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“Otto?”
The quiet had returned to his mind, finally allowing him to arrange his thoughts. First, he noticed was that he was tired. He had hardly considered his lack of sleep and food before. There was no rest for the wicked, after all. Now the bone-drenching weariness willed to overtake his entire body. He didn’t allow it to. Then, there was Norman. The man was beaming at him as if he had pulled down the sun from the sky – which, in a way, he had. “Yes, Norman,” he said. His actuators lowered him to the ground – probably under May’s control – and he found himself facing the man as himself for the first time since their miraculous return from the dead. “It’s me.”
He returned Peter’s nanotechnology to him, shook his hand, and offered him his help. He was grateful, truly. He had to be. The boy had given him his mind back. But with his mind also came the memories of all that he had lost. After the initial relief, most of the evening passed by in a blur. May’s eyes were kind, but they weren’t Rosie’s. Peter was energetic and brilliant, but he was young, and he wasn’t the Peter Parker he had first begrudgingly and then gladly welcomed into his life.
There was grief. His life as he had known it was lost. Even if he could return to his universe – if Peter was somehow able to cure all his adversaries and the wizard was able to send them back – there was no telling what kind of world they would return to. The multiverse was a frightening unknown, scientifically speaking, and who knew what a single action in this world might do to the linearity of time in theirs? If, by some ungodly miracle, their world was completely untouched, there was the issue of him likely being a wanted criminal. He had done things… It had all come back to him. The innocent people at the presentation of his reactor, the doctors and nurses at the hospital, the commuters on the train… How many innocent lives had been lost because he had been too proud to give up his dream, even temporarily? People had died because of his decisions, and there was nothing he could do to revert that. He would spend his life repenting. Even if he wouldn’t be locked in prison for the rest of his miserable days, his career was over.
Apart from that, there was still the fact that he had four metal limbs attached to his spine. He must have spent weeks running around like this, and yet now he found they were weighing him down – physically, but also emotionally. They were heavy, for obvious reasons. They had never been meant to be permanent, and now their entire volume had to be carried on his back. Otto had never been a vain man. His wife had liked the way he looked, but his true asset had always been his intellect. While he could no longer be reasonably boastful of that either, the actuators were another force to be reckoned with entirely. He hadn’t been able to find a moment to look at his back in the mirror, but he’d caught a quick glimpse of his neck and had run his fingers along it. The metal had melded to his body, leaving red and angry lines where his actuators had attached themselves. His skin was pulled taut in a way he was aware must be a medical concern.
Worse was their influence on his mind. He had been freed of their control, and even though his mind had seemed quiet, he was now well aware that it wasn’t. Not truly. They moved when he wanted them to. They softly twittered their thoughts across his own, conveying their feelings along them. He thought he had grown used to the constant voices in his head, but even when they were near-silent in the way they now were, he still felt… untethered. They were easier to distinguish now. Still, they were uninvited guests, and Otto was unsure if they were welcome. They violent streak had disappeared, luckily. He knew it was his own fault – he had programmed them to focus on the continuation of his work, and that was what they had done. They were not to blame, and they were part of him now. Even so, the moment they had been affixed to him, he had become a killer. It was something that would take time to accept.
And, of course, at the end of the line, there was Rosie. She had been the light of his life, his rock. Countless nights she had sat beside him while he slaved over his calculations, dragging him to bed when it was clear that he could barely keep his eyes open. Then, when his mind was too restless to find sleep, she’d pull him towards her, her clear voice whispering endless lines of Eliot, Yeats, and Stevens in his ear. She had been the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he had let her die. It was his fault that she was dead, and there was nothing he could do to change that. If he could have given his own life in return for hers, he would do so in a heartbeat. He remembered now when he had first returned to his senses, that night after the hospital, and he had been ready to give in. He had intended to end it, and some part of him still wished he had. Another, bitterer side argued that he didn’t deserve the painless solution of death; that that was why he had been given a second shot at life. He had to pay for his mistakes. And he was paying. He still had his life, but everything else had been changed irreversibly.
