"Did your sons ever bear you grandchildren, Alexei?" asked the woman behind him. Misty ribbons of breath trailed from her lips, full and soft and a rose-heart scarlet just a shade brighter than her long, red hair. And she was warm. On this cold, cold morning, she was a flame.

The old man's smile faded, his expression sad now. Though he didn’t turn to greet the woman who had spoken, his grey eyes softened behind the glass of his spectacles. "All three of my boys are dead," he said, his voice thick with accent and emotion. "They passed from this world without a single plea for redemption between them, for all the pain they wrought or the sins they committed. Rotten to the very core... each and every one."

"You and Helena did your best by them."

"It wasn’t enough. The homeland saw to that. It took them and carved them like blocks of wood beneath a knife. Just like it did to us."

Alexei Lehzkov turned then, pulling his wool coat about his frail body as a sudden gust of wind plucked at him. Cold, so cold. But as he looked upon the handsome woman before him, a measure of the ice in his heart melted in her presence. They shared a smile that was once familiar and poignant. It had been... how many years now? Ten? Fifteen? Too many. Far too many. His hair had turned white, his hands had begun to shake. And yet, as ever, she had not aged a day.

He said, "Hello, Natasha."

The wind whipped at her red hair, brought a rosy flush to her pale cheeks, roused her eyes of rich, cerulean blue. It was unfortunate, Alexei mused, that the media back home in Russia remained cowed by ludicrously outdated political diktat and was still loath to broadcast any images of this woman. Without question, Natasha Romanova was possessed of that same exquisite and timeless beauty as her legendary royal ancestors whose portraits graced the walls of The Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg.

"I've agreed to this meeting because of you and you alone, Alexei," Natasha said, allowing herself the luxury of her birth accent. It was deep and sultry and mysterious, and a rare pleasure after so many years of adopting a foreign tongue, but the fact she could turn this aspect of her identity on and off like a tap wasn’t lost on either of them. "The Cold War is a distant memory,” she murmured. “America has new enemies to sink its teeth into these days. The war on terror, the mutant agenda. But, even so, The Avengers wouldn’t look kindly on my attending a secret rendezvous in Central Park with a man who used to be one of the KGB's highest ranked officials."

Alexei scoffed. "The Avengers are interested in political agendas these days?" he asked, dryly. "I thought the only threats to mankind that counted were those that involved gaudily-clad supervillains and extraterrestrial invaders? I don't see Captain America or Thor interrupting their regularly scheduled meetings to confront civil uprisings in El Salvador or Rwanda, or to tackle the atrocities of military regime in Delvadia. Victor von Doom might subject his own people to international rebuke, but he only troubles America’s radar when he visits his latest, foolish Armageddon device upon American citizens."

Natasha raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, her intelligent eyes flashing with amusement rather than anger. "Did you go to such great lengths to summon me here that we might discuss global peacekeeping laws?"

Alexei sighed, and smiled. "My apologies," he said. "Perhaps I remember you as the girl you once were, not the woman you are now. The face is the same – the special serum they pumped into you back then will keep you young and vibrant for many more years yet - but I remember Natalia, not Natasha, as you now seem to prefer. And, as for the other name you go by..."

She stood there before him, slender and poised, clad in a full-length trench coat that was a slash of inky black against the white snow that softly blanketed the ground all about them. She wore black leather gloves and calf boots with a sharp heel, and beneath the collar of the coat there was a dark ring of textured cloth that was slick against the delicate curve of her throat. Ah, yes. Her other name... The Black Widow. She was obviously in costume beneath her outer layer, prepared for any eventuality. After so long, she did not trust the man who had once been like a second father to her. Alexei could not say that he blamed her. After all, in the business they had both been part of – one that he, personally, had never fully escaped – it did not pay to place your trust in anyone. Even a man who had once held a lost and frightened girl to his chest and brushed away her tears of sorrow, back in another time, another world.

"It’s dangerous for me here," Alexei said, meeting Natasha's gaze. "But I felt that this was the best way to impart warning.”

“Of what?”

“You say that the Cold War is a distant memory for you... for America… but for others it is not. Sixty years on from Hitler and the Red Skull's Third Reich, the world remains littered with neo-Nazi groups as prevalent as nests of cockroaches; here in America you still have the Klu Klux Klan and more Hydra cells than in the rest of the world combined. Then there’s Afghanistan, China… Russia seems so insignificant, yes? But we have those who continue to crave power over the splinter states, and revenge against America for the humbling it has inflicted."

