Planets Aligning, Part 1

These were the moments Barbara Gordon lived for.

The world whirled around her, a bright blur of sounds and colors as she spun around the uneven bars. She grinned to herself as she heard the crowd gasp as she performed release after release, twisting and contorting her body and somehow always finding vertical, never missing the bar. Swinging one last time, she dismounted, sticking the soles of her feet to the mat like glue.

‘And the crowd goes wild!’ she thought as she grinned in a self-satisfied manner, waving to the crowd before returning to the sidelines.

“How’d I do?” she asked her coach as she sat down, grabbing her water bottle and squeezing it as tightly as she could, suddenly desperate for water.

“Are you kidding? You nailed it, Babs! The Championship is in the bag!” he said, practically dancing for joy.

Wiping her face with a towel, she scanned the crowd. For a brief, upsetting moment, she could not find her father. Relief washed over her when she spotted him near the back, cheering like a maniac as they posted her scores. She relaxed, allowing her tense muscles to melt into her chair.

“9.8… 9.7… 9.9… 9.8… 10.” The announcer read, and an ear-to-ear smile broke over Barbara’s face.

They were going to State. And if her intuition was right… they were going to win.

-

If you’d asked Peter Parker a year ago what he thought he’d be doing a year from then, he never in a million years would have stumbled across the truth.

Then again, getting remarkable powers from the bite of a genetically mutated spider and using these powers to become a hero who swung across New York City in brightly colored tights was hardly something that the average man would guess would happen to him ever, let alone during his sophomore year of high school.

Spider-Man peered over the edge of the building on which he was perched, watching as a boy no older than himself made a drug deal with a seedy-looking dealer. He listened hard, trying to catch any names dropped, but to his displeasure, the only things he heard were the pleadings of the addict.

He sighed as the hairs on the back of neck stood up and he felt the now-familiar tingling sensation of vague alarm in his brain that meant his spider-sense was picking up something. He stood, hearing muffled cries on the wind that indicated a jacking.

Shooting a web onto a building adjacent he swung away, leaving his surveillance job for another day.

-

“Hey there, champ- you did great!” Jim Gordon crowed, wrapping his daughter in a giant bear hug as people exited the gymnasium.

“Ugh, Dad, I’m sweaty and disgusting, don’t hug me!” Babs complained, trying to squirm out of his grip. He laughed.

“Too late for that, kiddo. But you’re right. Shower, change, and take out your contacts, then I’ll take us out for pizza. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great, I’m starved! Can Jane come, too?”

“As long as it’s okay with her parents.” Jim conceded. He was awarded with one of Babs’ famous grins before she turned and ran towards the locker room. He smiled wistfully.

It was at times like these that he most wished that his Sarah was alive, so she could see, as he did, the wonderful woman their daughter was becoming. But the lives of cops are never certain; especially not in New York City. Sarah was taken from him by a two-bit thug named Jack Napier.

Jim’s hand clenched into a fist when his thoughts came upon Napier. It was a little over a year ago when he had taken a gun into the comedy club where he had been heckled and shot into the crowd, killing three- including Sarah. His trial had gone on and on, and- to Jim’s horror- he’d been acquitted, on account of mishandled evidence.

There was police detail outside his residence, but technically, he was a free man.

It made Jim sick.

‘It’s been a year, Sarah.’ He thought wistfully, watching the crowd pass him by.

‘I still miss you. I still love you.’

-

‘2 months today.’

For Roy Harper, a lot could- and had- happened in two months. He still wasn’t sure quite how he’d managed to pull it off, but he’d picked up the pieces of his broken life in two months. And he was managing. He had to.

For Lian.

He blew the silver whistle dangling from his neck twice. “Approach the line!” he ordered, letting the whistle fall from his lips.

At 11, his mother had gotten a new boyfriend named Kevin Chen. It hardly mattered to Roy—until Kevin got his mother pregnant and skipped town.

At 12, his baby half-sister, Lian, was born. He knew from the moment she entered the world that he’d never be able to take an easy breath unless he knew she was okay. She was his responsibility in a way that no living creature had ever been before, and it both scared and emboldened him.

He picked up the whistle, and gave one long, shrill blast. “Fire at will!”

“Who’s Will?” about three of his charges joked at once. Roy rolled his eyes.

At 15, one of his friends had offered him pot. He’d tried it, and it changed his life. And, though he didn’t see it at the time, the changes were not for the better.

At 16 he dropped out of high school. He found himself falling further into the world of drugs, trying a new one, it seemed, every week. He finally found his drug of choice in heroin.

And he found himself doing things for drugs that would make decent people sick. He didn’t like to talk about that much.

3 whistle blasts. “Retrieve arrows!”

Two months ago, only a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday, his mother was been killed in a drunk driving accident. And just like that, it was as though Roy had awoken from a dream—a nightmare. He filed for custody of Lian, becoming even more responsible for the baby sister he’d always considered his own delightful burden.

