Best Wishes
Summary: It is a month before Peter and Mary Jane's wedding, and everything is seeming to go wrong. Unknown to the happy couple, help is about to come from an unexpected source.
A/N: This is the third part of my "trilogy" that began with It Has Always Been You and continued with Enquiring Minds. It is still movieverse, but may touch on a few comicverse points.
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Chapter 1: Typical
Thwip! Thwip! In quick succession, Spider-Man shot two web-lines out to catch the thieves by the back. Yanking them backward, he quipped, "Hey! Where are you two going? We weren't finished talking!" Without a beat, he shot a second web-line over the railing of a balcony above, and connected the lines together. Very soon, they were slowly swinging back and forth 10 feet above the street.
He waggled a finger at them. "I know you were in a hurry, but it isn't polite to leave without exchanging a few pleasantries…"
One of the thieves spat on the ground. "Screw you, Spider-Man. We don't have to--" His mouth suddenly sealed up with a stream of webbing.
"Tsk, tsk. How rude." He looked to the other man, who had shut his mouth tightly. "Well, I at least, was raised correctly. Give my regards to the authorities and have a nice day." Spider-Man started to leap away, but then paused. The masked head tilted slightly, and then nodded. "One last reminder…"
Webs spewed out of the gloved wrists at blinding speed. Spider-Man stopped to survey his work, then saluted the two men. Before they knew it, he was away over the rooftops.
They both turned as one to see what Spider-Man had done. In sparkling webbing, Charlotte's Web-style, was the word: "RUDE."
The second of the two turned to his partner, who was looking at him with eyebrows drawn down in anger and embarrassment. "Don't blame me. You were the one who couldn't keep his mouth shut."
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Several blocks away, Peter paused for breath on the roof of a building. He had not been able to resist that last bit with the web-writing. Smiling, he took his cell phone out of the special pocket he had made for this purpose. Right in the middle of that last incident, it had vibrated. He supposed he would get used to it someday – it always made him jump a little.
A message indicator was showing at the top of the LCD display. He didn't recognize the number in his call history – who other than MJ, Aunt May or the Bugle would have this number? He accessed the message: "Mr. Parker, this is Marion Wallace of the Royal Park Hotel. I regret to inform you that due to our error, there has been a double-booking on the banquet room you reserved for your wedding reception. We are notifying both parties; however, the other client's reservation was made before yours, and has precedence. We will be happy to reschedule the date or refund your deposit. Please give us a call at 555-2440. Thank you."
Peter groaned. Where were they going to find another place for the reception? It was mid-April and there was only a month to go before the wedding. He and MJ were not exactly rolling in money. Any place that would take reservations on such short notice would probably be very expensive. Typical Parker luck.
He started to dial the number given in the message, when on the street below, there was a loud screech of tires. His spider-sense suddenly flared as the driver became erratic. Pedestrians scurried out of the way. In the distance, Peter could hear a police siren. They are not going to get here in time if that driver hits someone!
He leaped into action, swinging swiftly downward. A mother clutched her child, frozen in fear, as the car careened toward them. Peter snagged the two of them in his arms. Setting them out of harm's way, he asked the woman, "Are you okay?"
She nodded numbly. His head snapped around as the car rounded another corner, almost on two wheels. "Excuse me," he apologized, and took off that direction.
I've got to stop them, and fast! He used the momentum of swinging around the corner to land on the roof of the car. Leaning over the passenger-side window, he rapped sharply on the glass. "Hey! You wanna slow it down, buddy?"
The driver, a disheveled-looking white male, took one glance at him and promptly swerved almost across the traffic. "Whoa, there!" Peter cried, righting himself easily.
The driver frantically swiveled the steering wheel left and right, trying to dislodge his unwanted passenger. Clearly, the man had no intention of stopping.
Peter shot out several lines to surrounding buildings. Most stuck on the brickwork, but one line grabbed a large potted plant beside an entrance. The ficus came flying toward him, as the other lines snapped. The car's speed and momentum were too great. He caught the base of the pot, and webbed it to a light pole as they passed.
All right, I guess this will take a hands-on approach. "I can see you are in need of a few pointers." Peter punched through the glass, and fluidly slid through to sit in the passenger seat. "Okay, students. Hands at 10 and 2. Slowly lift your foot from the gas pedal and press the brake firmly." The driver began fumbling for the weapon tucked in his belt. Peter nonchalantly snatched it away with a strand of webbing. "And for God's sake, watch out for pedestrian traffic!"
Peter reached for the steering wheel, but at the last moment, the driver jerked the wheel to the right. They plowed across the sidewalk, crashed through the front window of a storefront, and came to a stop a mere foot from the counter. The car alarm pealed and the air bags deployed, momentarily trapping the driver and Peter in their seats. Peter began coughing due to dust and debris. "The brake, man, I said the brake…" he coughed. He poked through the fabric of the air bag, deflating it enough to escape the car.
Opening the car door, he found himself tripping over greenery. He shook his head to clear it. It looked as if the driver was shaken, but unhurt. And it wouldn't be difficult to keep him inside until the police arrived, whose sirens he could still hear in the distance.
He looked around the room to see if anyone in the store had been injured by the crash. There was a mess of plants, pots and flowers around the broken plate glass window, and the clerk was still staring in shock. Her customer held a flower arrangement in his hands, mouth open.
"Everyone okay in here?" he asked, concerned, as they both nodded silently. Wait a minute, this place looks familiar…
He stepped through the broken window, out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the sign. MORTON'S FLOWERS. Peter dropped his masked head into his hands. Oh, my God. The florist for our wedding…
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