*MTV Spiderman fan-fiction by Kemurikat*

Unmasking a Superhero: Chapter 11 - Seriously Out in the Open

Cheyenne held Harry Osborn in her arms till he had no tears left to shed.

The couple sat quietly on the heated stone floor of Harry's penthouse office suite which now crowned the OsCorp tower. His head was cradled in her lap, her fingers running through his hair. She spared a glance at their ruined surroundings, the aftermath of Harry's rage leaving very little of the refurbished office intact.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to remodel again," he spoke wryly. He was so exhausted emotionally and physically that his entire body felt like it was made of lead, the slightest movement requiring an almost Herculean effort. "Also, my head's kind of...hijacking your lap here."

"Got nowhere else I'd rather be, honey," Cheyenne replied with a warm smile. "You can park that precious head of yours there all night, if you like."

"As tempting as that offer is..." Harry said, slowly rising to a sitting position on the floor. "...I do have a multibillion dollar company to run."

"Well, look at you, all grown up," she teased and he chuckled in reaction.

"Yeah, well, Harry the Grown-up's always been in here...somewhere...but it hardly gets any mileage," Harry shrugged and stood to his feet. He held out his hand which his lovely companion graciously accepted. "Scratch that. More to the point, I choose to hold that part of me hostage."

"Just like I choose to dance with danger instead of avoidin' it," Cheyenne confessed and crossed her arms. "By the way, now that we're official...that doesn't mean I'm changin' who I am and I don't expect the same from you either. I fell with love with who you are, baggage and all."

"Ditto. I wouldn't dream of changing a thing." Smiling, Harry took her in his arms and did a playful dip, the pair locking lips for a long, impassioned moment.

"Although...I am willin' to put a lid on some of my nastier habits when it comes to bein' Talon," she admitted with a wink.

"How about we take it one day at a time," Harry said with a nod and another kiss. "I'm hell-bent on keeping you so you can bet that I'm gonna do my part."

"Guess we can start by cleanin' up?" Cheyenne suggested.

The couple worked silently for a long while as they gathered up whatever they could salvage from Harry's office.

"Hey, Yen...um...I'm sorry that you had to see...a really ugly side of me," Harry said apologetically and shook his head. "Looks like my runaway temper totally trashed this place."

"Takes a fuck-ton more than throwin' a few things around to scare me off," she replied with a grin. "Besides, if you ever decide to lose your mind, I can spank that skinny ass of yours even on my worst day."

"I should take that as an insult but I'm surprisingly turned on by that statement," Harry growled, laughing when Cheyenne easily dodged his attempts to reach for her.

"Nah-uh. No gettin' in my pants, honey, till we finish sortin' through this crap," she said, waving a finger back-and-forth. "The last thing we need is somethin' important gettin' sucked up inside some dusty vacuum cleaner. I am not goin' dumpster divin' even for you."

"Fair enough," he chuckled and bent down to pick up a broken picture frame. It held a photograph of when he was eight years old, candidly posing with his father inside the old office. His mother had taken the picture just a week before her fatal accident. It was probably the only reason why his father had stubbornly kept it on his desk. "I can't believe I wrecked this."

"The picture's still in good shape. Just needs a new frame," Cheyenne said sadly, knowing of the photograph's great sentimental value. When Harry liberated the photo from its broken frame and held it up, she instantly saw something significantly out of place. "Hey...what's that?"

"What's what?" he asked back and turned over the 5x9 picture in his hand to investigate. To his surprise, stuck to the back of the photo paper was the barely discernible outline of a finely thin crystalline rectangle, the shape oddly reminiscent of a laboratory blood slide.

"It's a pre-launch prototype," Cheyenne gushed in awe. "An OsCorp patented original. The only working data chip in existence that stores a hundred exabytes of uncorrupted information." She exchanged a glance with a gawking Harry and shrugged. "Don't ask me how I know that."

"Well, whatever's on this thing was important enough for my dad to hide it where no one..." He paused, his face turning somber. "Where no one but me would think to look," Harry whispered as he stared at the seemingly fragile 2.5 inch long rectangle that he held carefully between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll hazard a guess that since you know what this thing is, you have the equipment we need to extract the data on it?"

