SPIDER-MAN: ETERNITY
ACTS OF MERCY

Rated PG-13 for language and adult situations

by R. John Burke
X-Men Eternity Message Board: http://solofan.proboards76.com/index.cgi

DISCLAIMER: Spider-Man and other characters are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place in the same continuity as my “X-Men: Eternity” stories, in which the House of M ended differently and the X-Men were scattered through multiple realities by a time-traveling villain. This story is not dependent upon reading those-- simply bear in mind that we're starting over from the House of M.

NOTE ON BRIDGES: I know there's some controversy about which bridge Gwen Stacy died on. I've seen sources that say the Brooklyn Bridge, the George Washington Bridge, and even the Queensboro. I'm using the George Washington, 'cause it sounds cool.

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“Peter! Don't make this any harder, dammit!”

The young dude in the red-and-blue suit glanced back over his shoulder at me. “Sure, just shout out the secret identity right in the middle of Queens, in front of God an' the Mets fans an' everybody. Really classy, Cage. Whatever happened to professional courtesy?”

I opened my mouth to reply-- to yell some more, actually-- but the kid turned a double-somersault off the wall he'd been sticking to, landed behind my back, and unloaded on me. I turned just in time to get it in the jaw, and flew into the wall myself. Almost *through* the wall. Boy packs a wallop, I'll give him that.

He's *fast*, too-- he was on me in a second, pounding me with punch after punch. Mixing it up with Spider-Man is like trying to swat a flea. A flea armed with a bazooka.

Finally I connected, and *he* went flying. There's a lesson in that: Good things happen when you hang in there and wait things out. Of course, it helps to have unbreakable skin and a right cross like an oncoming semi. Lucky for me, I do. My name's Luke Cage. My friend is Peter Parker. After I swatted him, he smashed into the pavement and lay there, stunned.

Huh. Now that I think of it, I'll bet you'd like to know why I'm beating the crap out of Spider-Man.

Long story, brother. You have no idea. For instance, I'll bet you think the way the world was when you woke up this morning was the way it's always been. You probably woke up, ate breakfast, headed off to work or school or... hell, maybe you just crashed on the sofa and watched soap operas all day. And I bet you think you did that yesterday, too.

What if I told you that ain't so? What if I said yesterday, the world was a futuristic fantasy-land run by mutants-- by *the* mutant himself, Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, a.k.a Mag-****ing-neto? What if I said his daughter, the Scarlet Witch, reshaped the entire world with a thought, so the bottom rung'd be on top and all us Avengers and X-Men and Daredevils and whoever the hell else would stop picking on her and hers?

Hey, now. I saw that look. Don't be all “Oooookay, let's humor the crazy man.” I said *what if*. Give me a chance to explain.

The first thing you've got to know is, the Witch-- Wanda Maximoff-- she's a hero at heart. She wants to do the right thing. Even when she telepathically nuked us, she tried to make the best world she could. Well, for most people. She sent my wife and little girl to the cornfield... guess she was busy with the A-listers.

Or maybe the Good Lord did a better job than you'd think when He put this world together in the first place. You give to one fella, you got to take from another. Saw that on an old episode of “I Dream of Jeannie.” Somebody's got to get the short end of the stick-- in this case, humans. I wasn't sorry to join the team to Genosha that sent her crazy ass packing.

Peter Parker, though, he got a pretty good deal from the Witch. He was sort of an honorary mutant. Ended up with a son and a pretty new wife by the name of Gwen Stacy.

I remember Gwen Stacy. I never met her, you understand, but when she died, that fool Jameson hired me to take it out on Spider-Man. I ended up breaking our arrangement; he was playing me, and Luke Cage gets played by nobody. But that was how I ended up beating the crap out of Spider-Man the *first* time.

The second time... that's a little more complicated. It started right about the time the stuff hit the fan for the House of M.

****

“Daddy... no more mutants.”

*This is all the X-Men's fault,* Peter Parker decided as everything went to hell. In times of great stress or dire need, he'd developed a simple rule: When in doubt, blame it on the X-Men.

Not that it helped him much now, with the world slipping away for the second time and his mind tormented with memories of a life that wasn't real, a son that never existed. A place where all the things he hated about his life... never happened.

He shuddered violently. Peter wasn't bad at sulking-- he often thought he should have minored in it, in case the science didn't work out-- but he tried to get his head in the game, to face whatever they were facing next. He didn't really have eyes at the moment, but he got the impression... of a giant bird, and a voice he half-remembered as Jean Grey, one of the original X-Men (* as seen in “Uncanny X-Men: Eternity #1”). And then...

Just like that, it was all gone, and he was in a dark room, all alone. He seemed to be suspended over nothingness-- nothing to stick to, nothing to sling webs at, worst of all-- nobody to field his assortment of wisecracks. Peter Parker was *utterly* alone. It was maybe more terrifying than fighting the Green Goblin.

And then-- pow!-- let there be light. A *little* light, anyway, and far away. Peter instinctively tried to move toward it...

He couldn't seem to get near enough. It came closer, just so he could see it was a woman, a beautiful brunette in some sort of crown who seemed to be looking him over. Then she opened her mouth and said, in a voice that reflected the wisdom of eons:

--Huh. I thought you'd be taller.--

“Sorry,” he said. “You might be thinking of Captain America. I'm just your friendly neighborhood...”

--Yes, I know. Spider-Man. Really... there's no need to pepper me with catchphrases. I know everything about you.--

“Do you know where I left the TV remote?” Peter asked. “'Cause seriously, I've checked under the couch cushions like fifty times, and all I found was $1.87 in change.”

The woman studied him. She seemed to be coming closer, but still out of arm's reach. --How do you do that?--

“What?”

--Speak other than what is in your heart. You tell jokes to hide your pain.--

“Well, no.” Peter frowned. “I tell jokes because I'm a wise-ass. I have a spiffy mask that hides my pain.”

--Then by all means... let us have done with masks.--

The woman waved her arm, and suddenly Peter stood before her out of costume. *Completely* out of costume. In fact, he was nude.

“Aw!” he cried in dismay. “They took my clothes when I joined the New Avengers, too! What IS it with villains these days? At least Doc Ock's not a pervert!”

--What you see is the physical manifestation of what your mind knows... you can hide nothing here. Your every thought is as plain as...--

“Okay! Point made! You da man--woman--witch-- whatever! NOW can I have my undies back?!”

The woman frowned, then gestured with her open hand. --As you wish. It makes no difference.--

When Peter looked down again, he was back in costume, although still unmasked. “Much better.”