"Tell me," Natasha said, quietly, suddenly alert.

The winter wind carried the laughter of the children like distant music. Alexei’s eyes were splinters behind his glasses. "There is a cruel and violent man,” he said, “by the name of Mikhail Rhoskov. We have recently learned that Rhoskov plans to unleash a series of terrorist attacks against American cities, beginning here in New York. He will do this in Russia’s name, but not at our behest. You understand the disastrous repercussions that even the knowledge of such a threat would incur for our nation, yes? Let alone the acts themselves. Therefore, I come to you – not to The Avengers, but to you, Natasha – in hope that you might eliminate Rhoskov alone, and in secret, to preserve the integrity modern Russia has worked so hard to build."

"I knew a Vladimir Rhoskov. Is this...?"

Alexei smiled thinly. "His son," he said, softly. Fathers and sons. Rotten to the core, each and every one.

"Vladimir was a good man, strong and honest,” Natasha said, her demeanour cold. “He was my friend. A true friend.”

“Mikhail is different. He is… missing something. Compassion. Humanity. Sentiment of any description. Where another man's heart beats, he possesses nothing. Not even hate. Mikhail does not operate out of allegiance to any Russian ideal, that’s merely a façade to fan the flames. He is a nihilist, pure in his vision. He has no demands, no ultimatums. No delusions of grandeur or fantasies of world domination. He merely wants the utter destruction of all that lives and breathes."

"And he’s here in New York? Now?"

"It’s taken us months, but we’ve finally learned of a Manhattan address. Some kind of storage facility, from where he and his personal unit seem to be currently operating." Alexei reached into his overcoat and produced a small, white card from the inside pocket. "Be warned, however," he said. "Our intelligence is incomplete, and we’ve run out of time. The first attack is scheduled to take place tomorrow – but we don’t know where. Rhoskov must be stopped before then... by whatever force necessary."

“Tomorrow?”

Aghast, Natasha simply stood for a moment, her black figure perfectly still against the white winterscape save for the dancing of her dark red hair in the wind. Then, solemnly, she reached out and took the card between her gloved fingertips.

Alexei breathed in relief. "Thank you," he whispered. "There is something in your heart that remains beloved to our nation."

Natasha’s eyes narrowed sharply and the colour in her cheeks darkened a little further. "Russia isn't the country about to become victim to a cowardly terrorist attack," she remarked. "My allegiances don’t lie with the dogs of nations, Alexei, Russia or America. I am an Avenger. For me, all that matters is the protection of innocent lives."

The wind snapped and whispered, cruel and glittering. Despite their shared heritage, the two old friends shivered in its icy grip. Alexei opened his mouth to speak again – but then, without warning, his entire body suddenly went stiff and his eyes shot wide behind his spectacles. "Morozko..." he breathed, his voice trembling. “Oh, by the saints, no. No!”

Natasha frowned. She knew that name upon hearing it, but it was something unexpected and out of context. In a popular Russian fairytale, Morozko was also known as Old Man Winter, a creature that dwelled in a forest of icy darkness, awaiting lost and wary travellers whom he might freeze in everlasting death. Why would her old mentor utter something so incongruous...? But then, she realised that Alexei was staring in abject fear at something over her shoulder. She turned, instantly alive to impending danger.

She saw a black limousine, parked up at the edge of a copse of trees some twenty metres distant. The windows were tinted, the bodywork polished, and everything glinted with reflected sunlight. Natasha knew that the car spelled trouble... but then she saw the figure standing beside it, and she realised that this was the least of her worries. It was a man. A decidedly odd man. She hadn’t noticed him immediately because he was so well camouflaged against the snowy backdrop, clad all in white, and his long hair, beard and very skin were similarly colourless. Now, studying him, Natasha couldn’t help but gasp. There was also an absence of shade and feature to the man’s face that made him all but invisible, as if hic countenance was nothing more than vague impressions in the snow – but then, as she looked on, the face abruptly came alive with a gash of a black smile and a pair of shining black eyes, as bright as sequins, glimmering like the limousine in the chill winter morning.

Those eyes were not human.

The man in white grinned with that hideous mouth, and raised his right hand towards where Natasha and Alexei stood, his fingers spread and his palm outstretched. Natasha tensed, and opened her mouth to cry out in warning, but it was far too late. The man who was not a man weaved his fingers…

…and then Natasha heard Alexei scream.

