Chapter Text
“Well, Miss Stacy, I do hope you’ll find Oscorp’s facilities to your liking.” Mendel Stromm said warmly as he guided the young woman through the facility, passing through several labs. “We do biochemistry up on the seventh floor. Here, we mostly focus on defense research, though I imagine you aren’t going to be particularly fond of that. Most of the young folks aren’t.”
“More that my forte is in biochemistry, sir.” Gwen Stacy replied, walking alongside the man in a new white lab coat and looking around at everything. Honestly, even the weapons technology interested her, as this was miles beyond anything she had seen at either Midtown or at ESU. If the look of the place was this good all over, she was most definitely going to enjoy this internship.
“Well, that’s good,” Stromm told her, “because we will have your first assignment and I’m afraid it isn’t exactly your forte, per se.”
“Oh?” Gwen asked. “What is it?” The two stepped through a heavy metal door that slid open upon their approach, moving into a room that looked to Gwen to house some kind of generator.
“Gwen Stacy, allow me to introduce Dr. Maxwell Dillon.” Stromm said. “He is our foremost authority on both electrical engineering and thermodynamics.” He shook Dillon’s hand. Gwen looked at the man, finding him to be very much what one would have expected of a man in his late thirties to early forties. He had started working on the lines of aging upon his face, and was balding with a very poor combover to try to hide the fact.
He smiled brightly, and something about how he did it made Gwen uncomfortable.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Stacy.” Dillon said, offering his hand to Gwen, who shook it. “I’m told you’re my new intern.”
“That’s right.” Gwen nodded.
‘I hope I’m just imagining things…’ She thought.
“Well, if Stromm thinks you’re ready here, I think it’s time for you and I to get to work!” Dillon said, still keeping that smile on.
“Of course.” Stromm said. “I’ll let you two get to it. Miss Stacy, please remember to stop by the HR office before the end of day to see to your payroll processing.”
“Yes, Dr. Stromm.” Gwen said, nodding.
With that, the man left and Dillon took over.
“So, Miss Stacy, what do you think of the idea of self-sustaining clean energy?” Dillon asked.
“I’d say that’s wonderful. Dr. Dillon.” Gwen said.
“Well, good, because that’s what we’ll be working on here!” Dillon turned to the massive device in the center of the room. “This is the experimental phase of my electrical energy realignment converter - the EERC, as I call it.”
“And, I’m just spitballing here, it realigns and converts other energy into electricity?” Gwen asked.
“Exactly right, Miss Stacy. Gold star.” Dillon nodded. “A lot of this will require the use of a soldering iron. Do you have steady hands?”
‘Oh… lovely…’ Gwen thought, trying to push from her mind how the man seemed quite lecherous.
******
“Brock!” J. Jonah Jameson barked, slapping a newspaper so hard down on his desk that a few picture frames fell off of his wall. The headline was the usual slop the Bugle served up about Spider-Man threatening the people of New York or menacing the people of New York or something of that kind. The pictures showed a different story, Spider-Man heroically saving several pedestrians from a car pile-up on the Brooklyn Bridge that had been caused by some bank robbers he’d been chasing out of Manhattan. “These are some damn fine shots! Damn fine! You’re doing a hell of a job out there!”
“Thank you, Mr. Jameson.” Eddie said, though his ears were turning a bit pink at the praise from the man. The young man’s eyes looked over the credit on the newspaper for the hundredths time since he’d put it in with the Bugle.
Photograph by E. Brock.
It was a lie, and something he hated himself for doing. The photographs hadn’t been Eddie’s, he hadn’t even been on the bridge at the time of the incident.
They were all pictures from Peter.
Eddie had regretted it the moment he had done it, sending the pictures in an email and telling Mr. Robertson that they were solely the credit of him. So far, no one had called him out on it. Jameson had even praised him for it!
Such an event was… rare, to say the least.
