[color=darkgray][center][color=CA4949][h1][b]S P I D E R - M A N[/b][/h1][/color][sup][b][color=677d9b]T H E   N I G H T   G W E N   S T A C Y   D I E D[/color][/b][/sup][/center]
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[INDENT][/INDENT]
[indent]I’m falling, and I can hear you scream.
 
We’re in my room. Dancing. It’s messy, cluttered with books and records and piles of clothes, but we don’t care. It’s just us and the music, your punk and my pop, and even though neither one of us has said it yet, I know then that you love me.
 
I’m falling, and I can hear the wind howl.
 
It’s our first date. We go into the city, spend the afternoon in Central Park. The air has a bite to it, dry and freezing like true Christmas air, and your cheeks are flushed red. You blame it on the cold, but I can tell that you’re nervous, from the way you wring your hands and look down at the ground, as if that’s where you’ll find the confidence to hold my hand, to tell me how you feel – how you’ve been feeling for years. In the end you do find it, and you kiss me on the train ride back to Queens. It’s awkward and sloppy, and I definitely do it wrong. But I still want it to last forever. With you, I never want it to end.
 
I’m falling, and the wind chokes out your screams.
 
We’re thirteen years old. We’re supposed to be studying for our math exam at my place, but Dad’s showing you his badge, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, as he tells you about the people he gets to help on the job, the small differences he gets to make. But he also tells you to be proud of your science, your smarts – because even though he gets to help clean up the streets, one day you’ll get to help clean up the world. And now we’re sixteen, and he knows who you are – who you think you need to be. And he just hopes that while you do this, you don’t lose sight of the man we all know you can be.
 
I’m falling, and my dad is dead.
 
We’re arguing. It’s a bad one. You’re in too deep, drowning, getting hit from all sides – Fisk, Kraven, Dr. Octavius, the Bugle – and instead of taking a step back to breathe, to reassess and lay low, even for a little while, you’re throwing yourself headfirst into it all, letting your burdens, and the world’s, crush you. It’s killing me almost as much as it’s killing you, and I want you to stop, but you’re not having it. My eyes are hot with tears, and I’m yelling, getting louder and angrier because you won’t give me anything back. Just a deafening stare. Just a final, “I can’t.” You and your responsibility.
 
I’m falling, and you try to catch me.
 
We’re on a date when Harry calls you. You expect him to ask how the date’s going, and you grin as you answer: “Believe it or not, she hasn’t dumped me yet.” But as you talk, that smile fades. He asked to hang out, you explain. He sounded drunk. Desperate. It’s 1 p.m. on a Saturday, and he’s by himself – you do that thing with your face when you’re trying to figure something out, creasing your forehead with worry. But you don’t dwell on it for long. With an apologetic kiss, you hail me a cab you can’t afford to the Osborn family mansion, and swing your way there as fast as you can. You get there before I do, and by the time I walk into his room you’ve put his dad’s eighty year-old scotch away, feeding Harry water in small sips from a cup you struggled to find. Your love and concern for him is so clear, so palpable, that I don’t think I’ve ever felt as in love with you as I do in this moment.
 
I’m falling, and Harry’s dad laughs.  
 
It’s Christmas. We spend the day together, the five of us – you, me, May, Mom and Dad – and Dad’s telling us how you conspired with him to sneak my present under the tree last year. Then, it was a stack of records you’d tracked down from all over the city, swinging from shop to shop in a frenzied Parker panic, the card asking me out on our first date; now, it’s a cat. I hear the [i]meow [/i]before I see it, and I’ve tackled you in a hug before the poor thing’s had a chance to come out of its carrier. May and my parents are smiling from ear to ear. I think they all thought that we’d end up married, then. I thought so, too. 
 
I’m falling.
 
Harry’s dad is the Green Goblin. Harry’s dad knows who you are. He has me, and he wants you to know. He wants you to be afraid. You come to the bridge as fast as you can, and all I can think is why? Why is this happening? You try to be strong for me, to show me that you’re not scared, so that I won’t be. But I can see you shaking. I can hear your voice trembling. And so can he. I stop thinking about why, and start to think about us. About you. About how strong you are. How caring. How vulnerable, how sensitive, how brave. How I don’t doubt for a second that you would throw your life away if you could, so that I’d get to walk away from this alive. And I start falling.
 
I start falling, and I just want it to stop. 
 
I’m scared, Peter. I’m [i]so [/i]scared.
 
But I think… I think it’s going to be okay.
 
You’ll save me.
 
You always– 
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