The only constant between this and his own universe was Norman. Norman, who still didn’t look in the slightest like the businessman he had grown to be. Norman, who had been the Green Goblin after all. Norman, who assisted Peter while he worked on the cures and made small talk with May, heaven forbid. Norman, who was everything he had never been before, and yet in so many ways the exact same man that Otto had once loved.
It had been a silly crush, at first. He hadn’t even noticed it. In their occupation it was ordinary to cultivate connections with people both within and outside of your field of research. Norman and Otto had met through Curt Connors, a mutual acquaintance who in their universe, thankfully, didn’t sport scales. Regular meetings at conventions turned into visits to each other’s workplaces – mostly to Oscorp, since Norman had been the one running his own business. Over time, those had turned into visits to each other’s homes. Otto had met Norman’s wife, Emily, and Norman had gotten to know Rosie in turn. He had admired the man, or so he thought. It was his wife, of all people, who had set him straight. After their first dinner at the Osborns’ penthouse, Rosie had turned to him in the car, and stared at him with a knowing look.
“What?” he had said.
Rosie had simply laughed, in the uninhibited way only she could. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You like him.”
He had gotten flustered and shook his head, his hands trembling on the wheel. “I – I don’t understand what you – you must be –”
His wife had laid her hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. “My love is such that rivers cannot quench, my darling.”
Otto groaned. “I’d appreciate those poets of yours much more if they spoke plainly.”
“I love you, Otto,” Rosie said. “That’s all it means. And if you love Norman too, I won’t love you less for it.”
“It’s nothing like that, we’re just – we’re colleagues, Rose.”
“But you want there to be more, don’t you?”
“He’s married. We’re married.”
“And if ever a man were love by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, compare with me, ye women, if you can.”
“This isn’t Eliot.”
“Anne Bradstreet. I know more than one poet, my love.”
Otto smiled, removing his glasses to face his wife properly, turning his body as far as possible in the cramped car seat. It was hard to get the admission over his lips, but Rosie was nothing if not patient. She held his hand as he struggled to find the right words, smiling at him encouragingly. “You’re not wrong,” he said, finally. “About Norman. I think – I do love him. Not in the same way I love you, but –”
“But too similar not to be the same.”
Otto nodded, ashamed to meet his wife’s eyes. A soft hand brushed one of the tears from his cheeks. Rosie’s hand moved to lift his chin, willing him to look at her.
“This is nothing sad, Otto. You have a big heart. Welcome those who might complete it.”
He took Rosie’s hand in his, kissing her fingers. “I don’t understand why you would encourage this. I love you, Rosie. More than anything. I don’t want to make everything complicated.”
“Life is complicated,” Rosie said. “And so is love. Then while we live, in love let’s so persever, that when we live no more, we may live ever.”
Otto chuckled. “I have no idea what that means.”
“It means that you need to get your head out of your ass and live a little. Even Shakespeare did it.”
“Shakespeare did not –”
“Two loves I have of comfort and despair,” she quoted. “Despair you’ve definitely got enough of.” She took his head between her hands and kissed his lips.
“If I remember correctly, that story does not end well.”
“Perhaps not. Yours could. If you let it. It is okay to be afraid, or to feel doubt, but do not let it rule your life. I want you to be happy, Otto.”
“I am happy,” he had whispered. “I barely even deserve you.”
“You deserve the world,” she had said. “You only have to take it. As another one of my favourite poets said, ‘The ledge itself invents the leap.’”
He hadn’t leaped, in the end. While this had not been the only time that he had spoken with his wife about possibly pursuing a relationship with Norman, he had never acted upon his feelings. He had never been that free, not like Rosie. She had never taken lovers during their marriage, but he was aware that she had had non-monogamous relationships before she had met him. She had claimed that it had all become too time-consuming in combination with her teaching position, but he’d always feared that he had been a contributing factor – that he had been holding her back, with his own silly personal concerns. Rosie had grown up around freethinking, accepting adults. Otto… hadn’t. He had been married for years before he had even been able to admit to his wife that he was not completely heterosexual, and it had taken him even longer to admit it to himself. By the time he had gotten that far, Norman and Emily had a kid, and even if by some stroke of luck Norman had been interested and Emily had somehow accepted that fact, it would have been too messy for Otto’s tastes. Rosie had always been the brave one in their relationship.