"Aruba," said Mary Jane. "Casablanca. Guadalajara."

"Alaska," Peter countered. "Helsinki. Antarctica."

Mary Jane Watson-Parker sighed, but her smoky green eyes were bright with amusement. "See?" she said. "You see? We’ll never agree. I like vacations in hot places, you like cold places. In fact, you could say that we're polar opposites…"

Peter Parker groaned. "Yuk, yuk, yuk. As in, yuk. That is such an awful pun. You wouldn't catch me using a pun like that."

"This from the man who invented awful puns?"

"What can I say? There's a bit of Woody Allen about me."

"I was thinking more Harold Lloyd. You know: scrawny, awkward, hangs off clock towers fifty storeys above street level…?"

Peter clutched at his heart and reeled dramatically in the snow. "Wounded!" he hissed. "A shot to the heart!"

"Stop that. You'll scare May."

Peter looked down at the baby buggy he and his wife were currently taking it in turns to push along the snowy path through the heart of Central Park. Baby May was currently wide-awake, all big, brown, curious eyes and with an expression full of wonder. Her cheeks were flushed from the brisk winter air, but she was otherwise as warm as toast, dressed in a bundle of clothes, including hood and mittens, which were coloured blue, red and white in a rather distinctive design. Peter grimaced.

"I can't believe you dressed her as Captain America," he murmured. "I mean, seriously, what's wrong with a bit of good ol' cynical Spider-Man merchandise?"

"Look. She's carrying her cuddly Spider-Man."

"Which she flings around and hurls against the walls any chance she gets! Before stuffing the head under her chin and squeezing and dribbling all over it. And I swear one of those arms are hanging off.”

“Which is exactly what nutjobs like The Hobgoblin do to you, so at least it’s authentic.”

“It’s not even human-shaped. It's more like a Spider-Bear."

"You think?"

"It has Bear ears. Do I have Bear ears? No, I don't think I do. It's these companies; they know they can take anything and slap a Spider-Man insignia on it and that nothing will happen to them, because if I want to sue anyone or claim royalties then I have to reveal my real name. Look! Look! See the eyes? It's not like they can even get the eyes right. The eyes on my mask are inverted teardrops, not circular."

“Inverted teardrops are scary. Besides, this is the manga version.”

“I’m in manga now?”

"Absolutely. What's the problem with Captain America anyhow?"

"A girl dressed as Captain America?"

"Equal opportunities. Besides, have you ever tried shopping for fun girls' clothes? It's Barbie or nothing.”

“There are female superheroes.”

“Uh-huh. There’s also some secret superhero code that says any woman with funky powers has to dress in the skimpiest, most titillating outfits possible. Don’t try and deny it. Tigra? Ms. Marvel?"

“She’s called Warbird now.”

“How empowering.”

Peter blushed. "Okay, yeah… well, it's not like whenever we get together to fight Galactus that us guys are looking or anything like that, so - "

"Oh, please. You are so busted. She-Hulk in her thong and her 'maybe, baby' bodice, and you're not looking?"

"She only wears that in the manga. In real life she dresses like a nun."

"Uh-huh. So busted…"

Peter gathered his wife in his arms and gazed down into her emerald green eyes – then matched her smile with a warm kiss. "You're my only super-babe," he murmured.

"I should hope so…”

They shared another kiss, with baby May watching and cooing happily...

...and then all three of them flinched in shock as a man's scream suddenly carried upon the wind. Peter's head shot up, his instincts alive, his eyes already searching. A little over fifty metres away, down past an incline that led to the banks of a frozen lake covered with a rainbow sprinkling of children, he saw a black limousine and a dark, slender figure rushing towards it at speed. There was another figure, standing with arms flailing – the man who was screaming. And then one more, this one clad all in white and barely discernible against the snow.

"MJ, I gotta - "

"Go." Mary Jane nodded, then pointed off to the side of the part. "Those bushes. Get stripped whilst there's no-one around to see."

“I thought you’d never ask…”

“Peter!!”

"Yes, ma'am." Peter dived behind a snow-covered copse, already tugging at his coat. Half a minute later, a lithe figure clad head-to-toe in bright red and blue emerged.

"Look, May!" Mary Jane sang. "It's the Spectacular Spider-Bear!"

