Variant Strain

- - -

Peter hadn't been able to go back to sleep. He'd ended up surfing the net. Running more searches in various combinations. T-Bolts. Gentek. Cassidy. Whelan. Hydra. Smerdyakov. Drago. The Sandoval Deli. There wasn't a lot of useful information, but he gathered what he could, transferring his growing notes to a small folder of documents on his phone.

Not really anything useful. He felt he was chasing his own thoughts around and around again. No progress. He wasn't an investigator. He could use a search engine about as well as anyone else could, but that wasn't really getting him to anything really useful.

He scoured news websites for any unusual disappearances from the previous night and day. All those bodies in the back of the T-Bolts van had to have come from somewhere. He could still see that little girl in her body bag before the Drago's flailing talons tore her face apart.

They seemed to be used to covering this sort of thing up. The only report, for instance, that he'd heard about what had happened at the deli down the street had been a brief mention of 'exercises' being conducted by the Department of Homeland Security in Queens. The brief news items he'd found about Uncle Ben had all referred to the incident as a 'tragic home invasion' and mention was made of the two drug addicts who had died in a police shootout halfway across Queens who were supposedly responsible.

There had been photos of the dead men. One had been too fat and the other too skinny. Neither man had had a haircut in years. Not the sort of men who'd been here. Peter could remember the distinctly military bearing both men had had.

Morning rolled around finally and he had ducked into the bath for a shower as cold as he could take. Which it turned out was pretty cold. The icy drops had scoured his skin and made him shiver uncomfortably. But it had done a great deal to help clear his head.

In all, he'd had maybe three hours of sleep. He felt fine. None of the drowsiness or cotton-headedness that usually accompanied a lack of sleep for him. In fact he felt fine.

Hungry.

He always felt just a tiny bit hungry, ever since the changes. That word was nice and safe. Neutral. Changes. If he didn't pay attention to it, it wasn't a problem, but when he did... oh, when he did... it felt like a bottomless chasm yawned in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't too certain if that might not in fact be the case.

He stepped out of the shower and was toweling himself when a thought occurred to him. When he really didn't want it to, dirt just sloughed off of him. Or he absorbed it. He wasn't entirely certain which, but now... He looked at himself in the unfogged mirror and made note of how much water still clung to him, damping down his hair and dripping down his sculpted and muscular body.

He still couldn't get over that. He flexed his biceps once more just to be sure. Then he shifted.

Black and red tendrils blurred his body's outline and dressed him in a plain white under-shirt, a flannel work-shirt and khakis. He was also bone dry.

Again... another neat little fact.

He brushed his teeth and wondered if he actually even needed to do it.

He decided in between gargling and spitting that yes, he did. Maybe he didn't physically need to do it anymore... he suspected his teeth could sprout the necessary tendrils to consume anything that might be left in his mouth and thus logically prevent all possible decay. The thing was, brushing his teeth made him feel human. It was normal. It was boring. It was mundane.

It was brushing his teeth and it made him feel obscurely better for doing it.

He stared at himself in the mirror again then, ran the tap, wet his hand and smoothed his hair down with the water. If he went out too dry, Aunt May was liable to accuse him of not actually showering.

He stepped out and his senses were immediately assaulted by scents all around him. It was getting easier to pinpoint people by their scent and heartbeat. He barely needed to pay attention to it anymore. Lilac and papers above, slow steady beating and even breaths told him Anna Watson still slept. She had work in a few hours. Her car still wasn't back from the shop and she would still be driving Aunt May's old beater. Spices and flour and olive oil spun in the kitchen, threading through more scents of cooking food. Bacon scents cut through his attention and set his mouth drooling.

He caught a whiff of the not-quite-but-deliciously-similar-to-waffles smell coming down the stairs and he smiled up at MJ. She smiled back at him. The bruises on her face had lightened. She still had her hair brushed over to cover them, but hurriedly. She'd barely paid attention to keeping them covered last night, but he guessed she assumed he couldn't see them. He got the idea that it wouldn't be smart to ask her about them. Not yet.

Real monsters, the thought floated up, unbidden. He did notice that she wasn't in the hoodie anymore and she'd slipped a pair of loose jeans on, but she still wore the same shirt from last night. He was pretty sure the jeans hadn't been hers. Probably Anna's.

"Hi." He tried. There. That seemed... friendly. Innocuous. Nonthreatening.

She replied back, "Hi." Then dropped her eyes from his and she stepped into the kitchen. That was pretty much that.

Peter was starting to think that the universe enjoyed having a good laugh at his expense.

Aunt May had made waffles.

- - -

Aunt May still seemed brittle and tense, but she kept a mask of cheer on for the benefit of Peter and MJ. Anna would be up in another hour and May had done her best to cover up the silences that the two awkward teenagers had thrown up at the table.

