Doctor Connors is Peter Parker's father

Morning began with habitual ritual: smell of fried bacon, hissing of toaster and measured hum of coffee machine. Peter went downstairs, feeling himself so, as if spent night not in bed, but on running track. His brain was overfilled with formulas, symbols ∅∅ and burning question: "Why?". Kurt already was on kitchen. He stood at stove, his only left hand deftly managing spatula. On him was home robe over pajamas, and he looked… ordinary. Too ordinary for person, hiding secrets of such scale. — Well slept? — threw he over shoulder, his voice was hoarse from morning coolness. — Normally, — muttered Peter, sitting down on bar stool. He looked at back of Kurt, at his confident movements, and tried to find in them even hint at that obsessed scientist, who screamed at empty walls of his room. They had breakfast in almost complete silence. Peter poked fork at scrambled eggs, gathering with spirit. Air was thick and viscous, like syrup. He understood, that must act as sapper — one wrong word, and all can explode. — Dad? — finally exhaled he, trying, so that voice sounded maximally neutral. Kurt raised on him glance over edge of newspaper. — Mmm? — I here about what thought… — Peter put aside fork, doing view, that formulates thought. — We almost never talk about… about my parents. More precisely, about him. About father. I almost nothing about him not know, except that he was scientist and… that he perished. Silence, that came after this question, was deafening. Kurt slowly lowered newspaper. His face became mask — smooth, impenetrable, but Peter caught instant flash of something in his eyes. Something between pain and panic. — He was brilliant scientist, — said Kurt, and his voice sounded calibrated, as learned speech. — One of brightest minds, with which to me I've seen it before to work. Single-task, purposeful. — He took sip of coffee, clearly to win time. — This I… as would guess, — cautiously continued Peter, choosing every word. — But… what kind he was outside work? You but spent together much time. He joked? Was strict? Here… here uncle Ben sometimes tells funny stories from their childhood, but this long ago was… And what kind he was, when you became to work together? Kurt averted gaze, staring into his cup. — Richard was… complex person, — finally uttered Kurt, and every word came to him with visible effort. — Genius. And geniuses often see dangers there, where them not exist. They… prone to paranoia. To loneliness… Nevertheless to him this not prevented to marry… and you appeared on light… He trusted only his intuition. And… — he stumbled, — and his closest relatives. Sometimes he could be sharp. If idea seemed to him wrong. — And with what generally began your work together? — softly asked Peter, feeling, how Kurt distances. — Over what you worked in very beginning? This was something related to… I not know, with biology? With genetics? Eyes of Kurt narrowed. Mask flinched, showing for instant that very dangerous, obsessed nature, which Peter was afraid to disturb. — Why to you this, Peter? — asked he, and his voice became quieter, sharper. — This long ago past matters. Not having now meaning. — Simply interesting! — hastily retreated Peter, understanding, that presses too strongly. — Simply… I sometimes think, who would he be now. What would he do. Maybe, we would with him also worked together, as we with you now? — He made bet on nostalgia, on their with Kurt common case. This worked. Tension in shoulders of Kurt slightly weakened. — Possibly, — he uttered this word quietly, almost with tenderness. — He… he adored you, Peter. You were his universe. All rest… all rest was simply background. — This was that same evasive phrase, as before, but on this time in his voice sounded genuine sadness. — But why we never talk about him? — not surrendered Peter, his voice trembled already sincerely. — Why this taboo? As if him not existed! I want to know! At least a little! Kurt sharply stood up, pushing away chair. His movement was sharp, nervous. — Because some wounds too deep, to dig in them, Peter! — his voice broke, for first time in many years losing its iron composure. — Some memories too painful. Think, to me easily? Think, I not want to talk about my best friend? But every time, when I try… — he clenched his stump, — every time I see him… and myself… and all, that we lost. Forever. He breathed heavily, turning away to sink. His back was tense, shoulders raised. Peter sat, amazed. He saw not reserved scientist, but wounded person. And this sight was more terrible than any lie. Because this was truth. Painful, inconvenient truth, which not brought him closer to solution, but only erected between them even higher wall. — Sorry, — whispered he, standing up. — To me… to me time to school. Kurt not turned around. He only nodded, staring into water, pouring from faucet. Peter went out of house, feeling heavy stone in chest. He not got answers. He got only confirmation, that questions his correct. And that only person, who could on them answer, either not can, or not wants this to do. He looked at his backpack. Now he understood, that path to solution lies not through Kurt. It lies through him himself. To him I had to to become detective of own past. And he was afraid, that truth, which he will find, may turn out more terrible than any lie.