"I heard that!" Spider-Man shouted back over his shoulder as he raced away. With no buildings to swing from he was running and skipping across the snow-covered ground, but still at incredible speed, all the while barking at sluggish parents to withdraw their children from the general area. Mary Jane watched her husband go, and her heart momentarily tightened with its customary panic. But, as ever, she forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly, and told herself – and May – that everything was going to be fine. One day, of course, it might not be... but she couldn't ever afford to think like that. This was the choice she had made, like the partner of every fire-fighter or police officer. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with her decision, but finally she understood, in her head and her heart. Ultimately, the pride overcame the fear.

"Come on, May," Mary Jane said, softly. "Let's go pick up Daddy's clothes and find somewhere safer to wait. I’m sure he’ll deal with whatever the problem is here in no time at all…"

Alexei screamed...

...for all of twenty seconds. Then, abruptly, the shriek died in his throat. Natasha's eyes widened as she saw what had happened to her old friend. He was still standing there, jaw loose and eyes wide, his hands raised before him as if to ward off a blow... but now he was completely frozen in this exact pose! His clothes and hair were shimmering like glass, and his skin, where exposed, was covered with a thin rime of glistening frost. He had literally been transformed into a chunk of ice.

“And you're next, Tasha,” she scolded herself, “unless you get your act together and move!”

The Black Widow threw herself to one side as she felt a gust of icy cold rush past her shoulders, engulfing the area where she had been standing a split second before. She heard a whistling of something more than wind, and when she hit the ground and rolled sideways through the snow she heard an eerie splintering in her ears. She glanced down – and saw a sprinkling of stiff, red threads all about her, glinting like needles in the sunlight. She recognised them instantly as fragments of her hair. She reached around instinctively to the back of her head, and even through the black leather of her gloves she could feel a palmful of brittle edges with her fingertips. She’d almost been frozen, just like Alexei.

She thought of the man dressed in white, and what Alexei had called him. Morozko. Old Man Winter. From the depths of something as harmless as an old Russian fairytale had stepped a monumentally dangerous adversary.

Instinctively she sprang for safety once more as she heard the crackling of the air about her beginning to freeze. She had to keep one step ahead of the murderous chill. As she moved, she shrugged off her trench coat to reveal a slim and shapely body clad in shining black, her hair streaming out behind her like the blazing flame of a comet's tail. The coat hung in her wake, momentarily, in mid-air. And then, it suddenly stiffened, and within the space of a heartbeat every fold and crease was white with ice and frost. Frozen solid, the coat fell and imbedded in the ground like a sheet of steel.

Over by the limousine, the man in white watched with an eerie composure as the woman with the red hair skitter away from another burst of the sub-zero energy he was releasing from the palms of his hands. He was tall and gaunt, his white hair hanging long and straight to his shoulders where it curled and tangled with a rampant beard. His skin was colourless, almost translucent, even his lips. His eyes were mere slits of black.

"Hey!" a man's voice cried, in Russian. "Enough. Leave the woman. We got Lehzkov, that's what Mikhail wanted."

The voice belonged to a thickset man with dark hair and shades who was leaning his head out of the nearside window of the limo. Morozko turned and stared at the driver with those black eyes, his pallid face suddenly lit with violence.

"My master wanted his plans kept secret!" the man in white hissed, his voice shrill and coarse like the soughing of the wind itself. "Lehzkov had ample time to pass on his information before I subdued him; this woman could know everything. And so, now, she must also die!"

"Not on my watch, twinkle!"

Morozko half-turned towards the sound of the voice, but then felt the full force of impact against his right shoulder as Spider-Man launched himself feet first from a handspring he had just executed from the roof of the limousine. Morozko grunted with pain and careered headlong into a snowdrift. In his wake, the man in the red-and-blues who had just rattled him like a bowling pin flipped sideways, instinctively keeping himself out of range of any instant retaliation his foe may have been able to provide.

"It’s Spider-Man!" bellowed the limo driver, reaching inside his jacket and retrieving a handgun.

"I can't tell you how much better that is than Spider-Bear," the wall-crawler whooped. "A fan! Oh, my stars and garters, a true fan!"

The driver aimed and fired. But his target was no longer anywhere near where he had been half a second previously.

"Bad fan!" Spider-Man scolded, landing on the roof of the limo and poking his head down towards the open window. "Consider your exclusive membership revoked, young fella. I expect your badge, hat and official ‘I heart Spidey’ poster to be returned in the mail by the end of the week, you hear?"

He balled a fist and popped the driver on the jaw. Even though he barely used a fraction of his full strength, it was a hefty crack, and the man's head flew backwards, his shades skewed. He slumped unconscious in his seat, held upright only by his safety belt.