The friendly bantering atmosphere they'd gotten last night wasn't there. Scared off by the light of day. Or MJ just wasn't quite ready to let on that they had talked last night. Peter kind of understood, but at the same time it was terribly frustrating.

She really hadn't had the patience for small talk, but had soldiered gamely on, eliciting one or two word responses from the two eating with her.

"Did you have any plans for today?" Aunt May had asked as she cleared the table with their help.

"Um... well, I was thinking--" Peter began, but MJ interrupted.

"I kind of wanted to explore the neighborhood a little. Would you mind if Peter showed me around?" MJ asked quietly.

May smiled broadly and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, "That sounds like a good idea. Ben and I always did say Peter didn't get out enough." She caught what she'd just said and Peter could almost taste the sudden tension in her.

Peter ducked his head, "Did you want to get going?"

MJ nodded, then headed back for the stairs, "Let me get my jacket."

"You put one on too, Peter. You know how easily you get chills." May chided gently.

Pete blushed slightly, "Er... right. Yeah, I should do that." He could hear MJ already halfway up the stairs chuckle a little at Aunt May's admonition.

He went around the corner into the den and shifted hurriedly to put Cletus's hoodie on him once more.

MJ breezed back down the stairs noting his attire then nodded to May and all but dragged Peter out of the house.

"MJ?" Peter asked after they'd made it a block away from the Watson house, his hand in hers. She had a strong grip, he noted absently. Her nails were blunt and now that he'd gotten a closer look at them, chewed down raggedly. Her hand was warm and smooth, but he could feel calluses on her fingertips. He had no idea if that meant anything, but this was the first time he'd held hands with a girl who he wasn't related to and he was damned if he wasn't going to try and enjoy it.

That startled her and she whirled on him, eyes blazing. "What did you--?"

"What?" He stared, surprised at her reaction.

She eyed him for a moment, then finally replied. "Only Aunt Anna calls me MJ. Everyone else calls me Mary Jane."

"Oh." He said weakly. "Sorry. That's... um... that's all I ever knew your name as. I mean."

She smiled suddenly. "I guess I don't mind. And I can call you Peter, right? No funny nicknames?"

Call me anything you want, sugar. Cletus's voice floated back.

"Nope. It's Peter." He frowned a tiny bit. "Never Petey. You call me that and we'll have words."

She laughed lightly, then slowed down and ended up walking next to him as they passed the Parker house up the street. She let go of his hand casually. He wondered if she held hands with guys often. Then chided himself for being pathetic and fought down a blush.

"So... where are we going?" He asked finally.

She looked at him and asked quietly, "Is there anywhere we could go around here that's private?"

He startled a little. He didn't know why he hadn't expected her to reply. He clamped down hard on the other thoughts that occurred to him about wanting 'somewhere private' and he asked back, "Someplace I can show you what I can do?"

She nodded and he replied, "There's an old office building a couple of blocks north of here. It's got a weird blind alley next to it that's not visible from the street." He shrugged trying to sound casual, but there was a slight blush on his face still. "Um... there's not usually anyone there during the day."

She eyed him, "But some people at night?" She asked coolly.

"It... uh... well... it does get used as a hang out by some of the local kids." He replied stiffly.

"And a make out spot?"

"Maybe?"

She rolled her eyes, but laughed, "That'll be just fine." Her eyes glittered with humor, "By all means, show me your make out spot."

He sputtered as they continued to walk, "It's not my make out spot! I've never been there! I just heard about it--"

She laid a hand on his arm and but didn't stop laughing. "No, I didn't really figure you for the type."

"Hey, I could've." He replied defensively.

She met his eyes once more and she flashed him an indulgent smile, her voice was sweet, light and dripping with teasing sarcasm, "Yes. Clearly you are a complete stud-meister."

He found that this teasing, unlike what he was used to at school, didn't sting. Maybe it was the delivery, maybe it was the fact that his 'not-quite-a-jacket' still gave him his full sense of touch and her hand felt good on his arm, maybe it was the way she smiled, but he pouted with mock indignation and replied. "You're just getting me back because I didn't let you use your long, hard wood on me last night to your full satisfaction."

She smiled now, clearly ready to give as good as she got now. "Oh, yes. You were begging for it."

"Well, you did stick it to me quite hard a couple of times. I've probably bruised." He grinned, continuing with a hand to his chest. "I'm delicate, you know. You may have ruined me. You're a thoroughly wanton beast."

She leered and waggled her eyebrows at him, "Oh, you'll know when you've been properly ruined."

He blushed at that and they both laughed.

They kept walking then in a companionable silence. Peter couldn't really think of anything else to talk about and his well of small talk was at best tiny and easily tapped out. She seemed to like the quiet as much as the banter. Peter found that he liked that about her.