***

Day dragged on excruciatingly long. Lessons merged into one monotonous spot, voices of teachers came through as through cotton wool. Peter could not concentrate. His thoughts were there, under bed, in secret pocket of old briefcase. Symbols ∅∅ and elegant, fatal formula stood before his eyes instead of formulas on board. He caught on himself glance of Flash Thompson — that still walked proud, as if his yesterday skirmish with Peter was his personal victory. But today to Peter was not before him. His opponent was far more serious and dangerous — ghosts of past, risen between him and person, whom he called father. When last bell finally rang, Peter gathered things faster than all and almost ran out of school. To him needed home. To him needed again to look at these papers, while Kurt not returned from work. But luck was not on his side. When he entered house, then heard familiar sounds from kitchen — hissing of oil on frying pan and low voice of Kurt, something humming to himself under nose. He returned early. Peter froze in hallway, squeezing strap of backpack. He felt himself thief in own house. He took deep breath, trying to give to his face maximally carefree expression, and went into kitchen. — Hi, dad. — Hi, — Kurt, standing back, stirred something on frying pan. He seemed calmer, than morning, as if their hard talk slightly lightened burden. — How day? — Normally, — Peter threw backpack on sofa and sat on bar stool, trying to look naturally. — Nothing special. Uh… by the way, yes. To us today announced. On Friday to us excursion. With class. Kurt not turned around, but his back became slightly more straight, more attentive. — Where on this time? To museum of natural history? Or to plant for processing? — To Oscorp, — forced out of himself Peter, watching for reaction. — To main building. Will show department of genetics and… — he made tiny pause, — and department of biochemical research. Noise on kitchen stopped. Kurt turned off stove and slowly turned around. His face was diligently impassive, but eyes betrayed instant flash of something — alarm? Irritation? — before he took himself in hands. — Biochemistry? — he asked again, and his voice sounded evenly, too evenly. — Yes. I remember. Today morning to me Doctor Ratha spoke about similar, that will come schoolchildren. I not thought, that this will be your class… — slightly thinking, remembering, he added. — Interesting choice. Your guide will be Gwen Stacy. She my senior intern in this semester. He tried to joke. But joke not reached eyes. They were focused on frying pan, where he intently looked, as if there was not food, but complex chemical formula. — You… you will be there? On that day? — cautiously asked Peter, still digesting information about Gwen. — Of course, — answered Kurt too quickly. — Where but else to be to head of department? But not expect show. Only questions and small lecture from my side. Not worry. He again turned around, and on his face was attempt to smile. It came out crooked, tense. — You can even boast to classmates, that this your old man all exams. If, of course, not becomes for this still more shameful. Peter snorted, trying to maintain light tone, although inside him raged storm from surprise and slight panic. — Yeah, Flash Thompson exactly will envy. They fell silent. Air again filled with unspoken. Peter saw, how Kurt sorts options in head. What to ask? What to hide? How to behave before son, who asks too many questions about past, and before class, which may notice something not right? And thought about that his secret love, Gwen, is part of this world of Kurt, this closed circle, made him feel simultaneously closer and farther from solution. — Okay, — finally said Kurt, taking frying pan off fire. — Go wash hands. Dinner ready. Peter slid off stool and headed to sink. He understood, that just now launched new mechanism. Now Kurt knew. And he will prepare. And Peter will observe. He will look at reaction of Kurt during excursion, at his questions, at how he will interact with Gwen. Possibly, this will shed at least some kind of light on secret, which he found. He looked at stream of water, washing his fingers, and thought about that excursion to Oscorp already not was simply school event. It became his personal reconnaissance. His chance to look into very heart of labyrinth, not opening at this, that at him already there is its map. Hidden under bed. In folder with two incomprehensible symbols. And now on this path awaited him more and Gwen Stacy. Only thing, that to him needed to do, this is to wait Friday. To him there is 3 days on study of all incomprehensible. He hoped, that this time to him will suffice.