--Is it?--

He was ready with another barb-- a pretty good one-- but Peter stopped. “Why wouldn't it be?”

She shrugged. At this distance, he could see that her eyes were very blue. --I did not bring you here, Peter Parker. It was you who called out to me.--

“I knew I shouldn't leave my cel phone on when I go into battle. Would you believe, wrong number?”

--Was it?-- she asked again, and somehow that stare made Peter feel naked all over again. --I have seen every dream that ever was shattered. Every promise never kept, forever. But never have I felt such a noble heart break.--

Peter couldn't find a floor to study, so he just looked away. “Yeah. That's really not a 'story time' thing. That's a 'laugh it off and get all broody later' kind of thing. Just ignore me. Sorry if I interrupted your dinner, or... whatever it is you do with your time... I'll just show myself out...”

--A child,-- she said. --Much beloved. Now lost to you. Is it not so?--

She reached out to him. Her touch was like a warm rain washing over Peter, reminding him of another place and time. He wanted to tell her everything... anything... and knew that she would keep his secrets. But...

“NO!” he said, pulling away. “Haven't you people had your fun YET? This isn't a game, it's my life! Just... go away!”

--We people?-- she asked.

“You! And Wanda, and Magneto, and-- DAMN them! I should have killed them like I told Logan! No-- I should never have joined the Avengers at all!”

--And will that make it better?-- the woman asked patiently. --Will that bring him back?--

“No,” Peter said, his hands clenched into fists. He looked around-- there was nothing to hit. He simmered instead. “No, nothing can do that.”

--You hurt. You *hate*,-- she said. --Perhaps for the first time.--

“No, not the first time. Just...” Peter shut his eyes tight. “He never even *was*. MJ and I lost a daughter... stillborn. That was hard. But at least I didn't know her... didn't get to hear her laugh... or hold her hand and promise that I would keep her safe. That nothing could...” He choked back tears, then a fierce flush of embarrassment. “I can't protect what isn't even real. There's nothing to fight against. He's just... nothing. How can my son be nothing?”

The woman shrugged, offered no answer. He saw pity in her eyes, and wondered if he loved or hated her for that.

He whispered, “Why would she want to hurt us like this?”

--Wanda Maximoff is not to blame,-- the woman said. --There is something more to this game. A force of darkness.--

Peter grunted. “Figures. What are you, then?”

--A force of light.--

From a certain angle, she did kind of look angelic. Peter shook it off. “Sorry; I'm not especially religious.”

-- Religion, philosophy, science. It is all a matter of *belief*. What do you believe, Peter Parker?--

Looking deep into those eyes, he could only give an honest answer: “I believe that power means responsibility. I believe in doing the right thing, just because it's right. And... to the extent I *am* religious... I believe God probably hates me.”

--Because of what you have suffered?--

“Because of what I've done,” he said, faltering. Caught up in memory, the tiny 'snap' he hadn't even... “I killed her, didn't I? Gwen. My son doesn't exist *because* I killed her. Just like Uncle Ben, I was helpless to... I destroyed my own family, as much as Osborne ever did. So what makes me different from him, or any of the freaks I've...”

--You are different,-- said the woman, tilting Peter's chin up to look at her. --None of them could have called to me. They did not have the *belief*... the wish to make things right.--

“But I can't...”

--What if you could?--

Peter sat down-- sat right there on nothing. He figured it'd hold his butt suspended just as well as his feet. He sat there cross-legged for a very long time, just thinking, head in his hands. Then he looked up at the woman and said: “If you're jerking me around, I think I maybe have to kill you.”

--Understandable,-- she said, and didn't waver.

“You can actually... I mean, you would...”

--No,-- she said, --but you can.--

“Me?”

--You have given much to the Universe, Peter Parker. Enough, perhaps, that for a single moment, it might be persuaded to give back to you. Do you understand?--

He nodded, though he really doubted that he did. “What do I have to do?”

--There is a path... a sequence of events. A very thin thread weaved into the many which make up the Multiverse. It will not be easy, finding this path, but I believe it is the one you were meant to tread. The one your *world* was meant to tread.--

He frowned. “I don't really save the world much. I'm a street-level guy.”

--Diversify,-- said the woman blithely. --What was taken away will be restored.--

“Gwen? So then my son will--” He shook his head. “Is that right? I don't think that's right. I think Uncle Ben would tell me... that I have to accept what's happened and move on.”

--Can you?--

Peter hesitated, opened his mouth, then decided to dodge the question. “But how can I screw with lives the way mine was screwed with? I won't do that.”

She shrugged, started to turn. --You might have to work with me here, Peter Parker. I am offering you the keys to the Universe.--

“Sorry,” he said. “I really can be a pain in the butt, I know. But... I just can't. I wouldn't wish this on *anyone* else.”

The woman frowned at him, plainly surprised he hadn't jumped at the chance and done her homage. Peter wondered if that got him any respect. Probably not. --I do not ask you to take life, but to restore it. There are 12 lives... linked to the one you require, scattered. Lost before their time. It was within your power... Spider-Man's power... to save them.”

“Great,” he said. “More guilt. *Love* the guilt. Without guilt, I wouldn't depress me nearly enough.”

--No one can save everyone,-- the woman said. --But... save these, and the tapestry can be repaired. Twelve for one, one for all. Do you understand?--

“Dumas, right? Three Musketeers?”

--Do not JOKE!-- the woman exclaimed, sudden fire in her eyes. Peter leaped back-- or tried to. The darkness around him now seemed to be holding him in place. Peter got a really creepy Venom flashback while the woman said, --You will save twelve. Twelve will save one. One will save all. *Now* do you understand?--

Peter blinked. “Wait... what does saving Gwen have to do with--”

--No more questions!-- she said, and turned her back. --Answers, now. I grant you 24 hours to decide. Choose your life as it now stands, and that is what you will have. Your wife, your aunt, your costume, and the memory of a son. Forever.--

“You couldn't make me forget? Or you wouldn't?”

The woman ignored him. --Choose this path, and you lose all which you know. What is gained... will be for you to determine.--

“I understand,” Peter said, mostly because he was tired of being prompted. “You know this sucks, right? You are intentionally making this suck even harder, and that's just not cool. Do the other goddesses know you're doing this?”

--I freelance.-- The woman's face changed, to something not unsympathetic, and she took his hand. --You will choose, as ever, your responsibility. Where does it lie? With what is... or with what could be?--

“I'm sorry, Peter's mind is blown right now. If you'll leave your name and number...”