Unable to pay rent but desperate to keep their shoddy Alphabet City apartment, Roy found himself in need of a savior. And to his immense luck, he’d found one in Oliver Queen.

A physical therapist who also worked as the manager of the local YMCA, Ollie gave Roy a job as an athletics instructor, making him stay for hours on end watching kids, and even taking his own classes in tae kwon do and archery- the latter of which Roy now taught himself.

But more than a job, Oliver had given Roy the greatest gift of all- faith. He believed in Roy. And though it was a struggle, his job at the YMCA and his weekly paycheck from the Ace O’ Clubs, the bar and grill he played for with his band, Great Frog, he was able to cobble up rent each month.

Roy Harper, for the first time in years, was making something of himself.

-

“Aunt May, I’m home!” called Peter Parker from the doorframe, letting his backpack slide from his shoulders as he entered his house. “Something smells great!”

He entered the kitchen, where May was hovering over the stove.

“Hello Peter, you’re home late. What kept you?” she asked, not looking up from her cooking.

He sat down at the table, forgetting to wash his hands. “I went into the city for a bit to shoot some pictures for the Bugle.”

She turned to smile at him. “I’m so glad you’re pursuing that photography bug of yours, Peter. You learn a lot from behind the lens—and that scientific mind of yours won’t get you too many jobs in high school, you know.”

“I know. I’d better get upstairs, I’ve got homework.” He said, getting up from the table and going over to kiss her cheek before leaving the kitchen.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready!” she called after him.

-

“Roooy!”

Before he could blink, Roy found a small, fast, and cute something in his arms.

“Hey, Lian. Did you make all of these?” he asked, putting her down from his embrace and taking the pictures that were clutched in her tiny fist.

“Yup. There’s one of you ‘n me, and of Ollie, ‘n one with Ali ‘n Wiley ‘n Sasha ‘n Lila.”

Roy smiled. “Well, we’ll just have to put that on the fridge when we get home, won’t we?”

She grinned up at him, and he took her hand.

“Kin I come ‘n see you play tonight, Roy?” she asked, swinging his arm back and forth a little.

“I dunno, have you been good?”

“She’s been great.” Came a voice from behind them. Roy turned to find Oliver sticking his head out of his office. “You kids need anything before you go? Dinner, perhaps?”

“Nah, Bibbo will feed us at the tavern. Maybe another night.”

Oliver smiled feebly. “If you’re sure. Have a good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow at three.”

Roy saluted jauntily, placed Lian on his shoulders, and left the building, leaving Oliver to shake his head with a rueful smile.

-

“And then I said, ‘That’s no paper towel, that’s my book report!’” Jane snorted, hardly able to speak from laughing so hard as she attempted to chew on her slice of pizza.

Jim Gordon failed to see what was so funny that had his daughter and her friend bowled over from laughing, and dismissed it as a younger generation thing.

“Um, hey, Babs.” Came a voice from the side of their booth. Laughter was silenced as the three of them looked up to see Noah Kuttler, the president of the computer club, standing before them.

“Oh, hi Noah, what’s up?” Babs asked, putting a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Not much... um… I, I wanted to ask you if we were still on for tomorrow afternoon… y’know, the computer sciences project? Because-”

“Hey Kuttler,” Jane interrupted, “I’ve got a project for you- get a life.”

Both Babs and Noah winced, and Jim frowned. Noah set his shoulders.

“So… tomorrow, then?”

“Of course. I’ll see you then.” Barbara assured him with a nod. She whorled on Jane as he walked away. “Was that really necessary?” she reprimanded.

Jane looked almost insulted. “What? Kuttler’s a total dweeb. Anyway, I’ve got to go- my parents want me home in ten minutes.”

Woodenly, she got up from the table. Babs sighed.

“Would you excuse me for a sec, dad?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He said with a sweeping gesture. He was surprised, however, when she headed not after the rapidly retreating Jane, but over to where Noah was sitting in the corner, working on his laptop.

“Listen, Noah,” he could hear her say over the din of the pizza parlor, “don’t worry about Jane. She’s been under a lot of stress lately, with the Championship coming up. Besides, girls like her… she hasn’t learned to appreciate how smart guys like you are. You know I love computers just as much as you do, and she doesn’t have a problem with me. So just forget about it. Ten years from now, you’ll be the next Steve Jobs anyway, right? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fifteen feet away, Jim Gordon smiled.

‘Oh man, Sarah, would you be proud of her…’

-

The music was loud and the lights low when Roy entered The Ace O’ Clubs Tavern, Lian still perched on his shoulders. He took her down as he approached the bar and set her on a stool.

“Evening, Roy.” Greeted Bibbo Bibbowski, the owner and bartender, as he mixed a drink for a customer. “Crowd’s been waiting for you.”

“Hey, Bibbo.” Roy grinned.

Bibbo handed off the martini and turned to face Lian. “And a very good evening to you, sweets. Shirley Temple?”

