the mire. In her place stands a glowering face, its (horrible yellow) eyes tearing the reason from my soul. Laughter bubbles up from its crooked grin, a familair cackle that I am -- and forever will be -- helpless to forget.

And then I wake up. I can stil taste the ash on my breath, my shirt sticks to my chest by a veneer of sweat. I am almost moved to tears most nights, but control them out of damned stubbornness. I wonder if Norman Osborn, locked away in whatever penthouse he has chosen for himself, dreams as well.

Dreams of me.

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Welcome to 2003, ladies and gentlemen. [01 Jan 2003|11:20pm]
[ mood | artistic ]

I should be hearing from Doctor Connors within the next couple of days concerning my admission to his class. It's an upper-level course, you see, and requires the written permission of the professor. I hope the good doctor doesn't take my vocational tardiness into account; I was legitimately busy after all.

I went out on patrol last night to ensure New Years in the 'Square went off without a hitch. It was quite fun, actually, perched atop to ball to await the Auld Lang Syne choruses. I couldn't help thinking of MJ though, hoping that she was ringing in the new year in happiness. My new year's resolution? Spend more time with the people I love. I don't have to tell you whom that involves, right? Heh.

Speaking of "those I love", somebody ripped up the ice rink in Central Park. "Someone" whose name begins with "Norman Osborn". Jameson had me go out there today and snap a few photographs for the Metro page -- the destruction was impressive. I could still smell the sulphur in the air; he must have used a couple of those trusty pumpkin bombs he seems so content to hurl. I think I'll have a brainstorming session with Dae some time soon -- we need to decide upon a plan of action where our Green Friend is concerned.

I'm going back to the apartment tomorrow; Aunt May is practically shoving me out the door. I tried to get in on her bridge club gathering tonight, but her biddies insisted that it was a "double X chromosome affair". I had to admire their spirit.

I hope Harry's at home; I haven't seen too much of him lately.

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Suburbia. Is there anything like it? [21 Dec 2002|02:50pm]
[ mood | content ]

Ahhh, back home. Well, Queens, that is. Aunt May's asked me to stay with her through next week -- she has trouble navigating the City in Winter. Besides, she's come down with a horrible cough that needs my supervision; I had to practically push her into the doctor's office the other day. "Peter," she said in Classic Aunt May tones, "I told you, I'm fine, it's just my yearly." I told her that I had no intention of letting her out od Dr.Clark's office without his blessing of good health. He put her on some Vitamin-C tablets -- one in the morning, one at night. After our appointment I took her Christmas shopping; not that she had a whole lot to get, just stuff for some of her bridge club ladies. She insisted on having me wander off into Housewares when she picked out my gift -- I spent a good twenty minutes perusing the toaster selection. Nice.

I thought I say MJ while I was out -- maybe I was just daydreaming. I miss her terribly; I went out today and picked up her Christmas gift - something I'm terribly proud of, being of the male persuasion and all.

Anyway, Aunt May needs help rolling out cookie-dough -- oh, the joys of domestication!

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School ties. [13 Dec 2002|08:44am]
[ mood | drained ]

I'm thinking of taking Dr.Connors' bio class next semester. I need a faculty recommendation, but I think the Doctor himself might be a little hesitant to give it to me (so I was late a few times, s'no reason to fire someone).

We have a nice computer lab here at ESU. Granted, some of the machines here look older than some of the professors, they still manage to get the job done. I saw Harry this morning as he was making his way across the quad; we haven't really seen much of each other lately. I haven't been able to talk to him about his dad; I really haven't tried. Imagine trying to tell your best friend that not only is his father alive, he's also NYC's most wanted supervillain? No, maybe some things are better left unsaid.

I've got to go into the Bugle right after school today, Jameson wants me down at City Hall today for the press conference the Mayor is giving on the crime rate. I've got the suit on under my clothes in case Gobby decides to make an uncredited cameo.

This City never sleeps; neither do I, it seems.

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Christmas bells are ringing / somewhere else / not here. [04 Dec 2002|10:02pm]
[ mood | accomplished ]

Harry and I now have a tree.

Granted that it's not a very impressive tree, but what can you expect from a guy who sells his trees on a Queens streetcorner? I remember the trees that Uncle Ben used to bring home: huge Douglas Firs with needles abundant. Aunt May and I used to bake gingerbread cookies and thread wire through the tops so that we could hang them from the branches (well, all the ones that I didn't eat, of course). Anyway, our tree is...interesting to say the least. A little crooked, a little bare around the middle, it's certainly not Rockefeller Center competition. Harry and I poped a couple bags of popcorn and spent a good hour stringing it on thread; we then proceeded to loop it around the circumfrance of the tree. Harry wanted to go out and buy some garland and ribbon at Sak's -- I told him we didn't need any. He seemed a bit puzzled at my "rustic approach"; granted that he probably had twelve foot firs when he lived with his father.

His father...remind me not to dwell on such subjects.