Now, as he looked at the man he had lost his chance with years ago – first due to his own cowardice, then due to their ugly falling-out only years later – he felt a warm feeling settle in his stomach. Still, it was complicated – even more so than he had predicted years go. Otto despised that he was thinking about this man when he felt like he should be thinking about Rosie. Then again, she would be the first to tell him to move on, to find his happiness, a last connection in this lost world. Love perseveres, we may live ever. She had been wrong. He had never deserved her.
“You okay?”
May’s voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he was surprised he had to wipe away a stray tear. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking.
“You’re a terrible liar,” May said, as she sat down next to him on the stairs, leaving a respectable distance for the actuators around them.
Otto smiled. “Just thinking.”
“Sometimes it’s good to get out of your head,” she said, “just for a while. I’m sure Peter and Norman would be happy with some help, if you’d be willing to offer.”
“I’m willing,” he said slowly, shifting slightly where he sat. He could not say no to these people, not after what they’d done for him, but how he could face Norman after all these years, knowing everything that had passed between them and everything he still felt? It seemed like an impossibility, and not one he had the strength to tackle. Not without her.
“But?”
“Anything I can do to help,” he said, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “It’s just that…” He allowed his eyes to wander back to the workstation, meeting Norman’s gaze ever so briefly. It was unnerving, and frightening, and yet…
“You know each other, don’t you?”
Otto nodded.
“Well?”
“You could say so. It’s been a long time.”
“Because he died?”
“No. Before that. There was… we had a disagreement. It doesn’t seem to matter now.”
He remembered that evening vividly, and not only because the news of the Green Goblin that had followed years later. He had always suspected, and had often wondered if his anger had been the last nail in the coffin. Norman had been drinking, desperate, and had begged Otto to back him on the development of his formula. Otto, who had come not for an after-hours work-talk but instead a stern reminder of Norman’s duties as a father, had refused; not only because his friend was clearly half-mad with grief and greed and was in no state to work, but also because he simply didn’t have the expertise. Genetics had never been his strong suit, and what Norman wanted to do went far beyond what any ethics board would allow. He couldn’t do it, and neither should Norman have. He had his good name to consider, but above all, his child. Norman had buried himself in his work, but Harry was suffering. Still, he could’ve let him down more gently. It had always been one of few regrets in life that he hadn’t. Now it was just another sin on a tall, bloodied slate. He knew he had been right. He also knew that he was no better. He knew he needed to talk to Norman, however complicated his feelings may be. He needed to apologize. Perhaps even to relate. To do whatever people did in these situations. Offer platitudes. Help. He just didn’t know how to approach him.
A warm hand on his knee hurled him into the present again, and he found he didn’t need to. Norman had come to him.
“So many voices inside your head you’re forgetting to speak?” Norman bared his lips into a toothy smile, at once familiar and disconcerting. He removed his hand, and Otto immediately missed its warmth.
“Something like that,” Otto said, sucking in a breath.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” May said, quickly making her exit.
“I know it’s not the same, but I understand what it’s like to lose yourself. It can be… terrifying, to say the least.”
“Hm,” Otto said, non-committedly, as Norman took May’s place, his shoulder brushing against Otto’s. The familiarity was comforting, reminding him of Rosie in all the best ways, and at the same time surprising. Norman had never been a particularly tactile man at the best of times. Their relationship had been comprised mainly of manly handshakes and an occasional pat of the shoulder. Otto had lived for those in a way that made Rosie tease him relentlessly, but they had never moved beyond that. Even at Emily’s funeral, Otto had watched enviously as his wife pulled Norman into a hug that he knew he could never give him, not without feeling like he was somehow taking advantage of the situation.