"No," she began slowly, her eyes circling the room, "but if your daddy hid that here...I'll bet that the tech we need to read whatever's on that thing…" She stood to her feet and ran for her handbag, retrieving her custom cellphone. Quickly accessing an application that functioned as a density detector, she thumbed the initiation sequence and a beam of blue light erupted from one end of her phone.

Harry watched in curious silence as Cheyenne swept the thin, bright beam methodically over every inch of his penthouse office until all movement settled on a section of wood panelling near a corner.

"There you are," she voiced out loud triumphantly as she purposely strode toward that particular spot. Tossing aside her cellphone, she began drumming a small section of the wall with her fingers. "Hear that?"

"There's something under there," he replied in agreement when he heard the hollower, deeper sounds of her tapping. "Hold on a sec."

She watched as Harry jogged around the office's minibar and returned...with a large fire axe.

"I've kept this here for self-defense as a souvenir," Harry said offhandedly. "Remind me to tell you that story sometime," he added before he swung the axe at the wooden panel. When he remodelled his father's old office, he left the walls untouched.

Hidden within the splintered gap, they found a small but heavy 5x5 inch black metal cube.

"What the hell's this?" Harry asked as he passed it into his girlfriend's eager hands.

"Feels like a tiny lockbox," Cheyenne commented as she examined the heavy metal cube. "No physical signs of a lock so that could mean it's DNA encrypted."

"How?" Harry replied in confusion when the metal cube was returned to him. "I don't even see how this thing's supposed to open."

"Use your imagination, sweetie," she shrugged and crossed her arms. "Your daddy made you so you should know how he thinks."

"I'm gonna let that remark slide, but just this once," Harry warned her. He deeply resented any mention of his father's God Complex especially when - in any way, shape or form - it remotely involved him.

Clearly unapologetic, Cheyenne observed patiently as Harry tried several ways to 'open' the black metal cube. Nearly clawing out of her own skin, she willed herself to stand still despite his failed attempts and his mounting frustration. From what she knew of Harry in the time they'd spent together, she'd only volunteer to help him when she was specifically asked to.

"Fuck this thing," Harry spat out. He would give it one more try then hand the stupid cube over to Cheyenne's more experienced intuition. Picking an orientation that he guessed was right-side-up, he positioned his hands, one on top of the other as he held the cube, his fingers splayed wide. He then twisted in opposing directions.

Suddenly, they both heard a sharp click as the box opened itself, dividing evenly in half.

"My dad created a stupid box...for this?" Harry said with a furrowed brow as he lifted up an ornately sculpted ivory and crystal chess-piece of a white King.

"Damn, baby, you weren't kiddin' about your daddy's superiority issues," Cheyenne mentioned. "Now, where do you suppose that clue leads us to?"

"Y'know, this piece looks identical to the ones from an antique chess set that my dad kept in his private study. He even claimed that the set was once owned by the first Tsar of Russia, Ivan the Fourth or better known as Ivan the Terrible," Harry explained, toying with the chess-piece in his fingers.

"Except that King your holdin' there's a very well-made forgery," Cheyenne countered with a smirk.

Startled, Harry gaped at her before he blurted out, "My dad wasn't lying?"

"Nope," she grinned. "I've had my eye on your daddy's chess set the second you showed it to me. He had the genuine thing the entire time and put it out on display like the peacock he was. That chess set's a missin' national treasure so I doubt he allowed any Russian acquaintances inside his study." She grabbed the crystal King. "Also...this is the first solid lead we have."

Wasting no time, the pair sped to the Osborn mansion in Cheyenne's Porsche 911 Carrera GTS, her vehicle's police radar actively providing them with alternative routes to avoid being chased down by cops for speeding violations.

With the crystalline data slide tucked safely in his shirt's zip-pocket, Harry and Cheyenne bolted together to the private study of the late Norman Osborn.

Stopping just shy of the threshold, Harry took a deep breath and slid apart the study's heavy Indian rosewood double-doors.

Beside his father's polished ebony desk of rare African exotic wood was the antique Russian chess set on display atop an elegant brass pedestal...and in its proper place on the luxuriously gilded chessboard sat the authentic crystal and ivory White King.

"I don't get it, Yen," Harry said, scratching the back of his head. "Why go to all the trouble of making an elaborate fake?"

"We'll know in a minute," Cheyenne said, her cellphone in hand as she reinitialized the device's density scanner and regretted leaving her Talon goggles back at her condo. "Somethin's interferin' with my scanner. Can't get any accurate data. Well, at least I can say it's not the chessboard, but we're back to good old fashioned eyeballin'."