"Spider-Man!" a woman's voice yelled. "Watch out! The - "

But the wall-crawler was already springing away from the limousine, his unique Spider-sense suddenly tingling furiously at the back of his skull. His instincts, bordering on the precognitive, were warning him of danger – the danger that Morozko had pulled himself to his feet, his ghastly face twisted with rage.

Morozko stretched out both palms and let loose a gush of energy which froze the air in its path... and then the limo, which it struck with enough force to cause it to shudder on its wheels. Spider-Man skittered free and glanced back over his shoulder to see the entire car shimmer and tremble, before turning white with ice and frost before his eyes. The air was filled with a loud splintering and crackling, and the screech of buckling metal.

"He froze the car," Spider-Man said. "He froze the whole car."

"He is the spirit of Russian winter," replied Natasha Romanova.

Spider-Man glanced up, suddenly aware that a third party had drawn close to him – the woman who had just shouted a warning. A woman he knew.

"Well, hey," he croaked. "The Black Widow - a slinky little vixen in kinky black leather. You know, my wife's going to be just thrilled. She’s only just start to trust Felicia…"

Natasha smirked. "You're married now?"

Spider-Man nodded. Natasha's eyes flashed.

"Shame."

"Yeah. I mean... uh. What?"

"Incoming."

Natasha threw herself to one side, her mane of red hair flared bright against the black spine of her costume, and for a moment she truly resembled the Black Widow after which she was named. Spider-Man watched her dance away – for a split second too long. He began to move himself, but then felt a gust of icy breath about his right ankle, skewing his balance. He leapt clear... but then pain jolted along the length of his leg, and he cried out in surprise. He crashed to the ground, rolling with the impact, but his leg was dragging behind him.

The sensation was excruciating. He glanced down at his foot, and saw that the red of his costume was encrusted with hard frost. He couldn't feel his leg beneath his knee.

He looked up, and saw the Widow wheel past him, a flurry of motion, dark against the snowy landscape and a crystal blue winter's sky. He saw her aim a hand in Morozko's direction and discharge a pulse of energy from the slim, golden bracelet on her wrist. From the occasions that he had encountered Natasha before - fighting against her as well as alongside her – he knew that this was her Widow's Bite, a concentrated bioelectrical charge, and that it packed a hefty sting. He heard Morozko bellow, and realised that his adversary had just discovered this fact all for himself.

"Is he down?" Spider-Man said as the Widow scampered across the snow towards him.

"Already getting back up. He's tough. He got you?"

"My leg."

Natasha cursed, then glanced up and across to where Alexei had been standing, frozen. His body had now collapsed in a heap, folded in upon itself like a puppet with cut strings. He was groaning in pain. As they watched, he gradually pulled himself to his feet and staggered off into a nearby copse of trees.

"Alexei..." she breathed in relief. "The effect isn't permanent! He’ll need medical attention, but he’s alive at least. And that means you'll be fine too. Eventually."

"What's going on here, Widow?"

Natasha flinched, then hesitated. She looked down at where Spider-Man lay in the snow beside her, her blue eyes troubled. He was helping her against Morozko, so deserved to know the truth – but Alexei had come to her in confidence. She should be handling this situation on her own. If it were Matt, then perhaps... but no. She had always worked well with Spider-Man, always liked him for his candour and his humour. But, unlike certain other costumed adventurers who called New York their home, she didno’ know him well enough.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are," she lied.

"Mmph," Spider-Man huffed. "Right. And I'm the Spectacular Spider-Bear…"

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind."

They both glanced up as they heard Morozko roar – and the man in white had drawn closer to them than they had suspected. He was now right on top of them!

Black Widow kicked out, her leg long and straight, and struck her adversary heavily across the side of the head, causing him to stagger. She then pirouetted and launched a roundhouse kick with her other boot, but this one missed by inches, whistling through thin air. Morozko flailed with one arm, catching her a glancing blow about the midriff which sent her spiralling back into the snow, momentarily winded.

Morozko grinned, his mouth a black slit in the fog of his frosted beard, and raised his hands...

...which Spider-Man then smothered with a burst of sticky webbing. Morozko shrieked, and stumbled backwards. The ball of webbing about his hands shimmered with frost, hissing and crackling in the cold air... but held firm.