--Choose well,-- she said, and in a blink, she was further away again.

“Hey!” Peter called, before she disappeared. “What do I call you? Freaky Omniscient Dream Lady seems so impersonal...”

--Strangely enough,-- the woman said, --one of my names is Gwen.--

“Small world,” Peter said, and then his dream faded to black.

He woke up in the real world, in his bed at the Avengers tower. He could hear MJ, bustling about in the next room. He could smell coffee. He really needed coffee.

Peter pulled himself out of bed and sat there, clutching his forehead, wondering when Auntie Em was going to show up. 'I had the strangest dream... and you were there, and you were there, and you were...'

MJ. Peter looked up again, and froze. *If* he wasn't crazy and *if* he took this deal, she wouldn't be there. Not when he woke up, not ever again. She'd been a big star in the House of M. Did that mean she was happier without him? Was that supposed to make it okay?

Peter rubbed his eyes, groaned, and pronounced judgment on the whole mess:

“Holy *crap*, I hate the X-Men...”

****

As it turned out, he didn't have to hate them long. They were mostly gone. Cyclops and Emma Frost and a couple of the others remained, but a lot of the world's high-profile mutants had disappeared, including Logan. (* also covered in “Uncanny #1”) Tony Stark devoted his considerable resources to helping find them, turning the New Avengers into the world's highest-profile Missing Persons unit.

When the array of scanners mounted on his Iron Man suit turned up nothing-- anywhere in the world!-- Stark decided to take a lower-tech approach to the problem. Cap and Carol Danvers turned to their military contacts for information, Stark to the business world, Jessica Drew to the assortment of lowlifes she knew in her role as a triple agent, and Peter and Luke Cage to the streets of New York. They divided the various neighborhoods according to who knew them best, but before they could get started, Peter noticed Cage peering at him intently.

“Okay, my mask has no mouth, so I know I don't have something in my teeth...”

Cage frowned. “Sorry. You alright, man?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You were taking the whole reality-swap pretty hard. Since we got back, you hardly mentioned it. Something I should know?”

Peter shook his head. “I'll deal with my own problems, Luke.”

“C'mon, don't be like that. We're supposed to be a team.”

Peter hesitated; Cage *had* been a pretty good friend since the team came together. His instinct was to deal with this the way he typically did-- him against the world-- but maybe it wouldn't hurt to get some advice, if he could do so subtly...

“Once you knew the truth about the House of M,” he said quietly, “what would you have done to get your family back?”

“Break Heaven and Earth,” Cage said.

“What if it cost you everything else?”

“I *got* nothing else. Not that I couldn't do without.” The big man shrugged. “Ain't always enough to save the world. Man's got to have something to remind him it's worth saving.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. Big help that was. He reached out to spin a web...

Cage's hand came down on his arm. “Seems to me you got that, back home. Or have you forgotten Mary Jane?”

“I couldn't.” He set his jaw and waited for Cage to say more.

But the bigger man let him go. “Remember what I said, Pete: We just got the real world back. Anybody tries to screw it up again... *anybody*... he's gonna have to go through me.”

Peter didn't know what to say to that, but Cage was already walking away. With a sigh, the wall-crawler turned and-- THWIP!-- took off into the city.

*Yeah,* he thought, *so I don't really do 'subtle'...*

****

Nobody turned up anything on the X-Men. Peter was later to find out they'd been scattered throughout the Multiverse by... something, maybe the dark force Omniscient Lady had mentioned. He didn't worry too much, even before he knew that. He barely even looked for them.

He was web-swinging, mostly, to clear his head. He visited the Statue of Liberty, and then the George Washington Bridge. He visited the Museum of Natural History, and then the George Washington Bridge. By the time he visited the Metropolitan Opera House (and then the George Washington Bridge), he realized the clearing his head wasn't working. He also knew where to go next.

Fifteen minutes later, back in street clothes, he walked into the editorial offices of the Daily Bugle and shook hands with Joe Robertson. The older man grinned.

“I was hoping to see you today, Peter. Have you heard the news out of Westchester?”

Peter nodded distractedly. “Yeah. Mutants go bye-bye. Very sad.”

“Whatever's going on, it's affecting nearly everyone connected to the mutant community. I was wondering if Spider-Man...”

“I wouldn't know,” Peter said. “Robbie... I need to see Jonah. It's really important.”

Robbie frowned. The editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle wasn't accustomed to being blown off, particularly by a young man he'd always mentored. But he also seemed to recognize by the look on Peter's face that he wasn't joking.

“He's been in meetings all morning,” Robbie said. “I can get you five minutes.”

“Thanks. Robbie... you've always been a good friend. Thank you.”

The older man nodded. Peter wondered if he hadn't gone too far; Robbie had always had his suspicions about Peter and Spider-Man. One of these days, he was going to act a little too strangely at the wrong time, and the pieces would fall into place. But that day didn't seem to be today, and Peter shrugged. Maybe it didn't matter anymore.

A moment later, he was ushered into J. Jonah Jameson's office. The Bugle's publisher looked frazzled, with papers spread all over his desk and a cigar hanging out of his mouth as though he barely remembered it was there. Same old JJJ.

“Parker!” Jameson growled. “About time you showed. I want you to find out if that web-headed freak is behind all this!”

Peter blinked. This was a new one. “You think... Spider-Man... disappeared the X-Men?”

“Why not? Looks to me like his competition's all but vanished.”

“Right-- 'cause-- he'd hate for them to share in all those fabulous prizes, and the fame, and the... people spitting on him...” Peter tossed up his hands. “Wow. Thanks, Jonah. Really. I couldn't have asked for a more fitting sendoff.”

“Sendoff?” Jameson jumped up from behind his desk. “Sendoff? What the hell are you talking about? What're you, running out on me?”

“Sort of. Jonah, I won't be able to freelance anymore. I... guess this is good-bye.”

“You're crazy! 'Goodbye' is what I say to my mother-in-law... not often enough. *Employees* don't run out on J. Jonah Jameson! Whatever they're offering you, I'll double it!”

Another blink. “My day's job's with Tony Stark now. He's a billionaire.”

“Like I said, I'll pay half whatever he's offering you! But what about loyalty? Parker... Peter... think of all our years together!”

“Oh, I am,” Peter said. “See, Jonah, I know what I have to do now, and here's the thing: Once I've done it, I don't think anybody's going to remember it.”

Jonah spat out the cigar and came around the desk to peer at him. “Parker, are you drunk?”