"What're we looking for?"

"Whatever's out of place," she answered and reached out for the replica King which Harry surrendered without question. She then studied the information gathered on her phone's application of the fake chess-piece they found buried inside the wall of the late Norman Osborn's former penthouse office at OsCorp. "Just as I thought…"

"Care to elaborate?" Harry asked rather impatiently.

"Your daddy was a smart man, I'll give 'im that," Cheyenne smiled warmly. "If he wanted somethin' hidden...and he did…" She returned the replica King to Harry. "Go ahead and pull the King's crown off."

"This another one of those DNA encrypted mechanisms?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yup. Your daddy was also thorough."

"What the hell could he possibly…" Harry trailed off as he tugged apart the replica chess-piece and revealed an unmistakable shape that was morbidly attached to the King's crown like a spine. "It's a key." His dark-blue eyes darted speculatively around his late father's personal study. "Good luck finding the fucking lock."

After a long moment of silence examining the strange key from different angles, Cheyenne said, "Was your daddy a Shakespeare fan?"

"More like the exact opposite, why?"

"Just a hunch," she shrugged cryptically and led them to an area of his late father's first editions book collection. "Good thing I'm an expert at findin' the things that people want hidden." She pointed to the leather spine of King Lear. "Not a first edition but it's a rare one. One of a few exclusively handmade copies. The kind that belongs to the British Royal Family."

The book itself looked out of place as it sat too rigidly on the bookshelf.

"Geez, Yen, you make it sound like my father was a crooked Indiana Jones," Harry chuckled, casually catching the strange key when it was tossed to him.

"Rich, powerful men always want the best of everythin'," Cheyenne said. "Your daddy was no exception." She pointed to the key that Harry held. "I bet the shape of that key fits somewhere on that book."

Upon closer inspection, Harry noted that the filigree design of a golden plant on the book's spine...could possibly serve as an elaborately disguised keyhole.

"Worth a try," Harry remarked with a shrug.

Incredibly, just as Cheyenne had predicted, the golden filigree of the stylized plant gave way as Harry inserted the strange key down to its hilt and into the book's spine.

"Wait for it," she said quickly when nothing happened.

Before Harry could say another word, the entire bookcase vibrated and subtlety moved aside.

"Whoa…!" he exclaimed in disbelief before they both tugged on the heavy bookcase door. He felt like one of the fictional Hardy Boys caught up in a wild goose chase. "This is crazy."

"Hate to say it, baby, but…" Cheyenne said slowly, her eyes widening when she saw what was hidden behind the reinforced bookshelf. "...I think your daddy...was crazy…"

At those words, Harry reluctantly looked up, his face instantly turning pale with regret and nausea, his breath hitching in his throat.

Displayed neatly within reach in individually shaped depressions and featured in a bizarre shrine behind the bookcase...was the greenish body armor that belonged to the super-villain: the sinister Green Goblin.

Silver Sablinova rubbed her tired, Arctic-blue eyes and sat back with a soft thump against her white, high-back recliner. In a pursuit to uncover Neil Cain's agenda, she'd been studying confidential Intel received via encoded data transfer from various trusted sources for the last five hours. Even the ridiculous concentration of caffeine that lingered in her body failed to jolt her with any sort of inspiration.

"Get some sleep, Sab, you're exhausted," Rex Stanton prodded with a slightly worried expression as he stood next to her. Fresh from the shower, his hair and body were still damp, the numerous injuries that crisscrossed his muscled torso were proudly on display like medals.

"Cain is up to something nasty," Silver Sable muttered in annoyance, "and if he was eager and gullible enough to hire those two profiteering eggheads, then it's also something big. What's worse, he used me to target Spiderman." She pause and frowned. "Just knowing that wisecracking, web-swinging mutant's involved in this mess is enough to tempt me to rip my hair out."

She still hadn't forgotten - or forgiven - her unfortunate run-in with the costumed super-freak, a run-in that had cost her dearly and had nearly gotten her killed.

A ping from her private satellite cellphone jerked her from her funk.