“How are you feeling?” A hand on his arm again, unmistakably meant to tether him into the here and now.
Otto blinked. “The great Norman Osborn, asking after my feelings?”
“What can I say? I am reborn. I suppose it’s these goody two-shoes rubbing off on me.”
“It’s good to see you again, Norman,” Otto said, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry for the way things ended. I was… unkind, that night.”
“Water under the bridge, honey. We’ve both made mistakes. Now it’s time to fix them. This Peter seems to be good at that.”
Honey. That was new. “Are you ready for it?”
There was a flicker of doubt in Norman’s eyes, and suddenly Otto wondered if it was truly Norman he had been talking to. What if this was the Goblin, preying on his feelings, giving him what he wanted most? He dismissed the thought. Surely, if the Green Goblin reared its ugly head they would know. Norman’s alter ego had been many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them.
“About as ready as you were, I suppose.”
Otto laughed. “I went kicking and screaming, I don’t see you throwing punches yet.”
“Yet being the key word here,” Norman said, and he smiled.
“It’s not shameful to be scared,” Otto said. But I am here. You are not alone. ‘The ledge itself invents the leap.’”
Norman chuckled. “One of Rosie’s?”
“Always.”
What happened afterwards was a blur. They had sat there for what felt like hours, talking, reminiscing, never really touching on what was truly important. Eventually, they returned to the workspace, joining Peter on his quest, and Otto had half a mind to blame his own words for the Goblin’s retaliation. No more darker half. Just you. How frightening it must have been to hear such words. He knew from experience that the actuators, whatever evil they might have wrought, had at least partly acted on fear when they had resisted Peter’s cure. After all, no one wants to die – that much seemed to hold true for AI actuators as much as for a chemically induced alter ego.
And Norman’s alter ego had resisted, while Otto could do nothing more than to watch on from the sidelines. He hadn’t been ready – not to fight, and certainly not to fight Norman. The young Peter had paid the price, he had learned. May was dead – the kind woman who had taken them in when it went against all sanity, the woman who reminded him more and more of Rosie and less of the elderly lady he had once dropped off of a building every minute he had spent in her presence. More blood on his ledger.
The past night had been spent in misery – not that he had anything to complain about, not like Peter. It wasn’t as if he had had his life torn apart by people he had tried to help. No, Otto had torn apart his life all by himself, and any guilt he felt over everything that had happened was entirely of his own making. He knew he had to do something, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move from the dark hole he had crawled into. This is what he had been reduced to; hiding away in the shadows while a literal child fought his battles for him. He had been so tired, so hungry, yet when the sun rose again, the actuators had dragged his body out of the abandoned warehouse and into the light, quiet voices urging him to go help. The ledge itself invents the leap. And so he had.
The aftermath hadn’t been pretty. It had been good to see his Peter again, but this universe’s Peter’s grief had broken any joy he had found in their reunion into scattered pieces. He had been so proud of both Peters when they had let Norman live, when they chose to heal, rather than to hurt. Norman didn’t deserve it, and neither did Otto, but they had lived, and he could no longer contain himself. This was a strange universe they lived in, with its magic, its purple tears in the sky. He wasn’t sure how much time they had. So it was now or never. He reached out his arms to Norman, who was slumped into himself on the gigantic disk, facing the ground, ready to do what he couldn’t do all those years. But before he could move, he felt it. That feeling he had felt right before he had been transported to this universe. Otto sucked in a deep breath, and readied himself. It would be all right. They had something they hadn’t had before – time. He willed himself not to be afraid, but then reminded himself that fear was only natural. That didn’t mean he had to let it win. As he counted the seconds, he spoke softly to himself the words his wife had once taught him, knowing that Norman would be waiting for him in another universe, ready for Otto to take him into his arms.
It isn’t the unfathomable fall
That makes me giddy, makes my stomach lurch,
It’s that the ledge itself invents the leap