Flower Child (Peter Parker, MCU)

Never Alone

Long Story Short - Taylor Swift

An early morning rain shower had done a fair job of clearing most of the dust from the air around the demolished building. However, it couldn't erase the damage of a building unexpectedly collapsing. The situation was being attended to by clean-up crews, authorities and emergency responders. The shouts between them as they navigated the seemingly stable wreckage cut through the night air like glass.

The first unit to enter the remains had been a bomb squad. Reports that neighbors had filed led experts to believe that IEDs might be to blame. Sure enough, as the experts began to pilfer through the toppled concrete, several miniature explosions shook the ground below them.

It took several hours, the sky daring to grow light by the time all explosives from the building had been removed. The recovered devices were then appropriately disposed of, though several workers noted their confusion. It wasn't every day they saw a perfectly spherical, bright orange bomb. Thoughts on design were also quickly forgotten when one person rang the alarm, signaling that a body had been recovered.

Light strokes of pink and orange broke up the lighter blue of the dawn by the time Norman Osborn arrived on the scene. A sleek, black car pulled up next to the authorities that had created a perimeter. He got out, smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in his perfectly tailored suit and made his way over to the police tape in long, smooth strides.

A deputy on duty held Osborn and his driver at the entrance, baffled as to why he was present at such a scene, and was even more bewildered when Osborn informed him that he had been summoned. A lieutenant by the last name of Fisher told the deputy to let them pass, and the young officer obliged. His confusion was quick to be shoved to the back of his mind, for soon he was occupied with wrangling the press that arrived on scene shortly after.

"I want to thank you for taking the time to come down here," Lieutenant Fisher said, running his thumbs along the waist of his pants. He escorted Norman to a more secluded part of a scene, parked between the M.E.'s truck and a squad car (no doubt belonging to Fisher). "I understand it's an inconvenience for me to call you so early-"

"And yet, you said it would be worth my while," Norman stated, ending Fisher's pleasantries immediately. "I don't pay you to waste my time, and you seem smart enough that you would know the difference."

Fisher's mustache, which was thick and peppered with grey hairs and bits of remaining food, bristled. His posture stood a little straighter, and out of instinct his head craned around to see if anyone had heard Osborn speak. "No, I suppose you don't."

"Well?" Osborn said, waving a careless hand out to the scene before the three of them. "Would you care to inform me why I am here anytime soon, or should I just enjoy the sunrise in the meantime?"

It wasn't that Osborn was impatient. In fact, his entire work ethic consisted of patience. To everyone in the professional world, Norman Osborn had a calculated way about him that was unparalleled. Where his since-deceased business rival Tony Stark was brash and loud and daring, Norman Osborn had the quieter, unexpected advantage of waiting to pick up the pieces. According to Forbes and Time and any other major publication, Norman Osborn was a master of patience, knowing soon his time in the light was approaching. To his enemies, however, his patience looked more like a snake: coiled in the grass and waiting for the perfect time to wrap himself around his meal and drag it to the depths, never to be seen again.

This kind of patience glittered in his eyes as the sun continued to rise, and pierced Lieutenant Fisher like an icicle and flooded his body with cold. He wasn't here to be made a fool of, that much was clear. "Well," he spoke gruffly, clearing his throat, "Officially, you're here to identify the remains of Jason Macendale. We believe his body was recovered an hour ago, and since there is no next of kin..."