"Tell me you have good news, Berty," Sable sighed when she picked up the call, her top computer hacker at the other end of the line. "You're positive about that?" A long pause. "Interesting." She smiled slightly. "That woman drops in and out of the picture like a stubborn penny." She bit her lip. "No. Last I heard, she passed through New York a few months ago aiming for an experimental decryption program being peddled at the Hammer Industries Tech Expo. As usual, that annoying man-spider showed up and everything went straight to hell." Her face perked up. "Is that so?" She grinned. "I'll just have to give her a ring then. Excellent work, Berty. Oh, by the way, take a few days off and indulge yourself at CeBIT. I hear they're unveiling swag I'm sure you're dying to get your hands on. Have fun."

"You've been spoiling us lately," Rex remarked with a grunt.

"I can't help it. It's what I do when I'm in a good mood," Sable grinned, fluffing her stark white hair and ignoring the thin strap of her filmy negligée as it slid off her right shoulder.

"Our next move?" Rex asked casually, his eyes drifting to the shimmering material that barely covered Sable's breasts.

"At the moment, it isn't mine to make," Sable smiled. She stared seductively at Rex, licking her lips as she sank back into her high-back leather chair, her chest rising with a backward flex of her shoulders.

"I'm thinking business can wait," Rex chuckled, his calloused hands boldly reaching for Sable's breasts, trapping the swollen mounds between his fingers. "You agree?"

"Less talk, more action," she demanded impishly, reaching for the towel wrapped around Rex's waist.

Cheyenne crooned softly as she sat protectively behind Harry Osborn who, for the second time in 48 hours, fell apart in her arms. He'd curled up into a ball, hugging his legs, his face buried between his knees. Worry creased her brow as she thought of her younger lover's mangled mental and emotional state. Harry's world had been completely torn apart not once but twice now and she wondered if the strain of it had destroyed him beyond repair. Offering what comfort she could, she embraced him as he trembled.

"...Oh, God...Pete..." Harry breathed out, tears still flowing down his cheeks. He was amazed that he still had tears left to shed. "...He...Peter was right. He was right...the whole time…"

"I'm so sorry, baby," Cheyenne said softly, her words muffled, her mouth pressed against the side of Harry's neck. He responded to her touch by leaning heavily against her.

"...No...I'm the one who should be sorry…" Harry slurred between his teeth. "I've been totally blind. I've pushed away the only person...and all Peter tried to do...all he ever did...everything he did...was to protect us…" He briskly wiped away the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "...and here I am bawling like a fucking baby." He quickly sat up straight and scrambled to his feet. "I'm gonna fix this."

"Harry?" Cheyenne said, looking up at him from where she sat on the floor. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before he turned around to face her, his hand reaching out to help her up. "Harry…" She was a bit concerned about the true meaning behind the maniacal blaze in his eyes. Was he going to end up like his father?

"I'm gonna tear OsCorp apart with my bare hands if I have to," Harry growled. "I wanna know every dirty little secret my father's kept from me all these years. I'm done with living under that man's fucking shadow!"

"That is the Harry Osborn I fell in love with," Cheyenne grinned widely, her hands on her hips. "How about we work our way up? Start by dismantlin' dear ole daddy's study."

They began by sifting through every book they could find, Cheyenne efficiently sorting them into three piles: one labeled junk, the other were items of considerable value, and the last were things than needed further investigation.

"This would be easier if I had my stuff with me," Cheyenne mentioned.

She was referring to her many gadgets as Talon, just waiting idly at her condo, but she refused to leave Harry on his own because of the fragility of his current emotional state.

"If you're afraid to leave me alone, don't be," Harry reassured her. "Offing myself was never an option even if my insides feel like they've been scooped out with a plastic spoon."

"Let me know the second you find anythin' suspicious?" Cheyenne reminded him when she wrapped her arms tightly around him, almost refusing to let go. "See you in two shakes, honey."

He watched her depart the room, his eyes briefly rooted to a spot where an afterimage of the woman he loved seemed to linger in the air. Cheyenne's sudden return couldn't have come at a more crucial juncture, at a time in his life when he needed her the most. She was an incredibly headstrong, independent woman who willingly bound her fate to his.

For the first time, Harry Osborn had a clear path to follow, and he grinned mischievously to himself when he thought about the serious steps he would take to show the woman he loved how truly committed he was to the idea of Them.

