The Planets Aligning, Part 2
Roy Harper, groaning as his alarm blared, rolled over in an attempt to hit the snooze button. He missed, managing instead to swipe his clock off his nightstand. It continued to ring on the floor, just out of his reach.
He wiped at his face, wondering why he had agreed to take an early shift at the YMCA.
He was half-considering going back to sleep when Lian burst into the room and began jumping on his bed.
“Roy! Roy, get up!”
“G’way, m’sleepin’.”
“Nuh uh! C’mon, it’s Friday!”
He sighed and uncovered himself, staggering over to his closet.
-
“Happy Friday, Dad.” Barbara greeted, walking into the kitchen of their apartment in boxers and a tank top. “What smells so good?”
“Pancakes.” he said, not looking up from the frying pan.
“Cool, can we put chocolate chips in?” she asked, starting to dig through the pantry.
“No.”
She walked over, opening the bag of chocolate chips as she approached. Jim angled himself so he was protecting the pan with his back.
“Okay, seriously, we are not
putting chocolate chips in the pancakes.”
She maneuvered around him,
sprinkling chips on top of the batter. “I’ve got news for you- oh yes we are.”
“Ahh! Those were healthy, you know!”
“And now they’re delicious.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that my pancakes are not delicious unless you add chocolate?”
“I’m gonna go get ready for school, Dad. See you in a few.” she said hurriedly, rushing out of the room.
He stood alone in the kitchen. “I make perfectly good pancakes,” he muttered to no one.
-
Wilson’s Fisk’s day started, as many of his days often did, with a phone call.
“Kingpin,” he answered, not bothering with trivialities. Time was money and talk was cheap- and few were as miserly as Fisk.
“… slow down, you imbecile, I can’t understand you… explain yourself!”
A long pause…
“… I must admit, I did not see this coming. Take detailed notes, and keep me posted.”
-
“Dad, we’re gonna be late!” Babs insisted, hurrying him out the door of their apartment building.
“We aren’t going to be late,” he placated, raising an arm to hail them a taxi. Both climbed in, and while Babs directed the driver to her high school, Jim took a folder out of his briefcase and began to peruse its contents.
Babs sat back and buckled, looking over Jim’s shoulder at the picture he was studying.
“Oh, is that the three-year-old kid
who got kidnapped?”
“Missing,” he grumbled.
“OK, ‘got missing.’ I read in the
newspaper that you guys have no leads and it’s been like six weeks.”
He put the folder down to look at her. “Four days, we have leads, and what paper was that, the Bugle? I told you to stop reading that.”
She laughed. “No, I can’t, it’s like a train wreck… or bad reality TV.”
He pinched his nose. “Barbara, I’m serious. J.J. Jameson is a spiteful man who doesn’t know a hero from a haddock- I want you to stop reading that garbage.”
“You always say that, and yet, you never stop me,” she grinned.
He grumbled. “It’s your money.”
The taxi slowed to a stop, pulling up to the curb outside Babs’ high school.
“Have a good day at work, Dad. And don’t forget to switch Turpin to decaf around 2:00, or he’ll get jumpy,” she smiled, kissing his cheek.
He watched wistfully out the window as she ran to catch up with friends.
-
“Oliver, I’m here!” Roy called as he entered the YMCA.
Oliver’s head stuck out of the staff room, reminding Roy of a whack-a-mole game. “Excellent, come here, I wanna show you something.”
Roy rolled his eyes and strolled into the staff room, hands in his pockets. Oliver was by the water cooler, pointing a finger at the garbage in indignant outrage.
“Look at this!”
Roy blinked. “It’s a trash can.”
“Look at how full it is!”
Roy considered the can. It was, indeed, filled to the brim with little white dixie cups.
“Is there a point I’m missing, here…?”
“I changed it only yesterday, and now it’s full! We don’t have this many staffers!”
“And…?”
“It’s wasteful!”
“Ollie, come on. This is the YMCA.
Maybe people don’t want to reuse their paper cups.” Roy reasoned.
“Well, then hopefully people who don’t want to reuse a paper cup won’t mind buying SPF 5000 for their grandkids when the rainforest is gone, and the ozone layer is a doily, and the human race is bursting into flames.”
Roy blinked, and the room was filled with silence. After a moment, he startled himself back to life. “Right… and on that note, I’m gonna go play some one-on-none basketball with me, myself and I. I’ll see you later.”
“Actually, Roy, I need to go into the hospital for a few sessions around four. You’ll have the reigns when I’m gone, okay?”
“Noted.”
-
“No way is Captain Kirk cooler than Han Solo!”
Jack Napier rolled his eyes. These were the cops that were supposed to be watching him? He’d have a harder time sneaking away from Barney the Dinosaur.
Passing the beat cops and rounding the corner, he grinned.
It was almost too easy, but he didn’t believe in things like jinxes.