“I’m serious, you keep drawing in stuff like this, you’ll be getting a Pulitzer in no time.” Jameson continued on.
“Gee, Mr. Jameson, you really think so?” Eddie asked, genuinely surprised by what seemed like actual, genuine enthusiasm from his employer that had nothing to do with smearing Spider-Man.
“I don’t think, boy! I act! I know!” Jameson said, lighting his cigar and taking some puffs. “I tell you, Robbie was so hot on the shots that that Parker kid was bringing in working under you, but this shows me where he learned it all from.”
Eddie laughed, uncomfortably. “Thank you, sir.” He said. “Do you mind if I-?”
“Hmm?” Jameson by now had turned to face the window behind his desk, turning back to him with the cigar in hand. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have photos to go take? Get out of my office!”
Eddie did not need to be told twice, heading out of Jameson’s office and past Miss Brant’s desk without a word, heading to the elevator. As the doors closed, he finally sighed.
‘I’m sorry, Pete,’ Eddie thought, ‘but I can’t let you outshine me like this.’ He was the one with the actual job, after all. Peter was a freelancer, at best. He was a kid with no reputation to uphold or anything.
No, no, it wouldn’t do to let Peter eclipse him. Not in this.
Not when Peter had so much over him in other departments.
Eddie just decided that he wouldn’t bring it up at all. If Peter said something, he had some deniability, at least. The elevator got down to the lobby and Eddie stepped out, his phone almost immediately going off.
“Hey, babe.” Eddie said, picking it up after seeing it was Tessa.
“Hey, doll.” Teresa “Tessa” Parker’s voice came sweetly through the phone. “Are we still on for tomorrow night?”
“Seven fifteen at Slurp & Savor? You know I wouldn’t miss it, Tess.” Eddie grinned.
“Okay, cool. Just wanted to be sure. How’s your day going?” Tessa asked.
“Oh, it’s fine. It’s cool.” Eddie said. “Just sold some pictures to the Bugle.”
“Rad! You can treat, then.” Tessa teased.
“You got it, baby.” Eddie chuckled.
“Alright, I gotta run, but I just wanted to check up on you.” Tessa said.
“Okay, have a great day, Tess.” Eddie said. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
******
‘Well, if that isn’t New York City for you…’ Peter Parker thought as he swung away from an armored car robbery that he’d just stopped, the criminals safely webbed up and left waiting for the NYPD when they arrived on the scene. A single note had been left with one with the printed text: ‘Courtesy of Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’.
As he left, he swung by a building and snatched from it a camera that he’d left webbed up and set on a timer. Heading up onto the roof, Peter checked the photos it had taken.
‘Not bad, Webhead. Not bad.’ Peter thought as he swiped through photo after photo that were on the memory card. ‘Now just gotta get these to Eddie and he’ll get them over to the Bugle. Payday time!’ He slipped the camera into one of the pouches on his belt and swung off from the roof.
‘After everything that happened with Morbius, the Black Cat, and the mob, it’s nice that things have been a little more quiet around here.’ Peter thought, his mind going to those previous events. The loss of Morbius, the enduring mystery wrapped around an enigma that was the Black Cat, and the quiet coming from Maggia.
Only that third one particularly unsettled him, almost as though they were planning something.
‘I’d say it’s just nerves getting to me,’ Peter thought, ‘but even I’m surprised by how much my hunches can be right on the money!’
Landing on another roof, Peter looked over the ESU campus. ‘Alright, time to swoop in on Miss Stacy and-’ Suddenly, he remembered. ‘Oh, right. She’s at Oscorp today… internship… big fun!’
He’d gotten so caught up in his patrol that he’d forgotten to give her a call!
‘Oh, poo!’ Peter thought. ‘Well, I’ll have to make it up to her somehow…’ He swung off the roof. ‘I know there was a flower seller somewhere around here…’
******
“God. DAMN IT!” Stanley Carter slammed his fist into the wall of the courthouse after moving away from the crowd that was outside following the trial.