There was a lot to like about her.

He really needed to stop that. He'd just met her.

They arrived at the blind alley he'd told her about. It was a loading area between two buildings that had to be reached by making a sharp turn down an alley, shielding it from view of the street. One of the buildings was advertising unoccupied office space and the other had no windows overlooking the loading area.

It had some litter, some old wooden pallets, a beat up couch and a handful of pigeons that didn't even seem to acknowledge their approach other than to eye them speculatively as though weighing the likelihood of a meal.

She eyed the couch for a moment, considering it, then she shrugged off her hoodie, the walk and the sun conspiring to warm her enough that she didn't quite need it. She laid the hoodie down on the couch then sat, turning to face him with an eager, curious expression on her face.

She'd been careless with taking the hoodie off and her hair had been pulled back a bit, revealing the yellowing bruises on her face. Peter was sure she'd gotten them the night Uncle Ben had died. He averted his eyes from them quickly, doing his best to keep from staring.

Aw, hell, His voice drawled in his head, You'd be staring at her face all day even if she didn't have the bruises.

He colored slightly and pretended it was from her looking at him rather than the other way around. "So," She said, "You're strong, right? How strong?"

He shrugged, "I've never actually tried to check my limits. I mean I know I'm stronger than I used to be, but I'm not sure by how much."

"I guess we could try?" She said uncertainly. "How about picking up one of those pallets?" He gestured to the stacked wooden pallets. They were old, untreated wood. Each one about four feet by a bit over three feet in size. "I don't know how much those weigh though." She added.

He took a glance and replied automatically, "They're around forty pounds each."

She blinked in surprise and stared at him. "How would you know that?"

"Math. Density of wood, multiplied by the dimensions of each plank then add them all up." He ducked his head a little, "I had to fudge the math and round off a bit, but it comes out to more or less forty pounds."

"You did that in your head." She asked, still staring.

"Er... yes?" He smiled weakly. "I'm good with numbers. I've always been good with them."

"How do you even know the density of wood?" She asked pointedly.

"Okay, I fudged that too." He admitted. "I could only remember an average density for pine."

"Why would you even know that?" She asked again.

He gave her a grin. "Discovery channel."

"And you could do that before you could do all the other stuff?" She asked curiously, gesturing at him vaguely.

He nodded. "Uncle Ben," He paused and swallowed then pressed on, "When I was eight, he used to take me to those booths at fairs where they have a bottle of stuff and you have to guess how many things were in it? Like beans or ball bearings... that sort of thing."

She grinned, "Oh, man. You guys must've cleaned up."

He nodded, smiling fondly. "It got to the point where the fairs would have pictures of Uncle Ben and me posted so we couldn't play the games anymore. He... he used to talk about how he was going to take me to Atlantic City when I turned twenty one and we were going to clean up at blackjack tables. Aunt May used to lecture him about being a bad influence on me."

She stood back up, putting a hand on his shoulder gently, "Your uncle sounds like he was quite a character."

Peter gave her a small smile. "He would've loved meeting you."

"I'll bet." She agreed.

He swallowed down his melancholy and turned to face the pallets. This was something that he'd been wondering about for a while now. "Well, enough of that for now... let's see how well I do here."

MJ plopped back onto the couch and made a gesture that could be interpreted as 'proceed'.

Peter lifted one pallet by the solid middle crossbar with little difficulty. He frowned and picked a second one up in his other hand.

"Okay... no problem so far." He said tentatively.

MJ nodded. "Can you try another one?"

Peter nodded back and stacked three pallets on top of one another, then easily and cleanly lifted them over his head. "No strain either." He replied.

"Wow." She said. "None?"

He shook his head. "Might be easier to test it this way..." He put the stack of three down then began piling all the pallets on top of one another, ten in all.

"That looks kind of unstable--" MJ began to say, but Peter nodded in agreement.

"I know, but I figure it would be simpler to see if I'm at my max here and then work my way down. I'll be careful."

"Lift with your knees." She added helpfully and he gave her a wry look over his shoulder.

He bent down, squatting on his knees and worked his hands under it. At first the structure refused to budge, but his heartbeat spiked for just a moment and the warmth filled him. The stack began to rise in his grip. He managed to get the entire stack tottering up to almost around waist height before the whole structure shuddered and fell over with a crash. Dust exploded out from the mess forcing both of them to cover their mouths for a moment.

"Well so much for that idea." MJ said brightly. "So... around four hundred pounds?"

Peter shook his head. "No. It still felt... easy. I'm going to need something heavier to try." He looked grave and thoughtful. "Did anything look weird to you while I was doing it? I had a little trouble at first, but then as I got it off the ground, it just got easier.

