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[Osborn Plot] Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.
It was paint, I keep reminding myself. Norman Osborn's hand was covered in red paint. Even knowing that, though, the image is hard to get out of my mind -- Norman's hand dripping in red, the look of insanity behind his eyes, just beneath the surface after months spent buried. The change in weather took away more than just the snow. He's not pretending anymore. Whoever Alton Hartford was is gone, now, and all that's left is Norman.
Norman, Norman, Norman.
I tear through the jungle like a man possessed, adrenaline pushing me faster with each passing second. I need to find Mary Jane -- need to make sure she's alright, need to warn her that what we've been dreading for months is probably right around the corner. When I show up at her hut, drenched in sweat and white as a ghost, I only hope I picked the right one. We can't afford to waste more time.
"Mary Jane!" I call, rapping my knuckles hard against the door. "Mary Jane, open up!"
Norman, Norman, Norman.
I tear through the jungle like a man possessed, adrenaline pushing me faster with each passing second. I need to find Mary Jane -- need to make sure she's alright, need to warn her that what we've been dreading for months is probably right around the corner. When I show up at her hut, drenched in sweat and white as a ghost, I only hope I picked the right one. We can't afford to waste more time.
"Mary Jane!" I call, rapping my knuckles hard against the door. "Mary Jane, open up!"
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"I don't know," I say, shutting my eyes tight, willing myself to think of something that won't just result in more people dead and buried outside my house. "Dammit, I don't know."
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"We'll think of something," she replied anyway, her voice betraying just how little she believed that. Her hand slid down from his shoulder so she could lace her fingers through his, a gesture that probably wasn't very reassuring, but one she couldn't help. Even if either of them had wanted him to be, he wasn't alone in this. "Just... come sit down. Catch your breath. Just for a minute."
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"Get a grip on yourself, Parker," I mutter.
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"I'm scared, Pete," she admitted on an exhale, not realizing she'd spoken until the words had already left her mouth. Of course, it was stating the obvious, and one of the biggest understatements possible. She just didn't think she needed to mention that retrospectively. He probably knew, anyway.
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"This would be so much simpler if I could take the fight to him, on my own terms."
* ASM #341-343! -- Notating Nix
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"You have no powers here," she said, lifting her head again so she could try to meet his gaze. It was a statement of fact rather than a challenge, and she really, really hoped he knew it. The last thing she needed now was for him to misinterpret what she was saying. "Tell me, if -- when -- he makes a move..." For a moment, she trailed off, teeth pressing to her lower lip. "Do you think you'll be able to take him?"
The question was earnest, one that would have passed as mere curiosity if their situation weren't so dire. She had no lack of faith in Peter and his abilities, but Norman was scary enough to have had him on edge all this time, too. If this were going to be simple, that wouldn't have been the case.
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I don't say anything at first. Instead I focus on my breathing, force myself to relax until I'm perfectly still under Mary Jane's arm. I'm no good to anyone all riled up. I mean, I'm not exactly known for my spectacular planning even on one of my better days, and the question she's asking -- the same question I've been asking myself for the better part of four months -- requires a level head before I answer. She looks me in the eye, and I perform the simple courtesy of doing her the same, though I'd be more than happy to continue staring a hole through the wall.
"He's an old man, MJ," I murmur. "He's 56 years old. And he's good, I won't deny him that, but if it comes down to a fistfight... I don't have the strength behind it anymore, but you can bet I still know how to throw every punch, every kick. I have all the muscle memory. But even if I didn't, I have the same advantage over him that I've always had -- I don't know how to give up."
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It wasn't saying much -- they'd both spent months doing exactly that -- but it was as close to a reassurance as she was likely to get this far down the line. She could barely even bring herself to think about the possibility of him losing to Norman. The very prospect made her chest tighten, eyes widening in something close to panic, though she remained perfectly still at his side, save for the fact that she was shaking a little. She'd spent four months fearing for her own life, and now, all she could do was think about his.
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"Just take care of yourself," she murmured, turning her hand slightly so she could clasp his. "You've made it this far, but... not like this. I believe you can make it through this, Peter, but you've gotta look out for yourself, too."
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I can take care of myself. It's her I'm worried for.
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She paused, reconsidering the wording of that. "I need you."
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"You want -" she began quietly, then shook her head a little, leaning into his touch. It wasn't the time to focus on that. "You better live through it," she settled on instead, breaths growing shakier. "Don't you even think about anything else. That's all that matters, that we can make it through this. And then, after, we can think about... You really mean that?"
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"Yeah," I say on an exhale, with a short, decisive nod. "Yeah, I do."
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Before he could respond, she leaned in and kissed him, gentle but with intent, about the only way she could think of to tell him her thoughts on the matter. She just hoped he would get the message, if only because she wasn't sure how likely she would be to manage anything coherent just yet.
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Which is why there is no power on this island that will prevent me from keeping her safe and whole.
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