Jia Wong-Cain frowned deeply as she stared at an old photograph that she'd stubbornly kept with her. It was a group photo taken thirty years ago at a symposium for the senior employees of two of the fastest growing business companies: Tate Industries (now formally known as Tate International) and OsCorp (which, at the time, had rapidly gained momentum for its dealings with the military). She was twenty-two when the picture was taken and she was the young executive assistant to the (now long dead) vice president of Tate Industries. Using her advantage of having the vice president as her godfather, at eighteen, she was immediately accepted as a paid intern. She worked hard, however, insuring that her contract was continually renewed. Once she graduated, she was instantly hired to work for Tate Industries; her fiery ambition and determination made her indispensable, and it paved the way to a rare invitation for a junior employee to attend an illustrious and exclusive gathering.

Despite her resistance, Jia's eyes were compulsively drawn to the handsome face of a Japanese-German man who stood in the center of the photograph beside a twenty-eight year old Norman Osborn, who was then the newly instated CEO of OsCorp by inheritance.

That handsome man, now currently deceased, was the brilliant and renowned Katsuro Tate, and it both annoyed and amazed Jia that her heart still fluttered whenever she saw an image of him, especially in his prime. At thirty-three years old, the Japanese-German business tycoon had cultivated a legendary reputation among his peers for his innovative and creatively aggressive financial tactics. His ideas effectively attracted many wealthy investors and Tate Industries' profit margins expanded to record-breaking proportions. (A record that Katsuro Tate still held and Norman Osborn was the only other man to come a close second, despite his many attempts to beat it.)

Jia gasped when she felt the sharp, stinging pain of her long, manicured nails as they pierced through her skin and drew blood. She had curled her right hand into such a tight fist, she feared the digits were permanently locked in place when she tried to move them.

Katsuro Tate. A man she both hated and loved with equal passion. A man who still continued to defy her long after his death.

Damn you to hell, Katsuro, Jia thought bitterly. She'd lost count of how many times she attempted to burn the old photograph to ash, but the image itself held too much history.

Again, Jia's eyes drifted to the old photograph and settled on the face of her late husband, Patrick Hannibal Cain, who stood by Katsuro Tate's right side. Both Cain and Tate came from a small town in Nevada, had been friends since high school; the two bonding over their shared ambition of someday amassing a ridiculously large fortune. They worked their way to New York City, and together, the unstoppable duo created one of the fasted growing corporations the metropolis had ever seen.

It was just a few months before Patrick Cain became the official CEO of his own oil company Black Gold in Texas that she and Tate began dating steadily. She knew Cain had wanted her as well, but Tate was the one she'd chosen.

For two blissful years, she and Katsuro Tate were inseparable as a couple, so it was no surprise that the day he finally proposed to her was the happiest day of her life.

Six months into planning their wedding, Tate had a business trip to Japan where she was to accompany him. Unfortunately, a breakdown in the preliminary meeting of an important Tokyo merger forced Tate to fly there ahead of schedule.

It was at that point in Jia's life when everything fell apart.

Angry, bitter tears filled her eyes when she recalled the memory of her phone call to Japan. Tate had, incredibly, sounded distant and hurried when they conversed. He even implied a parting accusation that she was 'smothering' him.

She chose to ignore their bizarre conversation, believing that Tate was simply under an extraordinary amount of stress. She knew from their close relationship that his work always came first and she respected that.

What she hadn't expected...was Tate's sudden absence. For nearly six months, Tate played a vicious game of cat-and-mouse, refusing all contact with her - for no reasons she found valid - as he ran Tate Industries from an unknown location through his network of contacts from Japan.

Upset, furious, hurt and lonely, Jia turned to Katsuro Tate's best friend, Patrick Cain for help and support. Cain, just as confused about Tate's unusual behavior, sincerely tried to discover with Jia what had happened to his good friend in Japan. Inevitably, though they began with the best of intentions, all it took for both of them was a moment of weakness. Fueled by her emotional turmoil, Jia began a sexual relationship with her fiancé's best friend. Cain. Since the the man still harboured strong feelings of attraction toward her, he was more than happy to accept her advances of affection.

By the time Katsuro Tate returned to home soil - much to the relief of his corporate constituents - almost eight months had past. Furious, Jia confronted Tate and demanded answers. Without preamble, Tate dissolved their engagement, declaring that he married another woman who was carrying his child while he was in Japan! His cold response stunned Jia silent and she staggered in devastation but willed herself to stay on her feet.