“Carter, get a hold of yourself!” Jean DeWolff urged her partner. “It’s not-”
“Don’t. Even. Start!” Carter warned her, eyes wide with what looked to her to be pure rage. She couldn’t blame him, all things considered. The trial of Turk Barrett for murder, and he’d walked away without so much as a single charge to his name.
Turk had always been a small-timer, someone who had been in and out of NYPD’s holdings like it was a revolving door. For the most part, his activities had kept him in and around Hell’s Kitchen and thus a lot easier to maintain.
This had been something new from him, to say the least. The entire thing had stunk to high heaven, but there were plenty of pieces missing to the whole thing.
The evidence had pointed it to being Maggia-related, pretty much down to the last detail. However, it seemed that the jury had not agreed with the prosecution’s assessment.
“The defense put up a good case,” DeWolff said, “there was reasonable suspici-”
“Reasonable my ass, DeWolff!” Carter snapped. “We had that son of a bitch dead to rights!”
“Well, that’s how the legal system works, Carter.” DeWolff said pointedly. “You know that. I know that. We all know that.”
“Just because it’s legal doesn’t make it right.” Carter shot back.
“What does that mean?” DeWolff’s expression softened into a more worried one.
“It means…” Carter started, but stopped himself, taking a moment and taking three slow, deep breaths before replying. “It doesn’t mean anything. Forget it.”
He turned and left the room, DeWolff following in her partner’s wake.
“I get that you’re upset, Carter, but we can’t win every case. That isn’t how it works, sadly.” DeWolff told him.
“We have this discussion every time this happens,” Carter spun around to face her again, “and every time this happens, I tell you the same thing: it may be legal, but it’s not right.”
“I understand that you want to get to Silvermane.” DeWolff said. “But busting every small-time crook isn’t going to make that happen. There’s more to it than-”
“He. Is. A. MURDERER!” Carter shouted at her. “He murdered someone, DeWolff. In cold blood, with a weapon that we found, with his fingerprints all over it, in plain view of a half dozen witnesses.” He paused, stifling the shaking that was going through his body. “That man is dead. His family, his friends, they’ve lost him because of a man who is walking out of the court house smiling and laughing. Laughing, DeWolff!”
“Why did you become a cop, Carter?” DeWolff asked.
Carter blinked. “You’ve never asked me that.”
“I’m asking you now.” DeWolff said. “Why did you become a cop?”
Carter was silent for a long moment. “Because I wanted to do right.”
“And you have. Many times.” DeWolff said. “I’ve seen it. But this-”
“This system.” Carter said, looking around the courthouse, particularly at the statue of Lady Justice, blind and holding both her sword and scales. “This system is wrong. It’s corrupt and so easily manipulated by men like Barrett. Men like Silvermane.”
“It may not be the best,” DeWolff said, “but it’s the best that we have.”
“It’s not enough.” Carter said, eyes still fixed on the statue, the cold and silent stone almost seeming to mock him. “It’s not enough.”
******
“Peter! Peter, where are you?! Peter! PETER!”
“Well, I was about to schedule an appointment with my ENT specialist.” Peter said, having had to pull the phone away from his ear as Tessa’s voice had come thundering through the speaker. “What’s up, Tess?”
“Where are you? Right now?”
“Uh… just off the ESU campus at a shop called Friar’s Florist.” Peter said. “Which makes me just think they heard a really bad pun and then put it backwards, but I already spent forty bucks on roses for Gwen and-”
“Shut up a minute! You need to know this!”
“Need to know what, Tess?”
“It’s Detective DeWolff.”
“What about her?”
“Peter… they found her dead. She… she was shot.”
Peter stopped, standing stock-still in the street outside of Friar’s Florist.
“Peter… Peter, do you hear me?!”
“I…” Peter started to say, then stopped himself. His mind swimming in confusion and theories. The shock of the moment hitting him dead center. “Where are you?”