“Oh, how I wish. Just... go with me on this. Once this is done, I'm pretty sure *today* won't matter. It won't even have happened. So in that spirit...”

“In that spirit, *what?*” Jonah demanded.

“Well...”

BAM! He pulled the punch, infusing it with only a little bit of spider-strength, but still J. Jonah Jameson went flying over his desk and landed in a pile of crumpled papers behind it. He stood up with blood dripping from his nose and eyes as wide as saucers, sputtering...

“You-- you-- you--”

“No, don't move, Jonah. That's beautiful. Let me remember you just like *that*. I'll always love you, honey bunch.”

He walked out of Jameson's office and slammed the door behind him. By the time security showed up, he was gone.

****

“Peter! There you are!” Tony Stark rose from behind his desk at the Avenger's tower, resplendent in the gold-and-red armor of Iron Man, sans helmet. The expression on his face mixed concern with suave amusement. “I'll bet you checked the 'Daily Bugle' for leads. In fact, I'll more than bet, because Jameson just called me. The ice pack looks good on him. Peter, what--”

Peter stepped into the office, sighed, and tossed his Stark Industries ID card on the desk. “Tony, that's it. It's over. I'm done.”

“Peter!” Stark hurried around the desk. “What's gotten into you? What about everything we talked about? What about using your potential?”

“Yeah, well... right now I mostly feel like a potential feature on 'America's Most Wanted.' So I don't imagine I'm any good to you, or the Avengers.”

“Peter, look--” Stark put a hand on his shoulder, and the younger man pulled away. “I know the House of M was rough... we're still not sure who all even *remembers* it, but you're not the only one with... issues...”

“Issues. Nice how you put that. Like all my problems can just be boxed up and contained and then bought for the right price.”

Stark arched an eyebrow. “I wasn't *actually* thinking that, but name a figure and we'll give it a shot.”

“Tony!” Peter started off insulted, but then he laughed. “You *are* slick. I like the hell out of you. I probably shouldn't.”

Stark sat down on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. “Now you sound like the women I date.”

“Something like that. You're everything I could have been... maybe should have been... but I'm glad I'm not. No offense.” Peter squared his shoulders. “Take care of yourself.”

“Peter, whatever you're doing--” Stark said before he reached the door. “Let us help you. Let *me* help.”

“Sorry, Tony. I wouldn't mind a hand, but... you would never do what I'm about to do. It's not practical. It's not even smart. So where I'm going... the rest of you can't follow.”

Stark made a face. “You realize I'm feeling the nearly irresistible urge to hit you with a repulsor beam and lock you up until you start making sense?”

“I know. But you won't.” He grinned. “Bye, Tony.”

“Peter... in this place you're going? Watch your back.”

The two men nodded to each other, and Peter Parker walked out the door. Tony Stark frowned to himself, steepled his fingers together, then walked around his desk and pressed a button.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Get me Luke Cage, please. It's urgent.”

****

May Reilly Parker frowned at her image in the mirror, wondering whether the hat with the flower in it was too much. It had been a long time-- it felt like a hundred years-- since she'd had to worry about such things, but Jarvis had invited her out to lunch and she did want to look her best. On the other hand, she was still a lady, and didn't want to appear *too* fancy. She just couldn't decide...

Someone behind her cleared his throat, and she gasped.

“Oh-- Peter! Don't sneak up on me like that! You'll scare an old biddy half to death!”

“Sorry, Aunt May.” He grinned, looking her up and down. “Big plans today?”

“Oh-- just a luncheon engagement, that's all. No need to concern yourself.”

“I wasn't-- you kids have fun. I just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl.” He stepped into the room and hugged her. “Love the hat.”

“Hmph.” He was trying very hard to pretend things were normal, but May knew him far too well, and pushed him away. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing... I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

Peter shrugged. “I don't know... I... for all the times I disappointed you, I guess.”

“Ah, Peter.” She brushed his cheek with her hand. “Sometimes you remind me so much of your Uncle Ben. He often said such things, you know; he never thought he'd given me enough. I don't think he knew what a good man he really was.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably. “I was lucky to have you both.”

“What *is* wrong, Peter?” She asked as he stepped away. “You talk as though I were on my death bed. I'm not about to keel over yet... scout's honor.”

May laughed. Peter didn't. He took a deep breath. “Aunt May... you know that I always want to make you proud, right? How I would never do anything...” He trailed off. “But what if, for a little while, the right thing to do *seems* wrong? Or the wrong thing seems right?”

“We taught you better than that,” she said. “They're *never* the same.”

“But... don't you ever get confused?”

“If you're asking how to save the world, you've come to the wrong place-- I can't even pick out a hat.” May smirked. “I imagine your problems are a little bigger, these days.”

“Yeah. Plus, hats and I don't get along. I spend enough time with hood hair as it is.”

For a long moment, May stared into her nephew's eyes, remembering a time when he-- and his problems-- had been possessed of a much lesser scale. She missed those days more than he knew.

Slowly, she said, “Sometimes... when I don't know what to do... I ask myself *why* I'm doing it. Once you're sure you've got that part right, it's hard to get the rest wrong.”

Peter nodded. Then he hugged her again, said “I love you” and was gone. It was all very dramatic, but then, things at the Avengers Tower often seemed to be like that. Unless... May wondered if perhaps she *was* about to keel over, and nobody'd thought to inform her.

“These young people never tell me anything,” she murmured, and determined to enjoy a pleasant lunch before going *anywhere*.

****

Mary Jane Watson-Parker frowned at the image on the video screen in her rooms at the Avengers' tower. “No, I haven't heard from him, Tony. I...” *Click*. She looked up. “Wait, he just walked in the door. I'll call you back...”

Peter stood in the doorway, staring at her with strange eyes. MJ crossed her arms over her chest. “Interesting day?”

“You have no idea.”

“Uh-HUH. Were you going to tell me why you hit Jameson? Or at least give me the play-by-play, because I would have loved to... MMFFF!”

This last came as Peter crossed the room in two strides, swept her into his arms, and kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

At length, MJ came up for air. “Whoa. You should punch your employers more often, Tiger.”

“I'm glad you think so.” He took her hand and took a step toward the bedroom.

MJ arched an eyebrow. “It's not even lunchtime. What if I had plans today?”

“Cancel 'em.”

She bit her lip. “Okaaaay... but you'd better make it worth my while.”

He did.