It was time to finish the job.
-
Dr. Curt Connors was a man of dignity. He’d fought in Vietnam, losing an arm in the process, pushed the limits in the field of herpetology, and fathered a son, Billy.
And yet, he decided to dedicate his life to teaching- specifically, science classes at Midtown High School.
He wasn’t all that surprised, then, when he flicked on the lights to his classroom to find Peter Parker slaving away over a Bunsen burner.
His eyes widened in horror when he saw the plethora of volatile chemicals that surrounded his brightest student.
“Christ, Parker, it’s a meth lab in here!”
Peter jumped, nearly spilling the chemicals he held in an Erlenmeyer flask.
“Um, hey, Dr. Connors…”
Curt fought back a smirk. “Hey yourself. Want to explain to me why you’re spending study hall alone in my lab without supervision?”
Peter took his viscous gray concoction off the heat and poured it into a small metal canister.
“Well, I was… um…” he trailed off, sighing. “You know how I’m a photographer?”
“Yes, but I’m not seeing the correlation-”
“I was trying to make a solution for my exposures, because I didn’t have time to develop them and I need to be at the Bugle after school, and-”
“Peter, you’re not allowed in the lab without supervision. You know that.”
“But you had a staff meeting, and…”
Connors sighed. “All right, Peter. This had better be a one-time thing. Clean up. I’ll see your sixth period.”
Peter waited until the door closed fully before breathing a sigh of relief.
Having a teacher catch him making web fluid was somewhere in the area below conquering Venezuela with intelligent lime Jell-O on his to-do list.
That had been too close.
-
Roy walked down the street, hands in his pockets, wondering where to grab lunch when he was distracted by a voice he hadn’t heard in months.
“Harper, man, haven’t seen you ‘round much.”
“Leave me alone, Jick.” Roy said roughly, staring straight ahead and quickening his pace.
“Aww, what, two old buds can’t talk because Harper cut junk?” Jick taunted.
“I wish I could cut you crap, too. Quit trying to sell to me, Jick. I’m not buying. I don’t care if you have a fucking crate of MGH- you aren’t pushing to me anymore.”
Jick laughed. “MGH? You think I can’t do better’n that? I got word-”
Roy slammed him against the nearest building by his lapels. “I said leave me alone!”
“Roy!”
The call of his name was like a shock to his system, causing him to drop Jick, who quickly fled. Roy turned to find Oliver in the alley’s entrance, looking stern.
“Ollie, I-”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Roy’s hackles rose. “I was defending myself!”
Ollie wasn’t listening. He approached, pointing a finger in reprimand. “God, do you remember where you were a few months ago?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to- you know I wouldn’t go back to-”
“That’s not what this is about! I can’t have you beating up kids on the street!”
“He was a pusher! Do you know how many lives he’s ruined?”
The two of them were screaming now, two feet away from each other and both gesticulating wildly.
“I have an idea.” Oliver said, eyes cold, “And I don’t want your name added to the list. Next time you even think about raising those fists, you the hell better open up your mouth and TALK!”
-
Peter swiped his MetroCard, and made his way past the turnstile into the subway. All he wanted was to get from Midtown High to the Bugle in relative peace.
“I am ELECTRO!”
Unfortunately, Peter Parker very rarely got what he wanted.
Peter cursed, fought his way through the crowd to the men’s room, and changed into his Spider-Man costume faster than he’d ever done in his life.
“So,” he opened, swinging down and kicking Electro in the head, “what’s your major malfunction, Sparky?”
As an answer, Electro merely shot a thunderbolt from his place on the floor.
“Jeez!” Spidey exclaimed, dodging, “Want to tone down the force lightning a little there, Emperor Palpatine?”
“I am ELECTRO!” he said, shooting off more bolts.
“Yes, I got that bit already.”
“The world will scream my name in pain!”
“And terrorizing a subway station is the way to get there?” Spider-Man asked, shooting webbing onto the villain’s hands.
Electro charged up, melting the webbing off. “I will show you the full extent of my powers!”
“Can we do that some other time?” Spidey asked, hand behind his head, “because I really need to catch my train.”
“Stand and fight, Spider-Man! I will not let you leave me!”
“Then it appears we have a bit of a conflict in interests, doesn’t it?”
“Scream!” Electro shouted, zapping Spidey again.
Beneath the mask, Peter Parker rolled his eyes.
“Why do I always end up with the crazies? Is this a New York thing?”
Electro hurled bolts at Spidey, who dodged with ease. “I’ll bet Shining Knight doesn’t have to deal with the crazies. Betcha five bucks. Villains are sane in Boston. I’ll bet you.”
“The only thing I will put money on, Spider-Man, is your IMMINENT DEMISE!”
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a one track mind?”
-
Babs was licking at the excess mayonnaise on her fingers when she heard the knock at the door.