“At her apartment. Right now. I’ll drop you the address. Get over here!”
Peter took off into a sprint, heading for the alley. The roses had fallen from his hand, dropping to the sidewalk.
******
Teresa “Tessa” Parker had been one of the first ones on the scene after the initial call had come out. What she had seen had caused her to heave more than once. DeWolff’s body had been carried out, but the chalk outline where her body had laid remained as did the splatters of blood all over the floor and far wall.
She had been shot.
Not one, but two shotgun blasts by the looks of things, having blasted her directly through the chest.
They hadn’t really been friends, but hadn’t been enemies either. Tessa didn’t know what she would have called her relationship with Jean DeWolff, but her absence was already keenly felt.
She photographed the most striking feature of the room, a message that had been sprawled in blood against one wall. Less a message and more of just one single word:
“SINNER”
“You okay, Detective?” Tessa asked, looking at the figure of Stanley Carter standing not far away. His eyes were hard and narrowed, the man’s characteristic view of an entire crime scene obvious as he was taking in every single detail around, now with the edge of a wounded man.
“I will be.” Carter said softly, almost as if he were barely putting any effort into answering her at all. “I will be.” It stung, and she knew it stung him deeply. He had, after all, been DeWolff’s partner for quite some time and she knew all about how he had lost Emil Gregg to Silvermane and the Maggia, which no doubt made the entire affair even worse. Two close partners in so many years.
“Excuse me,” A young woman of Japanese descent stepped in, wearing a heavy overcoat that stopped just beneath her chin-length black hair.
“Who the hell are you?” Carter demanded. “This is an active crime scene.”
“I am aware, Detective Carter, that’s why I’m here.” The woman flashed him her badge. “Detective Yuriko Watanabe, up from the Bronx. The Commissioner has told me to take over the case.”
“He what?!” Carter almost shouted. “Are you-?”
“You are certainly more than able to take it up with Commissioner Stacy, Detective,” Watanabe said, “but as of right now, this is no longer your case.”
Tessa looked awkwardly between the two detectives, Carter looking like he was ready and willing to strike the younger detective. His face still a scowl and his muscles still tensed, he side-stepped Watanabe and left the room.
Watanabe approached Tessa. “Tessa Parker, yes?”
“Um, yes, Detective.” Tessa nodded.
“Please, call me Yuri,” Watanabe said, “at least when it’s just us.”
“Oh, um… okay.” Tessa didn’t have any idea how to properly respond to that display of disregard for regulations after being so by the book only a moment ago.
“Alright, now let’s take a look at the scene.” Watanabe was pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves she’d pulled from her coat.
“Did you know Detective DeWolff?” Tessa asked.
“She was one of my instructors at the Academy,” Watanabe explained, “I doubt she would have remembered me, though. It’s been a few years.”
“Carter didn’t take being shipped off so well.” Tessa mentioned.
“I wouldn’t have expected him to, honestly,” Watanabe shrugged, “either way, not my call.” She knelt down, beginning to examine the scene. Tessa’s eyes caught movement through a window, seeing the familiar figure of Spider-Man swinging by.
‘Well, Pete… this is gonna be weird…’ She thought.
******
“Detective Carter…”
Carter had stepped out into the alley by DeWolff’s apartment, hands clenched into fists as he stood against the brickwork, trying to get his breathing back under control.
Maybe the Commissioner had a point about him being too close to this…
His eyes opened and he looked up to see the red and blue-clad figure with his legs and hands against the bricks above him, sticking there like his namesake.
“What are you doing here, Spider-Man?” Carter demanded.
“I heard about DeWolff,” Spider-Man said, “I’m sor-”
“Don’t you even start!” Carter shouted at him, raising a finger. “Don’t even think that right now!”
“I was only trying to-”
“Trying to what?” Carter yelled. “Sympathize? With me?”