****

Night was beginning to fall, the last rays of sunlight fading from the New York skyline, and MJ had dozed off. Peter Parker watched the sunset and her by turns, fascinated both ways. As ripping-out-the-hero's-guts moments went, he gave it a solid 9.5-- what he referred to as Goblin-level angst. He propped himself up on one elbow and brushed a strand of hair away from MJ's face.

*You'd understand, wouldn't you?* he thought. *You'd know it isn't about you or Gwen... it never has been. I could never love anyone more than I love you. It's not even a Spider-Man thing. I know you hate when I'm all pig-headed and noble. This isn't any of that.

*This is about me looking myself in the mirror. It's about knowing my actions didn't destroy a little boy whose face I can't get out of my mind. I could walk away from anything... anything real, to stay with you and be happy. But if it wasn't even real... if he never even had a *chance* to live... then I'm his only chance. Please say you'd understand that...*

He hadn't spoken aloud, but she woke anyway, quirking one eye open. “If you try that 'You're so beautiful when you're asleep' line, I swear I'll gag.”

“But you really are,” Peter said, and kissed her again.

MJ giggled. “Oh, wow. This is gonna be *so* bad.”

“It...” Peter froze. “What is?”

“You know... the part where the other shoe drops. Where you nearly get killed, or some super-villain kidnaps Aunt May or the freaking world explodes. I'm not dumb, Pete. If I ever gave you the impression I didn't know how this works... well, say hello to the world's most stunningly talented actress. So what's your guilt complex compensating for today?”

Peter frowned... then he, too, had to chuckle. “You know, when you put it that way, somebody might think we'd had a few bumps in the road over the years...”

“Perish the thought, Tiger. Now c'mon-- I'm ready for the worst. What's up?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, realized this 'worst' might be even a little worse than usual, and closed it again. Then he said, “Why do you put up with me? Seriously.”

“Eh. It's very useful having a husband who can walk on the ceiling. I'll never have to replace the batteries in the smoke alarm as long as I live.”

Peter laughed. “It's nice to know I've got some useful talents. Don't you ever wonder if it's worth it?”

“Not so much,” MJ said. He couldn't believe how beautiful her green eyes looked. “When it gets rough-- and believe me, it does get rough-- I remember why I love you: You always, *always* try to do the right thing. You've never let me down yet.”

“Oh. I mean... oh.” Since he didn't know anything else to add, Peter held her close and sighed. He hoped he wasn't about to set a precedent. For better or worse, he *was* trying to do the right thing-- for, he thought, the right reasons.

It was a really *stupid* right thing, but Peter didn't think that was his fault...

****

An hour later, with the sky completely dark, he huddled in full costume on top of the Sentry's dorky watchtower thing, at the very top of the Avengers Tower. In the distance, he could still see the George Washington Bridge. He wondered why he kept reliving the same moments-- that damn bridge, and Uncle Ben. For all the things he'd done right over the years, it was the two things he'd never been able to set right that kept calling him back.

Peter remembered what it had been like, during the House of M, to live without that pain. He wondered whether he really liked who he'd been there, without the spark that drove him to right wrongs. Then he decided he'd had enough of deep philosophical musings.

So he jumped off the tower headfirst.

Wasn't the first time. Peter kind of got his kicks by jumping from high places. Apparently he got the proportional adrenaline rush of a radioactive spider. Of course, he usually spun a *web* at some point, so he didn't splatter all over the sidewalk. This time he didn't; he just fell, waiting, trusting that the Omniscient Lady who called herself Gwen and knew how to change history also knew how to stop a guy from crashing through several feet of concrete.

*Wow,* he thought, *this is a probably a Real Bad Time to consider that she might have been a hallucination...*

“YeeeeeAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Peter fell, and fell, and fell... and then he stopped. His stomach lurched; his heart caught in his throat.

His eyes were closed. He opened them. It was still dark. He was still upside-down.

“Um... hello?”

Presto. There came the Blue Fairy now, very small and distant, but approaching fast.

--That was unwise, Peter Parker,-- she said.

He shrugged. “I didn't know how else to get your attention. Should I have clicked my heels together?”

--Suppose I had let you fall?--

“Well, that would have sucked,” he conceded. “But you wouldn't have done that... you said I was the linchpin in your plan to reshape the world.”

--Indeed,-- the Lady conceded. --Were you under the impression yours was a particularly *important* world?--

“Next time, I'll click the heels.”

--That's all I ask,-- she said. Then her manner softened. --You have decided.--

Not a question. Peter took a deep breath. “Yeah. We're gonna give the quantum leaping a shot. Anything I should know, first?”

The Lady said, --The twelve lives are scattered throughout the span of your life. I will place you into your own body in the proper time and place to save them. If you succeed, you will proceed to the next trial. You may not tell anyone in the past your true origin or purpose...--

“Because that would be cheating?”

--Because that would destroy the Universe,-- she said dryly. --Think of the past as an absurdly complex mechanical mechanism... and yourself as a not particularly large, somewhat rusty wrench thrown into the works.--

“Gotcha. I won't push my luck. Anything else?”

The Lady pursed her lips together. --No, I believe we're done. Further guidance will be available, should you require it.--

“Sure. That's what Windows told me, too.” The Lady gave him a *look*, and Peter winced. “I'm ready.”

--Then farewell, Peter Parker. Let all be as it must be.--

Peter was just about to ask whether that meant “good luck” or something more ominous... but suddenly the blackness spun around him. His Spider-Sense went off...

And then he was somewhere else.

****

“WHOA!”

Peter threw himself flat as something streaked past his head and exploded, knocking him for a loop. He nearly fell right off another roof, but caught himself with a web line and climbed back up...

Just in time to nearly get fragged by another incendiary, a hand-lobbed grenade that resembled nothing so much as a flaming pumpkin.

*All right,* he thought, *now this I remember...*

Peter leaped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the creep who shot past on his glider, cackling with glee. Peter didn't know why super-villains were always so damn gleeful; *he* certainly wasn't having any fun.

The glider came around again, and he got a good look at what he was up against-- red eyes, orange-and-blue costume. Not Norman Osborne, which felt wrong in a way Peter couldn't explain. Just his sicko little knockoff villain-groupie, the Hobgoblin.

Not that Peter could relax. Certain incarnations of the Hobgoblin had been every bit as dangerous as the original-- which one was this? There'd been a whole passel of them; Peter lost track. He looked around again, in the three seconds before the glider would have impaled him. Evening, almost dinnertime. Cool air-- probably early spring. Brooklyn somewhere, he thought.