Outside, Cain had been waiting patiently but when he overheard the couple shouting and Tate's shocking announcement, he furiously stormed into Tate's office, voicing his own concerns.

Not sparing his best friend or his former fiancé a glance, Tate walked out and that was that.

Weeping uncontrollably at the memory, Jia screeched out her frustration and bitterness, crumpling the photograph she held as she proceeded to demolish her entire bedroom. Alerted to the commotion, her private security entourage was forced to barge in while her personal physician administered a strong sedative to calm her down.

Nearly a week had past since Harry Osborn had spoken to either MJ or Peter, the only two people in the world closest to him other than Cheyenne. Their days spent apart since his violent, verbal argument with Peter gave Harry the opportunity for quiet introspection. After the shocking, preliminary discovery of the Green Goblin's armor neatly hidden away inside a secret compartment that was integrated into his father's personal study, Harry had come to the grim conclusion that everything Peter had told him or had tried to tell him...was the truth. He then realized that his father, Norman Osborn, wasn't the man Harry thought he was. With Cheyenne's help - using her unique experience and equipment as the elite cat-burglar Talon - the days that followed were no less disturbing.

Included with the components of the Green Goblin armor was a mysterious gadget that turned out to be a kind of cypher. The gadget allowed complete access to the information stored on the prototype crystalline data-slide that was attached to the back of the last photograph that Harry's mother had taken before her tragic accident. Ironically, the framed photo had been sitting in plain sight on Harry's penthouse office desk at OsCorp the entire time, and he sat blissfully unaware of the data chip's existence. If it hadn't been for his emotional tantrum, he probably never would have found it.

The crystalline data-slide prototype (official name still undesignated) had the incredible capacity to store nearly a hundred exabytes of uncorrupted data. What bothered Harry was the nature of the information they found.

"It's gonna take us years to sort out this stuff," Harry groused.

"Or it could be done in a matter of weeks...with help from our own scientific genius," Cheyenne hinted, passing Harry her cellphone. "Go ahead. I know you want to."

"Wanting is one thing...but actually doing it," Harry said as he stared at the digital metallic wallpaper on Cheyenne's screen. "What the hell do I say?" He paused. "All those terrible things I said...I can't exactly take them back."

"Heat of the moment, honey, I think Peter knows that," she reassured him.

"I bet he won't even pick up," Harry said sadly.

"He'll pick up," she replied with a smile.

"What if he - "

"You'll never know, honey, unless you try."

Sighing, Harry drew on his corporate persona, pretending that he was about to arrange a business meeting, and dialed Parker's number before he changed his mind. After the sixth ring, his nervous pacing grew more agitated the longer the call went unanswered.

Harry was about to hang up when someone finally picked up.

There was a long pause, followed by soft, "Hello?"

The sound of Peter's unsure and unsteady voice swelled the guilt in Harry's chest that he completely forgot what he meant to say!

Shit. So much for corporate professionalism, Harry derisively scolded himself. Not knowing what else to do, he settled for a hesitant, "...Peter...it's Harry..." A three-hundred-thousand dollar education and that's the best I can do? At least his voice sounded heavily apologetic. "...I, uh..." he fumbled and muttered a curse. "...you..." Now what? This was uncharted territory for him. He'd burned a good amount of bridges in his life, but this was one bridge he was desperately trying to rebuild!

He paused, sighing heavily, thumping his brain for something meaningful to say. Should he beg? He deserved to. Peter was a good friend despite his unexplained absences at the weirdest moments. At least, he now knew the main reason behind it. He couldn't even imagine how Peter had juggled the double lifestyle of superhero and college student.

Right now, he needed his best friend back and he'd rather not do a heartfelt apology over the phone. He settled for the only words that popped into his head.

"Just get your ass outta that hospital ASAP, Parker, you hear me? Something's come up and we need you strong enough to help us sort this out. Yen's coming over to visit you tomorrow afternoon," Harry said and hung up.

She sat still and winced as the nurse changed the dressing on her burned left arm. Luckily, the burns weren't too severe and the frequent application of a specially enriched ointment would help to reduce any scarring. A Dr. Kilian Klein had come to visit her recently, assuring her that she was perfectly healthy and would soon be released.

Looking out the large window near her hospital bed, Indira Daimonji thought about her brush with death. If it hadn't been for Spiderman, she would've stayed buried and unconscious under a ton of burning rubble till she suffocated.