She smiled at him. “With extra cherries, please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He replied, chucking her chin. “I’ll take care of her, Roy, you get up there.”

At that moment the song ended, and Roy took the opportunity to get onto the stage. By the time he got there, however, his band mates were already in a fight.

“Listen, Sasha,” Wiley said, rolling his eyes as he re-tuned his bass, “all I’m saying is that you might want to kick it up a notch. Drums are important; you’re playing like a girl.”

Sasha looked outraged. “I AM a girl, you idiot!”

Wiley shrugged. “Well, you should play like a guy; I’m gonna get some water, be right back.”

Alison waited until he was out of ear shot to express her indignation poetically with, “What the hell was that?”

“Uh, guys?” Roy tried, “Did I miss something?”

“Play like a guy, Sasha.” Lila mocked. “Well, cry like a girl, Wiley.”

Roy grinned as he tuned up his guitar. For this was his crew, the people he’d known since the second grade—Wiley Wolverman, Sasha Martens, Lila Cheney, and Alison Blair. They’d started the band in middle school, not knowing a diminished fifth from a hole in the head, and barely able to play their instuments. They’d stayed together when Roy was using, but had drifted terribly—meeting only for the band. They’d stuck with him when his mother died though, and they were now closer than ever- something for which Roy was eternally grateful. All of them but him planned to attend Empire State University in the fall.

Wiley came back on stage and Roy approached the mic. “Evening, everybody. This next song isn’t ours, but we like it, and we think you’ll like it, too. It’s a Ramones song called ‘Here Today, Gone Tomorrow’…”

-

The vial glinted in the low lamplight as Peter twirled it slowly through his fingers, wishing that the information he desired would suddenly become clear to him if only he thought long enough. His eyes traveled across the room in search of inspiration, and fell on the portrait of Uncle Ben sitting on Peter’s dresser.

Uncle Ben. The reason Peter even became Spider-Man.

Ben Parker wasn’t really Peter’s uncle. Peter wasn’t even a Parker at all. When he was four his home caught fire, and his entire immediate family perished in the blaze. With no next of kin available Peter was put in with Social Services. He thanked his lucky stars every day that Ben adopted him, and every day was saddened that he’d never called Ben his father. When he was younger he’d been in denial, and before he knew it “Uncle” Ben and “Aunt” May had stuck, and he couldn’t call them anything else.

Peter didn’t remember much about his parents, and had never thought to ask- he’d never needed to. Ben and May had provided a home filled with love, and he’d never desired anything else.

And then Ben was stolen from him. He’d been working with a teen named Tyrone Johnson, until Tyrone mysteriously vanished. Ben had looked everywhere- and had turned up dead outside a warehouse on the west side for his trouble.

Peter had become Spider-Man in order to find Ben’s killer, Ben’s parting mantra- with great power comes great responsibility- ringing in his ears.

However, due to that responsibility, Peter had made next to no headway on the case. While he’d helped many people, the only clue he had to Ben’s murder was that Tyrone had become involved with an experimental new drug- but what it was, and who was supplying it, was still very much a mystery.

“Peter! Dinner’s ready!”

He sighed, placed the sample under his pillow, and went downstairs.

-

Little did Peter know, his mystery was getting a lot more interesting in a dark room in Midtown, …

“I want you to increase the potency. Do you understand me? … Yes, of course there are side effects. It’s a high performance formula. You have to take the risks in stride. … No, it’s better than cocaine. … Are you questioning me, doctor?”

There was a longer pause, and then laughter. “Addiction isn’t a side effect- it’s a feature! We already know it produces a quality high. … No, proceed as planned. I want hard evidence of threshold levels in our test subjects…

“Well, we haven’t seen any fatalities, have we? That means you’re not pushing hard enough. I want this started yesterday, understand?”

A sharp click and dial tone met the other end.

Aside from a few minor setbacks… Wilson Fisk was having a good day.

-

It was a relatively calm day at the Police Station… until Hurricane Foggy hit.

“Where the hell is Gordon?” Foggy Nelson stormed, banging open the door with as much force as he could muster, which wasn’t much, considering his heavy frame.

Detective Dan Turpin pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been expecting a visit like this one all week.

“Captain Gordon is at home, Mr. Nelson. Can I help you?”

“Why is there police detail outside Jack Napier’s residence?!” He demanded, “My client has been acquitted!”

Turpin shot a longing look to his mug of coffee, which he’d left at his desk.

“Mr. Nelson, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Detective. I know a stakeout when I see one.”

“We put two beat cops on the corner because there’s been a lot of drug activity in that neighborhood. The fact that Mr. Napier lives there is a complete coincidence.”

Foggy stood a moment, fuming. “On behalf of my client… I have my eye on you, Detective.”

At that, he spun on his heel and marched out the door.

“And I have an eye on your client.” Turpin murmured, sipping at his coffee.

-