“One second!” she called, washing her hands.
Wiping her wet hands on her jeans, she walked to the door.
“Can I help y-”
The chloroform-soaked rag was over her mouth before she could even finish her sentence.
‘Stupid Babs!’ she chastised herself as her vision became unfocused and blurry, ‘Didn’t even look through the goddamned peephole before you opened the effing door...’
She was unconscious before she hit the floor.
There are 18 different animals in the Animal Cracker zoo.
In the United States, there are approximately 65 million privately owned handguns.
Every 40 seconds, a child is reported missing or abducted.
And in the history of bad days, Barbara Gordon’s was quite suddenly shaping to be, like… Hindenburg bad.
-
Jim paused in the middle of the sidewalk when he heard his cell phone ring. He grinned when he checked the caller I.D., seeing it was Babs.
“Hey sweetheart, what’s up?”
His blood ran cold when he heard the voice on the other end.
“Oh, nothing much, Jimmy boy- just your classic case of revenge. Babsy’s fine, by the way. How’s your day been?”
“Napier-” Jim growled, but he was cut off.
“I was talking, honey buns. My day’s been fine, since you didn’t ask. Slipped my detail, kidnapped your daughter, pretty pedestrian stuff. Oh, by the way, you probably shouldn’t keep a loaded gun in the house- anyone could get at it.”
Jim’s face had horror written all over it. “Oh, God…”
“My friends call me Jack. Now, Babs and I are just chilling over here, no big rush. I’ll wait for you before I do anything interesting.”
“If you hurt her-”
“I’ll die a thousand terrible deaths, yes, yes. Good luck finding us, Captain.”
And then there was nothing but dial tone.
-
J. Jonah Jameson was, unsurprisingly, on the warpath.
“I am your editor, people! Do I look like your mommy? Well I am not your mother or your hugger. If you need some love, get a hooker. If you're having a bad day, find a ledge or a way to deal. My door is not open to you, ever. This is the goddamned Daily Bugle!”
Peter winced, and attempted to get to his desk unnoticed.
For a guy with super secret spy spider powers, he failed miserably.
“And—Parker! Have you been there the whole
time?”
“I just got here.”
“I didn't see you come in.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Well, I had my cloaking device activated, so –”
“I don’t have time for your attitude, Parker, I needed you in the field about ten minutes ago.”
“Why, what’s happened?”
“Another girl’s been kidnapped. This one’s a cop’s daughter.”
“Why do you care?”
“The kidnapper killed the wife a year ago, got off on a technicality, it’s not important. We ran the story the first time around, and I want a follow-up!”
Peter spun abruptly, pointing a finger at his boss. “Are you kidding me?! A girl is missing, and all you can think about is selling your goddamned paper!”
“And if you ever want a paycheck from me, Parker, you’ll get out there and get me my page one, are we clear?”
Peter scowled. “Crystal.”
He stalked out of the room, stewing angrily.
“If this isn't the cherry of cruelty on top of the sundae of despair that has been my day so far, I don't know what it is.” He muttered, climbing onto the roof and removing his shirt, revealing the Spider-Man costume beneath.
Jameson would get his page one, all right.
-
Babs struggled against her bonds and stared up at her captor.
"My dad’s gonna save me, you know," she said off-handedly. “He’ll come after you if he has to go to the ends of the earth to do it.”
Napier sent her one of his terrifying grins. “That’s sort of the idea.”
She continued working her wrists futilely against the handcuffs. “Is it really worth this, Napier? You could let me go and run for it. Live in Aruba or whatever.”
He looked calmly back at her, but his dark, sunken appearance made him look more frightening than anything else. “Finally,” he said, “I was waiting for this.”
Babs paused. “For what?”
"For the attempts to reach the innate goodness that you're sure must be lurking inside me somewhere, if you could only just *reach* it!" he cried, melodramatically laying the back of his hand across his forehead. "Save yourself the trouble, sweet cakes. You can baby-talk me, you can patronize me, you can even threaten me... nothing you can say will sway me from my plan, mmkay pumpkin?"
Babs wished she could spit in his face, but he was standing too far away. "Then you deserve what you get."
"I'll take that as a compliment, even though I know you meant it to sound threatening."
He took a step closer to her, and she leaned back in her chair, attempting to back-peddle. "You know, this is supposed to be the part where the evil villain, having entwined the damsel in distress in his web, taunts her sexually and displays his toned figure in an attempt to, ahem, get a rise out of her. Then your line would be something along the lines of 'Get away from me, vile scoundrel, you'll never get any satisfaction out of me.' Then I'm supposed to toss my hair about, give an evil cackle, display my bare chest shamelessly and promise you a long, slow death full of spiders and hot pokers and... oh, I don't know... quicksand, perhaps. Lucky for you, I’m not that kind of sick!" He grinned merrily at her, by far his most frightening face yet.