“I know she isn’t the first partner that you lost!” Spider-Man raised his voice above the other man’s. “And I know you tried to find justice for him and it didn’t work out. I want to help you find out who did this, so it doesn’t happen again.”
Carter stared at him blankly, his jaw tightening.
“What? Is that so hard to believe?” Spider-Man asked him.
“Why do you want to help me?” Carter’s eyes narrowed on the wall crawler, who quickly stopped his wall crawling as he dropped down into the alley.
“I’m not doing it to help you,” Spider-Man said, “I’m doing it because it’s right. And I’m doing it for DeWolff.”
“Is that so?” Carter asked.
“You guys do a lot to protect the city and its people,” Spider-Man said, “and none of you deserve to have that end at the end of the barrel of a gun. Not even you.”
Carter thought about this for a long moment and then, finally, he shrugged. “I won’t be too much help to you on this,” He told the hero, “Commissioner Stacy has taken me off of the case.”
“That’s a defeatist attitude and you know it,” Spider-Man said.
“I’m not breaking the rules,” Carter said, shaking his head, “DeWolff told me repeatedly that that’s not how it works.”
“I’m not asking you to break the rules, Detective.” Spider-Man replied sharply. “I’m asking you to help me find the person who killed Jean DeWolff and bring them to justice.”
Once more, Carter thought about this. And then-
“Alright.” Carter said, nodding. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Spider-Man said, offering his hand to the Detective. “We can call it a partnership, then?”
“No.” Carter shook his head, pushing the hero’s hand away. “We do this, we bring them in, and that’s it. We’re back to as we were. You’re a criminal, I’m a cop.”
“Only one half of that statement is true, but fine, Munch. Have it your way.” Spider-Man said.
“Better him than Ice-T,” Carter muttered under his breath.
“Oh, you are just the worst…” Spider-Man muttered back.
******
Peter had left Carter and had slipped up into the apartment that had once belonged to Jean DeWolff. He saw Tessa there, speaking with someone he did not recognize.
“Sorry,” He spoke to them from his place on the ceiling, “I was hoping there’d be a guestbook out.”
Tessa gave a surprised gasp, apparently having been startled by him. The other woman, however, didn’t.
“Why are you here, Spider-Man?” She asked.
“I heard through the webline that someone had murdered Detective DeWolff,” Peter answered her honestly, “and I won’t be letting that stand.”
“A noble sentiment, but you aren’t wearing a badge last I checked.” The woman said.
“Neither are you,” Peter said, “but if I had to guess you have it in a pocket of that coat somewhere?” Sure enough, the woman produced a wallet and badge from her coat.
“Detective Yuriko Watanabe, Homicide.” She said, “my friends call me Yuri.”
“Well, Yuri-”
“We aren’t friends.”
“...well, alrighty then! Detective,” Peter said. “I want to help. I owe DeWolff. She helped me out more than a few times over the years.”
“Fine.” Watanabe said. “Just keep your hands off anything in the crime scene.”
“Got it. No hands.” Peter said, mockingly giving a salute as he went to examine the area.
‘So, she’s not going to be my biggest fan, clearly…’ Peter thought as he examined the area, disgusted by the display even with no body being visible on the floor, only the chalk outline where one had once been. The place looked like a bit of a struggle had taken place here, ending with someone having shot DeWolff at close range enough to leave a nasty hole in the blood-covered couch and to leave a message on that far wall.
‘Sinner,’ Peter thought, reading the one word that he knew was (but tried not to think about being) written in DeWolff’s blood on the wall, ‘so… religious nut?’ He hadn’t exactly dealt with any religious types outside of Simon Marshall. Sure, there was the occasional mugger who had said they were doing God’s work, but that had mostly been mental health or outright drug-related messes.
Not murders.
‘Looks like a full on psychopath, though. That’s for sure.’ He thought, glancing around the area, though there seemed to be little besides the scene where DeWolff had apparently breathed her last.
‘What I wouldn’t give for a crook in a funny costume…’