He did *not* think this was one of the decisive battles where he defeated a Goblin. He would have remembered that much more vividly. Probably just a scuffle; that freed his hands a bit.

At the last second, Peter threw himself out of the way of the glider and hit it smack on the nose with a web. He dug in and *pulled*, yanking the thing to a halt and throwing its rider. The Hobgoblin bailed, but came up throwing another pumpkin bomb. This one missed Peter, but a shard of shrapnel from its explosion bit into his forearm.

“ARGH! Dammit!”

“HahahahahahaHA!” a shrill voice cackled. “Careful, Spider-Man! Playing with my toys can be hazardous to your health!”

“Aw, bite me, Hobby! I'm not in the mood! Besides, they're *clearly* labeled as being appropriate for all children, ages eight to twelve!”

He rolled under the next attack, and-- THWIP!-- nailed the Hobgoblin's bag of tricks with his next web. Crossing the roof in leaps and bounds, he landed a punch to his enemy's jaw. Pretty good blow, snapped his head back. The Goblin snarled and followed with a punch of his own that knocked Peter halfway across the roof.

“Oh, good...” he groaned from the floor. “You're one of the enhanced Goblins. Here I was afraid you might turn out to be a *weak* one...”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” the Hobgoblin said. He ran to edge of the roof, recovered his glider, and hopped on. “But then, *I* was hoping you might turn out to be one of the dead heroes. I'll bet I get my wish before you get yours...”

He blasted toward Peter at full speed. The web-slinger bit back a curse, cast a web-line to the next building over, and swung between the rooftops. He hit the neighboring wall hard and climbed up it. The Hobgoblin was still coming.

“You know something, Hobby?” he panted. “I'm starting to think we have an unhealthy relationship-- I mean, look at us! I'm an anthropomorphic spider, you're dressed for Halloween *way* out of season... this is not normal. I think we're enabling each other.”

“Then consider this an intervention!” the villain snarled. This time when he shot past on the glider, he lashed out hard, kicking Peter. He lost his balance and fell again--

Again, his Spider-Sense went off.

*Oh, really, I'm in trouble now?* he thought. *Do ya THINK, Spider-Sense? Are you absolutely SURE, because I never would have known I...

*Wait. Save life first. Snark later.*

THWIP! He caught himself with a web line and swung down to the street. There was some kind of commotion a little distance away, but Peter was concentrating on the Hobgoblin. He swooped low... then his eyes widened at something a little distance over Peter's shoulder, and he pulled up.

“WE'LL MEET AGAIN, SPIDER-MAN!” he called as he retreated.

“GET A REAL EXIT LINE!” Peter yelled back. He didn't think the twerp was listening.

Then the Hobgoblin dropped one, last pumpkin bomb to remember him by, and Peter wondered if he shouldn't give up taunting psychopaths.

*Nah,* he thought, springing into action. He wrapped up the pumpkin bomb with scads of webbing, caught it, and tossed it as high into the air as he could. It exploded harmlessly, and people cheered.

“Thank you; thank you,” Peter said. “There's another show at... waitaminute...”

He turned; a whole crowd of people had gathered behind him-- but they weren't just watching the costumes fight. They stood in a knot around the First United Bank, where several police officers had parked their black-and-whites and set up a perimeter.

The bank was being robbed! No wonder his Spider-Sense kept pounding away! He'd probably done better the first time he'd scuffled with the Hobgoblin here-- *I'd almost have had to,* Peter thought ruefully, conceding the round to his opponent. But if he *hadn't* gotten knocked down here, he'd have been too busy to even notice the commotion.

*Somebody dies here,* Peter thought. *Somebody I'm supposed to save! This must be what the other heroes call 'good luck.' It feels kinda tingly; I like it!*

A man dressed in a suit with the badge of a police detective ran up to him. Peter tensed; he didn't recognize the guy, and since he didn't know exactly *when* he was, it was impossible to say what was the state of his relationship with the law. Odds were, not so good.

“Spider-Man!” the cop said. “What are you-- never mind, I don't have time to ask questions. Can you get inside there?”

Peter arched an eyebrow; it wasn't too effective behind the mask. “Can't you?”

“There are hostages. We either sneak somebody in there or we take him down.”

On the other hand, the mask meant he didn't have to conceal his smile. “Friendly neighborhood wall-crawler and sneak artist, at your service.”

The cop looked relieved, even grateful. *Wow,* Peter thought, *I got a reasonable one. Who'd have thought? This is just too easy.*

Two minutes later, he had no reason to revise his assessment. He crept over the wall of the bank and, while the police provided a distraction in front, made his way to a back window. He applied a little webbing (to keep it from shattering) and a bit of Spider-strength to pop it open. Then he lowered himself into what appeared to be a restroom.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He'd probably triggered all kinds of silent alarms, but no *noisy* ones. He pictured the headlines Jonah would cook up if he'd screwed up there and gotten hostages killed. Talk about changing history for the crappy.

People inside the bank were still talking, shouting, some of them crying. They were terrified. Peter hopped up onto the ceiling and crept forward an inch at a time.

He turned a corner and saw them: Maybe a dozen hostages huddled against the walls, covered by three men and a woman in black masks. One of the men held a telephone in his free hand, and the woman was arguing with him:

“--do you think we're gonna get out of this, huh? Can't you see it's all gone to hell?”

“I'm not going to jail!” one of the men snapped. He uncovered the telephone. “Anybody thinks they're taking me to jail, they're gonna have to step over all these bodies to get me! Do you hear that?”

“*Everybody* heard that! ****!” the woman swore heartily. “Now they think they've gotta kill us! I don't wanna die, Joey!”

“You're not gonna die-- just do like I tell you!”

“**** what you tell me! I didn't want to be here in the first--”

“Just SHUT UP!” Joey snarled. Dropping the phone, he turned and backhanded the woman across the face. She hit the ground; it was lucky her gun didn't go off. One of the hostages screamed.

The woman lay on the ground, staring up at the man with hate and fear mingled in very wide brown eyes. Joey glared back at her. Then, panting, he picked up the phone.

“No, there's no problem... there ain't no problem, I tell you! You just remember what I--”

THWIP! Joey's gun disappeared from his hands.

“What the hell?!” He looked all around. So did the other two men. None of them had looked *up* yet, so they didn't see the costumed fellow on the ceiling.

The woman did. Peter nodded to her-- what he hoped was encouragement. She lowered her eyes, but didn't give him away. And then, a moment later, it didn't matter.

THWIP! THWIP! Two solid bolts stuck the other two hoods to the walls, their mouths crammed with webbing. Joey froze, turned around slowly as Peter dropped down behind him.