Babs shook her head. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
“Oh, immensely.”
-
It was simple detective work, really. All he had to do was narrow down the list of possible locations until he found the one where Napier was keeping his daughter.
Simple. Easy. They always return to the scene of the crime—and the comedy club had gone under after the shootings, so it wouldn’t have been hard for Napier to sneak into the empty building.
Jim Gordon’s cell rang. He put it to his ear, not even glancing at the caller ID—he hadn’t particularly liked what had happened last time he’d done that.
“Gordon. Talk to me,” he answered brusquely.
“Jim!” Came Turpin’s loud voice over the line, “where in God’s name are you?”
“Getting back my daughter.”
“This isn’t the way to do it, Jim! Tell me where you are. I can be there with a team in five minutes.”
“I don’t have five minutes, and I don’t want a team. Just him and me. This ends now.”
With that he hung up, entering the burned-out shell of the club.
Turpin slammed his phone down much harder than was necessary, turning to the cop beside him.
“Any bright ideas?”
“Well… if Napier wanted a place to go, he’d… go back to where it started? That old club--- where Sarah was killed.”
Turpin nodded in agreement, and his flunky sighed in obvious relief.
“Call the paramedics,” Turpin ordered, “and let’s get over there. And I mean yesterday!”
“But Captain Gordon said---”
“Forget what Gordon said! He’s too close to the situation, and I’m calling the shots here on in. MOVE!”
-
It was simple detective work, really.
All Spider-Man had had to do was find Jim Gordon and follow him. That was where the action would be.
He erred on the side of caution when Gordon entered an old, burned-out building, deciding to cling to the sides and get in through a top-floor window than follow him through the front door.
It was a decision he’d agonize over for years to come.
Through the window, he watched the scene unfold.
-
Jim’s hand hovered near his gun as he made his way up the stairs. Disjointed words flowed into full sentences as he neared his destination.
“… If you’re going to shoot me, then shoot me…” he heard Babs say, “… I’m bored of all this waiting.”
“All in due time, buttercup.”
He had a gun. HIS gun. Napier had stolen Jim’s own firearm from his own house, and had it trained on his daughter. His little girl.
He knew it was theatrical and cliché, but frankly he didn’t care. Jim kicked the door down like it was made of balsa wood.
“Dad!”
“Get the hell away from my daughter, Napier, or I swear to god I’ll shoot you where you stand!”
Napier looked up. He’d been hovering over Babs’ chair, the gun held loosely in his right hand. Slowly, he sauntered away from the chair.
“Jimmy! I was starting to wonder if you’d given up!”
Jim kept silent, his gun carefully trained on Napier’s chest.
Napier clicked his tongue. “I wouldn’t get to trigger-happy, Tex. I can shoot her just as easily as you me.”
“Dad! Dad, come on. Chill out.” Babs pleaded.
“Put. The gun. Down.” Jim ordered.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Napier taunted. He turned the gun from Jim to Babs. “In fact…”
A tingle from his spider-sense was all the convincing he needed to leap into action. Spider-Man dove into the room, too late. A split second after he’d intended, Spider-Man collided with Napier.
Two gunshots.
Too late.
Suddenly, the room exploded in activity. Jim’s slug embedded itself in the far wall; Barbara screamed as Napier’s bullet ripped through her stomach; there was a loud crash as Napier tumbled to the floor, Spider-Man on top of him; and the room was suddenly flooded with cops and paramedics, Dan Turpin leading the pack.
Nervous at all the people, Spidey untangled himself from Napier’s unconscious form and leapt out the window. No one even noticed, for all eyes were on Jim.
He was sobbing now, holding onto the gun in his hand as though it were a lone life preserver and he was on tempest tossed waves. Turpin kneeled beside him on the wooden floor.
“He’s gone too far this time, Dan. He murdered my wife. He just shot my daughter… my little girl…”
“Jim…” Turpin started.
“No!” Jim exclaimed, raising the gun and pointing it at Napier’s forehead. “Too much… too far…”
“We’ve all gone too far. Look at him. Look at us.”
“I can’t take anymore…”
“I won’t stop you.” Dan said quietly.
“Barbara? Barbara, sweetie, can you wiggle your toes for me?” a paramedic urged the teen.
Babs, vision swimming, tried to wave her off as they untied her from her chair, her eyes only on her father. Concentrating on him, she half succeeded in ignoring the feeling like she was being eaten alive.
“It’s okay, I don’t feel anything,” – liar, liar, pants on fire- “Let me go!”
Her annoyed look melted into horror in a split second as she tried to get up from the chair, pain ripping through her abs as her top half moved, her bottom half remaining stationary.
“Daddy?” she called suddenly, terror dripping from her voice, calling Jim back to reality.
“Daddy, I can’t move my legs.”