In a daze, she glanced at the bandages on her arms and touched the gauze wrapped around her head as tears filled her eyes. There were flowers and cards from her friends and colleagues at Empire One but the entire bunch could have easily been on display at a funeral.

When her cellphone rang, she nearly squealed in fright.

Briskly wiping away the extra moisture on her face, she answered the call.

"Hello?" She hoped her voice wasn't too unsteady.

"Indy? It's Peter."

"Peter! It's so good to hear from you!" It sounded too enthusiastic...not that she wasn't excited to hear from him. "How are you feeling?"

"I was calling to ask you that," he chuckled.

"I'm good," she convinced herself. "You're in worse shape than I am right now, so I've been told."

"Guess we both owe our lives to Spiderman," he said.

"Half the city already owes him a debt of gratitude, I'll tell ya."

"Wish I was on my feet so I could see you…"

"Gonna beat you to that. I think they'll be releasing me soon. I can go see you," Indy said with a smile. Caught somewhere between excitement and anxiety, her heart thumped in her chest. "I've missed you," she added softly.

"I've missed you too," he answered back gently, his voice cracking. He wanted so desperately to tell Indy what had happened to him in the last few days...but he knew that he couldn't. It was complicated enough having Harry and MJ - who he'd been with since forever - suddenly knowing his secret identity and even they found it very difficult to accept! As for Cheyenne, she found out by pure affiliation. Harry had chosen to tell her even if it wasn't his decision to make.

If he suddenly confessed his secret to Indy…

"Indy…"

It was Peter's turn to sound distraught.

"Hey...hey...it's okay," she said. "Occupational hazard, right? We're intrepid news reporters. It's what we signed up for. If we wanted safe, we would've both gotten desk jobs."

"...Yeah, I guess…"

"We'll get through this, Peter," she encouraged. "I'll come by to see you the second this hospital spits me out."

"I'd like that," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"Now, you go get some rest, handsome. I want you strong enough for visitors."

"Gotcha."

"Okay, Peter, I gotta go," Indy said. "My nurse is giving me the evil eye."

"I'll see you soon. Bye for now."

"Bye for now," she repeated softly and the call ended.

Staring at the phone in her hand, Indy began to cry softly as she stared at a happy picture of her and Peter Parker which was set as her phone's home-screen wallpaper.

With no traffic to dodge at such a late hour of the evening, Cheyenne all but flew to her condo in a posh area of the city in her Porsche 911 Carrera GTS, still worried that Harry might do something psychotic in her absence. Tires screeching loudly in the confined space of her building's underground parking, she drove into her designated spot in a private section, left her car's keys in the ignition and bolted for the penthouse elevator.

Once inside her luxurious living space, she grabbed a large rucksack and stuffed everything of possible use she could think of as she systematically combed through her equipment as Talon. Various instruments, most of them she built herself, were tossed along with an extra change of clothing, toiletries and a spare Talon outfit which she sealed in a military grade black duffel bag.

Just before she left her condo, she reluctantly decided to check her email and instantly regretted that she did. An important encrypted message stood out from the long list of electronic rubbish and she quickly ran a special decryption program to unscramble it.

Cursing loudly and repeatedly, an unforeseen complication presented itself as Cheyenne read a job offer from none other than the notorious elite mercenary: Silver Sable. She and Silver had some history together and she now lamented leaving an unforgettable impression on the woman.

"Damn it all to hell, this is the last thing I need right now!" she said out loud in frustration, her voice echoing in her spacious, high-ceiling living room.

A few minutes of pacing and mentally arguing with herself, Cheyenne pivoted toward her computer screen.

"Fuck it. The bitch can kiss my ass."

Angrily storming out of her condo with her belongings and equipment in tow, she remotely activated her security system as she rode the penthouse elevator back down to the underground parking garage.

In the silence of her vacated living space, the message from Silver Sable was left on her display screen:

T,

Got an urgent request.

Need you to help me swat a spider.

How's a blank check sound?

Call me.

S.S.

The message was then replaced by Cheyenne's screensaver.

to be continued

Author's Note:

First of all, my sincerest THANK YOU to all my readers for your reviews and support!

I do apologize for the long update times, but sadly, I can only write when the inspiration grabs me and I am doing my best! ^_^; (excuses, excuses)

I was also hoping for a longer chapter after all this time...*runs for cover*