A/N: This is a short story on an idea that came to me. Probably really dumb, but, you know, got to write when the muse strikes! Let me know what you think…

Cheers,

Apteryx

Chapter 1: On Line

Peter Parker was standing on line.

As a surprise for MJ, he was buying tickets to a show that she had wanted to see for a while now. The TKTS booth at Duffy Square was being well patronised, and he was starting to think it would be just his luck if he got there and found all tickets sold. The line inched forward at a snail's pace; he'd be here for a long time, waiting. With nothing better to do, he indulged in a spot of people watching while he waited.

Right in front of him were an elderly couple, who he guessed were tourists, from their style of dress, the walk shoes and the nylon jackets and the serviceable pants and the man's funny cap and their accents – from somewhere in Europe, though he couldn't tell which country. They were quietly making plans about what attractions to visit tomorrow, consulting a guide book and gesticulating with many waves of the hand and nods of the head.

Immediately behind him was a young couple, not paying any attention to anything else around them. The only thing that existed for them at that point was each other. Their very public display of affection would have upset him not so long ago, but now Peter only smiled paternally at them.

They weren't much older than some of the kids at school, and had much the same fashion sense – he in extremely loose, baggy clothes, and she the opposite, in clothes so tight and showing a far amount of midriff, it was if she had suddenly grown a couple of sizes larger overnight. Peter smiled even more as he imagined it; a sort of She-Hulk thing...

Behind them, was a young, single woman, dressed in sweats and slightly overweight, with a backpack on her back and reading a magazine, also paying no attention to her surroundings, so captivated was she with her reading matter. Peter tried craning his head around to see if he could figure out what magazine it was, but couldn't do it without being obvious.

He started making up titles in his head. The Beekeeper's Apiary Digest. The Hornblower's Historical Hooter. Or better still, The Complete Catalogue of Funereal and Undertaking Accessories, Including Parlour Decorations. Peter stopped when he caught sight of a figure he recognised a bit further down the line. A kid from school, with his parents. The boy he only knew by sight, but he also knew that he was, not exactly mentally handicapped, or whatever the PC word for it was nowadays, but more just very slow.

Life couldn't be easy for the poor kid at school, but luckily for him, his denseness also protected most of the barbs thrown at him from penetrating into any sensitive areas of his self esteem. Peter remembered overhearing a remark by the boy's teacher, Mr Kilross; "…a blessing and a curse. Once he gets an idee fixe, there's just no turning him…"

He studied the boy from a distance. His floppy brown hair hung over a face that was still boyish, but showing signs of the adult he was growing into, his body also seemed rather large and disjointed – here was someone who had almost grown two sizes overnight, and was still unaccustomed to the fit. At the moment, he had a huge smile on his face and was bouncing up and down on his feet in excitement. His parents, out to give their son a treat, wore varying expressions of pleasure, worry and boredom.

Pete turned to see if the front of the queue had gotten any shorter; not by much, there must be some serious haggling going on up there. The elderly man in front had taken a fanny pack from under his taslon jacket, and appeared to be checking their money. Peter groaned inwardly; if he needed any further proof that the couple were tourists, this was it – you just did not count your money on the street like that.

He was about to tap the man on the shoulder and suggest that he wait until he was at the booth before waving cash about, when he felt the tingling from his spider-sense at the back of his skull. The young woman had dropped her magazine and brushed past Peter roughly, going up to the old man and grabbing his pack.

"No, no!" he was exclaiming, pulling on the strap, and struggling with his assailant. In response, she growled and pulled out a small, sharp knife from her pocket.

"Give me it now, dammit! Or I'll stick you…"

She brandished the knife at the old man's chest, while his wife stood, frightened and whimpering.

This has gone far enough, thought Peter, that man looks as though he'll have a heart attack any moment. He couldn't take off and become Spider-Man somewhere – by the time he came back, the old man could be hurt, and the attacker gone. He'd have to tackle her, discretely, as he was, without giving anything away.