***

The evening before Friday. Evening before excursion dragged on unnaturally long. Kurt delayed in laboratory, and Peter remained home alone, with only accomplice — flickering screen of his computer. Air in room was filled with quiet hum of system unit and own uneven breathing. He launched old, unloved by classmates Bing — it seemed less pompous, more anonymous, than other search engines. His fingers froze over keyboard. With what to begin? With most obvious. Richard Parker and Kurt Connors. The search turned up a lot of garbage: their old scientific articles, Richard's obituaries, dry Oscorp press releases. But his gaze caught on the second link. The caption read: Scientists from Oscorp have announced an upcoming breakthrough - Daily Bugle Online... Peter clicked on it. The page loaded painfully slowly, showing an archived version of the old Daily Bugle website. And here it is — the very photo. Young Connors and Parker in white coats, serious and focused. Above the photo was a scarlet stripe with the inscription "BREAKING NEWS", and below, in bold black font, the headline loomed ominously: "GENETICS OF SPECIES CROSSING — SCIENCE FICTION OR SCIENTIFIC FACT?" Peter's heart began to race. He scrolled down the page. And he froze. There were other photos. Blurry ones taken from a drone. The dark forest. Twisted metal, barely recognizable as the wreckage of an airplane. Photos of the crash site. My throat cramped. He abruptly scrolled on, unable to look. A new request. More specific. Dr. Kurt Connors. The second link led to the official Oscorp website.: Articles by Dr. Kurt Connors "A World without monkeys" from Oscorp... The page has loaded. Minimalistic design. There is a white inscription on a black background: A WORLD WITHOUT FLAWS. Below, in italics: author DR. KURT CONNORS. On top is the Oscorp logo, predatory and modern. Peter began to explore the site like a virtual archaeologist. He clicked on hyperlinks, plunging into corporate labyrinths. Here is a page describing Kurt's activities. On the left is his small, official photo. The caption reads: "Dr. Kurt Connors currently lives in New York and works at Oscorp Technologies, developing a better future for us through genetic research." To the right is a column of boring corporate news: * THE CONNECTION OF LIVES. Dr. Kurt Connors, well accepted by the scientific community Read reviews, essays, discussions and interviews. [link] * Patent extension for Dr. Connors and Oscorp. The Patent Office's visits to Oscorp Technologies are the subject of much discussion... * Dr. Connors from Oscorp is the latest breakthrough in the field of genetics, the tip of the iceberg. Click to view the minimum video. [link to the news broadcast] Peter almost lost interest when suddenly his gaze fell on the "RELATED TOPICS" section. And there, among other things, he saw a line that froze the blood in his veins: * "Osborn, where is he now? Public speculation and rumors about Norman Osborn's disappearance." Norman Osborn. The head of Oscorp. His disappearance has been a major urban legend in recent years. And was his name connected to Connors' work? Peter, on a sudden impulse, clicked on the first link: "THE LINK OF LIVES. Dr. Kurt Connors..." Another page opened. The same photo of a young Kurt. The Oscorp logo. To the right of the photo is a quote and another logo. OSCORP CORPORATION. "Dr. Kurt Connors, author and scientist of the book Life Fusion, is a mentor to future geneticists at Oscorp." Small print at the bottom: "Updated". —Yeah,— Peter whispered. — The page was updated. He scrolled down. A photo of the Oscorp Tower illuminated by night lights. And on the right is the text: "This summer, 24 lucky students will get a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Dr. Kurt Connors, a leading expert in the field of genetic engineering and herpetology, will invite the best and most gifted students from all over the country to meet with Alana in the laboratory at the famous aerarium." And there, in the corner, was a tiny plus sign. Peter held his breath, hovered over it, and clicked. The photo opened to the full screen. It was a picture of the Oscorp tower itself. A huge glass building towering in the blue sky. Peter leaned back in his chair, pressing himself into it. The room swam before my eyes. — "That's where I needed to go, — he whispered into the silence. It all fit. Dad's job, Osbourne's disappearance, Kurt's obsession, these symbols. Everything was tied into one tight, dangerous knot somewhere in the bowels of the Oscorp Tower. Tomorrow's tour is no longer just an opportunity to spy on something. It has become a necessity. He had to get inside. He had to see it with his own eyes. Because now he understood that his father knew something. Something that cost him his life. And Kurt, consciously or not, was a part of it. And now this secret belonged to Peter.