Anyway, I'm thinking of asking MJ to go Christmas shopping with me this weekend. It would be a perfect excuse to get some time in with her. I mean, granted that she's not consumed with other holiday endeavors. Maybe we could go ice skating in the park...that would make for lots of "hand-holding" and "oops I'm careening out of control, Peter, please catch me!" moments.

::sheepish grin::

Alright, I'm out of here. 'Need to put in a call to Aunt May and get her gingerbread recipe.

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Ack! [19 Nov 2002|01:09pm]
[ mood | crazy ]

I'm late! My physics class started ten minutes ago!

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[17 Nov 2002|08:58pm]
[ mood | guilty ]

Dear God, sorry to disturb you /
but I feel that I should be heard /
loud and clear /
We all need a big reduction in amount of tears /

I can still taste the smoke in the back of my throat. Like a bad cold, it refuses to go away. I came home late last night -- Harry had fallen asleep on the couch in front of the TV. "Justice League" was on, and Superman and The Flash were making quick work of the Joker and his clownish cohorts.

They make it look so easy.

I covered Harry with a blanket and went upstairs, fiddled around on the computer for awhile, and then showered and dressed for bed. I thought about calling MJ -- just to check up, but then realized that waking her up at 3:30 in the morning wouldn't necessarily make me out to be a gentleman. I thought a lot about the Goblin last night; and about Mr. Osborn. There has to be some way of helping him...some kind of psychological treatment...he doesn't have to be that way.

If only he would change...nothing would be countenanced. Norman Osborn could return, reborn, to New York City and to his son. But now, this midnight masquerade...

But some men were not meant to change. "We choose our own path," he once told me.

We do.

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Back to the grind / How I love my cuppa' coffee. [05 Nov 2002|04:55pm]
[ mood | anxious ]

Jameson called me into the office today and spouted off about my "crap crap of a crappin' crap photos". I was impressed - "crap" is a very versitile word. Noun. Verb. Adjective. Anyway, he told me to head down to the riverfront to investigate a homocide. I have to admit, I was hesitant about it. I mean, in my line of "work", I try to avoid dead bodies.

I'm thinking of asking that Elliot Adams to go with me. I mentioned it to Jameson and he said "Wasn't he a pitcher for the Yankees? What are you talking about, Parker? Get the hell out of my office and take some pictures!"

Talk about being in "a mood".

Anyway, I'll probably stop by her desk on my way out and see if she wants to come. I think she was down there earlier this afternoon but came back -- for reasons I don't know.

What do I know?
Something's very wrong in New York City...

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Night Patrol [03 Nov 2002|12:53am]
[ mood | determined ]

Spider-Man perched atop a menacing stone gargoyle, the ribbed fingertips of his suit keeping perfect balance upon the steel-gray stone. Behind the mirrored oculars of his mask, the hero brooded.

Stars flared valiantly above the cluttered skyline, and for a moment, the Wall-Crawler thought he saw the flame of the Goblin's glider burning with them. An uneasiness had settled over him since the realization -- a heavy weight that pressed down on him from all sides. It had been awkward around Harry. Peter hadn't known what to say; he was unsure of how and if to broach the subject. He knew that his friend still felt the pain of his father's death - and knew that he still held daggers against Spider-Man. Launching a line of webbing, the Webhead swung from his perch and out over the city. A bitter wind struggled to snare him from his flight path, the telltale snap of winter's embrace lingering in the city air.

He had visited Mary Jane earlier that day. Well, not really visited -- more like kept vigil outside of her small house to ensure her safety. It was easy to do: Aunt May had required his help to paint and re-hang all the shutters on the house that day, and he merely kept his senses sharpened to any scent of danger. So far, nothing but the bitterly cold edge to the wind had caught his Spider-Sense.

As he spun his way through the City, Spider-Man again turned his eyes to the stars that burned overhead. Uncle Ben? If ever there was a time for one of your "pep talks"...

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When stuck in the mire.... [28 Oct 2002|12:50pm]
[ mood | busy ]

What a week! Jameson's had me running photography detail downtown -- a developing nightmare. I had to stay late at the Bugle last night to make sure that the front page layout went okay. I tell ya, it's like being Batman for all the "in darkness" work I do at that place -- I'm surprised I haven't developed sonar.

Harry and I ordered pizza last night, my treat. I can tell that his dad is still on his mind. He's on my mind, too. I can't help but feel guilty -- I mean, the guy was demented and everything, but death? No, he didn't deserve that. Incarceration is always better than that. If I could have saved him, I would have. I have to keep telling myself that; it's true.

I remember what Uncle Ben said, "With great power also comes great responsibility".

Norman Osborn had great power -- he also had a responsibility to himself and to the people of this City. I can't sit idly by as terror grips New York. Can't; and won't.

Aunt May is cooking casserole tonight; I'm jetting over there for a while before I make the nightly rounds. And MJ - I need to call her as well, just to let her know that I'm okay.

Sheesh, I need a palm pilot or something to keep all this stuff straight...

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