Aware that people were watching, even those who didn't want to get involved and were pretending nothing was happening, Peter quickly went up to the side of the attacker, grabbed her knife arm, and twisted it, away from the man, pulling back as he did so.

"If you liked his hat, why didn't you just say so?" quipped Peter.

The woman yelped, and let go of the bag strap in her other hand. Released from the strap, she swiftly pivoted and threw a punch at Peter, who easily ducked, and using the arm he still held, threw her over his shoulder, to land on the pavement with the sound of a collapsed accordion.

Amazingly, she still held the knife, and gathered herself up remarkably quickly and lunged at Peter. Again, he easily avoided the knife and instead moved closer in to the woman, and with the edge of his hand, gave a short, sharp chop to the point where her neck met the shoulder. She dropped the knife, her arm incapacitated and useless.

She hadn't finished yet – she was mad and swearing madly.

"Look lady, give up now," Peter said mildly, standing casually and hearing a siren coming closer; someone must have called the police after all, "It'll make things a heck of a lot easier for you…" He had been careful not to move too fast, and was holding back in his physical contact, not only due to his secret identity, but also because he still had a thing about fighting women – stupid, but it was one of those things.

The only answer the young woman made was to attack him again, this time aiming a kick at his crotch.

"Oh no you don't!" He caught her foot, and flipped her over again – a standard martial arts move that should raise no eyebrows. This time, she landed hard on the asphalt, and lay there, winded and trying to get her breath back.

Peter looked up at the crowd that had gathered to watch, turned, and checked on the elderly tourists. "Are you OK sir?" he asked the man. He was shaky still, and comforting his wife who was quietly weeping, but otherwise seemed unharmed. A woman bystander started talking to them gently – a health professional of some kind, thought Peter.

"Fine," he said, "Thank-you for your assistance. Can I reward you?" The old man haltingly said.

"Uh…" Peter shook his head.

He wanted just to slip away, pull his normal vanishing act; he sure brought attention on himself there, and the police were going to want to get a statement off him, and they might notice a few odd things about him if they checked out his file. He could always give a false name…

"Mr Parker! Mr Parker!"

Peter groaned. Too late for that.

"Mr Parker, sir!" It was the boy from Midtown High.

He rushed up to Peter, his face shining with enthusiasm, and grabbed him by the arm. His parents were not far behind him. Not unusually, the boy knew the teachers' names more than the teachers knew the pupils'.

"Mr Parker," he said again. He had a particularly loud and carrying voice, "You were so cool! You stopped a robber!"

Peter started to get a bit uncomfortable with the extra attention. "Uh…" he began, but was interrupted by the boy.

"You stopped a robber, just like Spider-Man!"

Oh great.

"Now, Marc, that's enough of that. You'll embarrass him," his mother spoke up. Marc let go of Peter's arm.

"No, it's all right, the kid's just being a kid, is all," replied Peter, loudly, and hoping any bystanders listening would get the idea. Hoping also, that Marc would forget the incident soon.

Fortunately, two things happened simultaneously – the siren that had been wailing materialised into a police car in the curb in front of them, and the woman had gotten to her feet, and looked as if she were about to flee while the attention was off her.

Peter rapidly stepped away from the boy and his parents and seized the would-be mugger by her arm, holding her until the police were ready to deal with her instead.

Marc's parents dragged him off – Peter could hear his voice fading gradually, still proclaiming "Mr Parker is like Spider-Man!"

Later, after the police had taken the woman away, Peter had stayed to get his tickets. He had missed out on good seats for the performance, but if he'd been after the best seats, he would have bought tickets at full price. He just hoped that Mary-Jane would be happy with them, and that there wasn't a pillar in front of them blocking off half their view.

Sighing, he shoved the tickets in his jacket pocket and moved out of the line. He had compromised with the police earlier, giving them a half fake name, after all, how many Parkers were there in New York to check?

As Peter left, he noticed something colourful lying on the sidewalk – it was the magazine the young woman had been reading. As he glanced at the title, he laughed. It was Budget Living.