“Oh, cra--”

“Hi,” said Peter, and he decked the man.

He would think later what a mistake that had been. He didn't have to *punch* Joey-- he could have secured him with webbing like the others. But Peter Parker had a streak of old-fashioned good guy in him that saw red when Joey hit the woman. He wanted to serve up some punishment-- just a little-- to instill better manners in the creep.

Unfortunately, he overdid it. Joey stumbled backward, flipped over a chair, and landed right in front of his hostages. There was a kid-- maybe sixteen years old. Joey grabbed him and pulled a knife out of his jacket, too fast for even Peter to stop him, and slid it under the boy's throat.

“Stay back!” he growled. “I swear I'll--”

BANG!

Joey stopped talking. The boy screamed-- his jacket now sported a cheerful red stain, and he was out of his mind with terror. He pushed and kicked and struggled to get out from under Joey's body, which now lay still.

There was a bullet-sized hole in his one side of his head, courtesy of a police sniper.

Peter stared in mute shock-- his mind beginning to form the words *I failed*-- but then the woman said it for him.

“You killed him,” she whispered. “I don't believe it. He would have--”

Peter never heard the rest. His Spider-Sense went off again, and then he was falling, the room spinning around him, spinning into blackness, which--

****

--which gave way to the top of the Avengers Tower. Peter finished the game right where he'd started it. Apparently he didn't even rate a “Thanks for playing, here are some lovely parting gifts” from Omniscient Lady.

“No,” he breathed. “You can't end it now. Please...”

Nobody answered.

*But... I can't have failed already! Not on the first try! It was such an EASY one! I must have pulled off rescues like that a thousand times! No way!*

He leaped off the tower again-- this time, he did spin a web. Then another, and another, swinging through the city at his best speed, too angry at himself and the world to worry about where he was going or why. He just couldn't deal with anything else.

*If I had -one more chance-...* he thought. *I could have done SOMETHING... maybe I didn't think fast enough, maybe I should have done it smarter... maybe if I'd beaten the Hobgoblin first, I could have used one of those pumpkins with the gas inside to knock everybody out...*

The Hobgoblin. Something else clicked. Peter knew why he'd gotten a funny feeling when he realized it was the Hobgoblin he fought and not his predecessor, the Green Goblin. He even knew why he'd failed. Then he knew something else, something he should have known all along...

“NO!”

He dropped down to the street. He walked from there. Suddenly he was sick of anything that reminded him of being Spider-Man. Right at that moment, he wished Wanda Maximoff had changed history so that he'd never become the wall-crawler... or never been born at all.

****

The sun was peeking over the tops of the skyscrapers by the time Luke Cage caught up with him. Peter had gotten tired somewhere around Queens and sat down on the first stoop he saw. Since then, a couple of people had tried to make him move. After he picked up a three-hundred-pound bodybuilder type by the scruff of the next and requested his space, nobody argued anymore.

Luke Cage looked like he might argue. He might be able to back it up, too. Peter didn't care.

“Hey,” the big man said. “Stark sent me to find you.”

Peter studied the ground. “Screw Stark, and screw you, too.”

“I'm going to assume you didn't mean that.” Cage hesitated. “About your son...”

“He's not coming back. There's nothing I can do. He was never real.”

“Surprised you realize that.”

Peter shrugged. “Something made me realize it-- just now. Hey, Wanda gave herself imaginary children, right? What's one more? Do you think I get an imaginary Father's Day card or...”

“Pete.”

“...no, 'cause I'm saying, if it's an imaginary ugly tie, do I have to wear it? Can I just *pretend* it's a nice tie, because I could go either way on...”

“Pete!”

“...but you know, I guess that's what I deserve, right? I'm a sucker. I *fell* for it. Her line. 'Oh, you're such a noble hero. Let me give you your heart's desire.' Only NOBODY can give me my heart's desire, 'cause what I really desire is just not to be such a FREAKING idiot about--”

“PETER!”

He looked up. Cage touched his shoulder, surprisingly gentle.

“This ain't helping, man.”

“No...” he agreed. “You're right, it's not.”

“C'mon back to the tower with me. We'll talk to Stark, and...”

Peter pushed him away. “No, I don't think so. I think that's enough for me, thanks. I'm going to retire into quiet disgrace and write my memoirs, like Nixon. Jonah will *never* believe I'm not a crook...”

“Look,” Cage said, grabbing him again. “You're stressed. You're hurting. I get it, man. But you can't--”

“Just GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, ALL RIGHT?”

He pushed Cage pretty hard. Cage pushed back. And that... is right about where you came in, gentle reader. They traded a couple of punches and Peter ended up flat on his back on the concrete, wondering whether he shouldn't re-evaluate his life and become a monk or something. Sure, it was a crummy haircut, but he had a head start on the vow of poverty.

“Are we done here?” Luke Cage asked, glowering down at him.

“Sorry,” said Peter as he picked himself off the ground. “Maybe you don't know who you're talking to.”

He rounded on Cage like a different man-- a raw and furious look on his face that his colleague had never seen before.

“I'm not some emo punk who needs a pep talk and a Lifesaver.”

WHAM! He staggered the other man with a solid blow.

“I'm freaking *Spider-Man*. I've been at this since you were *nobody*...”

BAM! A roundhouse left knocked Cage off his feet.

“I can bench-press a Buick and outsmart the Hulk-- which I *swear* sounded impressive in my head!”

CRUNCH. He ripped a mailbox out of the ground and smashed it across Cage's shoulders.

“And I've just had my brain ****ed for the SECOND time today and lost my WHOLE FREAKING FAMILY!”

WHAM! He avoided Cage's countering blow, stepped around him, and kicked the former Power Man into the street.

“So Luke, if it seems to you I'm acting a little funny--”

BAM!

“--or if I happen to need some time to get my head on straight--”

POW!

“--well, you're just going to have to DEAL!”

BLAM! Peter fell to his knees as the final blow hit home. He'd exhausted every once of strength, every option, and while he sat there, exhausted mentally, emotionally, and physically, the target of his wrath... picked himself up, shook his head a few times, and brushed the gravel off his jeans.

“We done *now?*” asked Luke Cage, who seemed essentially unhurt.

“Damn unbreakable skin,” Peter murmured. “Yeah, we're done.”

“Sure you don't want to get anything else off your chest?”

“Nah; that was all.”

“You gonna come with me quietly?”

Peter stood. “I'm bad at quiet. I'll come noisy but non-belligerent.”