"Okay, Frosty," the wall-crawler sighed. "You know, just a few minutes ago I was discussing my favourite fantasy holiday destinations, and I was singing the praises of everywhere that had a cold climate. I'm just a New York boy at heart, see. And I loved The Day After Tomorrow, know what I'm saying? But now, you've just gone and put me off the whole idea. Suddenly, Aruba starts to sound very attractive. Are you proud of yourself?"

Morozko cursed, in Russian, then launched himself forward, his hands still webbed and out of action. Spider-Man whipped out with a hefty punch, which connected with an almighty crunch and stopped his enemy dead in his tracks. Morozko staggered, then pressed forward once more. Spider-Man rolled clear of the attack, slowed by his frozen leg but compensating for it, then slid sideways on his back and kicked out with his other boot. Taking the blow to the midriff, Morozko grunted and sprawled.

"That looked painful," Black Widow mused, stepping forward. "How about this?"

A gloved fist snapped across Morozko’s jaw, the impact causing a flurry of splintered ice particles to glitter in the air like diamonds. Another punch slammed into the fiend’s throat. And then, with the Black Widow skipping back and forth out of range of her enemy’s increasingly desperate thrusts of his webbed hands, a third punch connected with the back of Morozko’s snow-white head, pitching him forward.

Still prone, but far from helpless, Spider-Man kicked out with his good leg once more and struck Morozko behind the knees. The villain buckled - but, before he fell, Natasha drew close with remarkable grace, a flash of red hair and black leather. She grabbed Morozko’s face in both hands and, without mercy, discharged a double-strength burst of Widow's Bite. The bioelectrical pulse lit up Morozko’s head momentarily as if it were a glass shell, and then the fiend was flying backwards through the air, shedding rivulets of frost like icy blood as he travelled. He crashed back into the snow, limbs flailing... and then, exhaling a final shriek of winter gale from the black gash of his mouth, he lay still.

Spider-Man shuffled forward, his right leg dragging. He looked down at the fallen Morozko and his eyes shot wide beneath his mask as he watched his enemy's body begin to shimmer... to fade...

...and then to disappear. Just vanish, as if it had never been, the last echo of him dissipating on the whispering wind.

"Uh... still don't want to tell me what's going on?" he asked, as Black Widow drew close.

Natasha stared down at the fresh imprint in the snow where Morozko had lain just a few moments previously. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "Truly I am. But this is a private matter."

"Uh-huh." Spider-Man nodded. "Well, if there are more guys like that one around, then... just take care, okay?"

Natasha smiled, then leaned forward, one black-gloved hand resting on his chest. She pressed her red lips gently to the cloth of his mask that covered his mouth, and lingered there for a second in a gentle kiss. Then, she withdrew.

"I do like you," she purred. "You're always so considerate."

"Uh."

"How's your foot?"

"I think it just melted. Instantly."

"Good. Perhaps I'll see you around."

And with that, she darted away, a streak of black against the snow. Of her fallen companion, Alexei there was no sign – and now the Widow was also about to take her leave. Before she disappeared into a copse of trees, she blew another kiss back over her shoulder... the same shoulder where a tiny, red Spider-tracer was currently affixed.

"Maybe sooner than you think," Spider-Man said to himself. "Just as a precaution, you understand."

He turned then, and looked across to where a group of bystanders were lingering, still wide-eyed from having witnessed the battle that had just unfolded. At the front of the crowd there was Mary Jane, and May in her buggy. May looked happy. That was one out of two.

Spider-Man pursed his lips beneath his mask. Mary Jane's eyes narrowed to green slits.

Uh-oh.

"So," Peter said, lying in bed later that night with his arms folded behind his head. "I've been thinking... Aruba. Casablanca. Guadalajara. I can see the appeal."

Standing over in the doorway, Mary Jane smiled icily. "Alaska," she said. "Helsinki. Antarctica."

"Hmm?"

"You." Mary Jane pointed. "Couch."

“What?”

“Couch.”

"Aw, come on. She kissed me. I - "

"Couch."

Peter sighed. "You know," he said, "I'm thinking the Spectacular Spider-Bear never has this kind of trouble..."

NEXT ISSUE:

“The Myth-Maker” continues, as Spider-Man teams up with Daredevil to track down a mysteriously vanished Black Widow!

If anyone reading this issue is getting a weird sense of déjà vu, that’s because a version of this story was released at another site a few years back (hence the use of Mary Jane and baby May, who were part of that site’s continuity). This is the edited and updated version. Then again, the audience traffic at that other site was so thin on the ground this may well be a tale that NO ONE has read before…

- Meriades Rai