“Works for me,” said Cage, and they walked off together.

****

On the way to the Avengers Tower, Peter put a little more of the puzzle together. He remembered the man at the bank now-- Joey Strickland, a small-time hood who'd once been featured in a Bugle expose on... prison conditions or something. Jonah had been been pretty upset that piece hadn't gotten more attention-- apparently even Strickland himself had ignored it. The guy Peter saw certainly hadn't reformed; he would have gone back to prison even if Peter had managed to prevent his death. Peter wondered vaguely why the Lady had *wanted* him saved... and wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Peter and Cage got ID'd at the door and paced through the lobby in silence. Cage kept stretching and wincing-- if Peter hadn't exactly laid the smack down, he'd at least left his opponent sore.

Peter reached the elevator and punched the button mechanically, almost ignoring the young woman who sat off to the side at a receptionist's desk.

Then he did a double-take. The woman's brown eyes looked familiar...

*Ding*, said the elevator. Luke Cage started to step inside, but stopped when he realized Peter wasn't following. “Something wrong?”

“...the hell?” Peter practically leaped on top of the woman's desk. “You! Who are you? What do you think you're...”

“Sorry?” she said, confused and a little nervous. “It's-- I'm Maria! Maria Strickland!”

“And... but you were...” Peter felt like he needed a chair. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you ought to know.” She frowned past his shoulder at Luke Cage, all but making a whirlybird motion around her ear. “*You* sent me to Mr. Stark. It was after you saved my life...”

Now Cage got into the act. “You never told us you saved her life.”

“I... don't like to brag...”

“Oh, a big super-hero like Spider-Man, I guess he doesn't even remember me.”

Peter nodded dumbly, but he *was* starting to remember.

Joey Strickland had been involved in a Bugle expose on prison conditions, all right. He'd been dead at the time, after attacking another inmate unsuccessfully. Everybody agreed the guy had been a real hard case; he'd even shot his own wife when the robbery that got him arrested went bad.

“I was *so* screwed-up back then,” Maria continued, after giving Cage the short version of the new and improved robbery scene. “But Mr. Stark's been wonderful... he even stepped in to pay for my defense. He said he's needed a few second chances himself... oh!”

This last came as a yelp of surprise as Peter leaped suddenly to the window. “Sorry, guys. Be right back.”

THWIP! He hauled himself up the wall, heading toward the top of the tower yet again.

Luke Cage and Maria Strickland peered out the window for a long moment after he was gone. Then the secretary turned to the superhero and said:

“He knows he's allowed to use the elevator, right?”

****

On top of the Avengers' Tower, with the wind whipping through his... well, hood... the Amazing Spider-Man called to himself all his powers of telepathy-- ignoring the fact that, sadly, he *had* no powers of telepathy-- and called to no one in particular:

*You're not really gonna make me click my heels, are you?*

Apparently not. The sunny sky turned black; the city beneath him disintegrayed. The Lady appeared, already close to him this time. Apparently she wasn't in the mood to waste time, even though she had all of it.

--I really would have been amused by the clicking,-- she said.

“Sorry, but I'm through amusing you. I finished right around the time you used me to kill a guy.”

--But I didn't,-- said the Lady. --I used you to save the woman. He would have died anyway; she didn't have to.--

“Still not really my style. Were you planning to *tell* me I'd actually succeeded?”

The Lady frowned. --I assumed you'd know the next time I sent you into the past. Besides... I liked the look on your face.--

“Swell.” Peter groaned. “You still lied to me.”

--Did I?--

“Yes, about Gwen. None of this is meant to save her.”

--I never said it was,-- said the Lady. To her credit, those blue eyes managed to look faintly ashamed. --How did you know?--

He shrugged. “Gwen was long gone by the time the Hobgoblin showed up. You said saving all 12 would restore her... how can it, if my changes to the timeline come after she died?”

--Now or then, it is the same. The sequence of events means little to me.--

“But a lot to us. You said time was a tapestry. All these lives... it's like a butterfly effect, isn't it? You're putting history back together, a piece at a time. When I've saved them all, the ripple effect of their actions will do... what?”

The Lady looked away-- for so long, in that timeless place, Peter was afraid she'd forgotten him. Then she said: --I shouldn't have picked a superhero who was an honor student.--

“Or lied to me,” Peter repeated, “or used my family to lie. You don't do that, lady. *Ever*.”

--I lied by implication only, not by my words. Twelve will save One, and One will save All, and this *will* heal you.--

“Is that supposed to be my reward? Some mystical healing? All I want is to forget the House of M! That'd heal me! But you won't give me that, will you?”

--No.-- Somehow, even though Peter could have recited seven ways in which he held the moral high ground, the Lady managed to make him feel guilty: --If you seek a reward, Peter Parker, you should serve the Darkness. The Light offers none.--

“Damn,” he muttered. However shifty her methods had been, it was impossible to stand there under the weight of all those years reflected in the Lady's eyes and not believe she was sincere in her purpose. And if she was...

“Okay,” Peter said at length.

--You will continue?-- the Lady pressed, as though not quite able to believe it. --You will save the others?--

“I'll try,” he said. “But there are a couple of things I want. Let's start with that guidance you promised. This shuttling back and forth through time is giving me whiplash...”

****

So that's how they got me into it. Spider-Man wanted a partner in the future to keep tabs on the changes for him-- to make sure it came out right, and to make sure the Lady was playing him straight. How'd he put it? “The Quantum Leap dude has help, and he don't even stick to walls.”

I know what you're asking. Why me? Don't I have enough trouble without the mystical knowledge of some goddess' bull**** plan to change the future? Well, yeah, I do. But I've also got a certain amount of sympathy for anybody screwed over by the House of M. By helping Peter now, I'm keeping him connected to the New Avengers-- I got a feeling we might need him someday. And once the bruises faded, that thumping he gave me ended up curing a nasty pain in my sciatica .

Most important, somebody told me a man should believe in doing what's right just because it's right. Might sound funny coming from a guy who used to run a Heroes for Hire outfit, but I do agree with that. Twelve will save One, and One will save All. That's pretty damn good incentive.

Funny thing is, I got an idea who the one might be. Peter doesn't see it yet-- maybe if he could, he wouldn't be able to do what he's got to do. When the time comes, though? I think he will.

Like the lady said, he ain't one to let us down.

END?

See the “X-Men: Eternity” series: Uncanny X-Men, Generation: Eternity, X-Force, X-Factor, and New X-Men, online now!