She shook her head. "Well, your muscles bulged while you were just starting. I mean seriously bulged. Like you were on steroids. They settled down once you got it up, though."

"Interesting." He nodded. "Well, I wish I could show some more, but I think that's it for now for the heavy lifting."

She nodded again, chewing on her lower lip as she thought. "How about running up the wall? That looked cool."

"That was just momentum," He said with a shrug. "I wasn't really thinking too clearly when I did that. I just wanted to make sure he didn't get away. Whatever happened to me gave me some sort of enhanced muscle control, so I could probably do gymnastics and stuff easily. I mean once I learned them."

She tapped her chin. "Do you dance?"

"No. Never have." He glanced down, "I've got two left feet."

"Probably not anymore," She grinned. "We'll test that one out later."

He blinked, not sure how to react to her declaration. "Um... anyway, anything else you want to see?"

She leaned forward in her seat, eyes glittering. "Show me the shape shifting."

"Uh... sure." He let his heart speed up and his outfit changed to Cletus's black jeans and hoodie.

She blinked. "Wow. Weird. Face too?"

He obliged her and took on Cletus's human face. He let the tendrils subsume his face again and took on the face of the Drago, whose name he'd never learned.

"That's pretty much it for faces," He said, his voice uncharacteristically thin and reedy. "I think I can probably look like anyone, but it takes practice. I can't get the faces right, right off the bat. Maybe with a bit of time and a mirror. Um... If I... um... eat them... I can get the appearance easy."

MJ looked thoughtful, "So you need to eat... hey, I just realized something."

"Hmm?"

"You ate your clothes, right? You can make it look like you were wearing your clothes?" Her eyes were glittering with amusement again. She seemed easy to amuse.

"Uh... yes?"

She asked slowly. "Does that mean that right this moment. Right now... you're actually naked?"

"Can I plead the fifth?" Peter asked, a blush rising once more.

She laughed, "Oh my god. You ARE aren't you? We've been walking around the city and you don't have a stitch of clothing on right now, do you?"

He blushed harder, "Well... like I told you. I ate all of my clothes. I don't really have anything to put on except what was in the backpack and I'm worried I might eat those too if I transform or anything."

She hopped to her feet and walked over to him, taking some of the fabric from his jacket and rubbing it between her fingers, "It really does feel like polyester though."

He shuddered and did his best to not think about what that felt like. "Uh... yeah. The only real difference is it's part of me... and anything metal I think I have to replace with some sort of equivalent. Something like bone or tooth enamel instead."

She looked thoughtfully at him, "Can you mix and match them?"

"Oh, sure. Any clothes I've eaten." He shifted his legs to the bright yellow hazmat pants, but with his sneakers instead of the boots. His hoodie vanished replaced by the denim workshirt.

She shook her head, "I mean use the pattern for one and the material from another."

He looked thoughtful. "Well, it's mostly been automatic, but I guess that might make sense... hold on." He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated. His heartbeat spiked once more and the tendrils settled down to show him in Cletus's hoodie and jeans outfit, but all the black cotton material was now the slick, plasticky material of the hazmat uniform.

"How's that?" He said opening one eye.

"Very cool." She grinned, "We need to feed you more clothes."

He rolled his eyes. "You're going to turn my freakish abilities to an excuse to shop?"

She laughed.

"I guess that's pretty much it, I think. I mean aside from the consuming thing." He paused and added hastily, "Which I really don't want to show you."

She grinned teasingly, "I could feed you some of my clothes?"

He stared at her wracking his brains for some sort of response to that and realized he had completely blanked out once more. Desperate, he blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, once more without any real conscious thought. "I didn't think you wanted me in your pants."

She stared back at his reply for a moment, then broke into a laugh. "Fifth date at the earliest, tiger."

"Does this count as one?" He said, trying for playful, but there was a slightly desperate undertone to his voice that he couldn't quite keep out.

"Maybe. I was hoping for a bit more ambiance than a back alley make out spot, though." She winked.

He blushed harder, setting her laughing even harder. She plopped back onto the couch, clutching at her stomach. "God, you're adorable when you do that."

He ducked his head, pleased to be adorable, but at the same time slightly worried at the word choice. Baby ducks were adorable. Puppies were adorable. Guys you were kind of sort of maybe flirting with weren't supposed to be adorable... right?

"I am wondering though," She said finally, sobering. "How much do you actually need to... um... eat before you can take an appearance?"

He shrugged, his blush clearing quickly with the more serious topic. "No clue. Um... both times so far I... I pretty much finished the bodies."

She looked at him thoughtfully and as though deciding something reached up, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

Peter watched the operation, mildly fascinated... then surprised as she tugged sharply and offered him the hairs that she'd just pulled out. "Eat these." She'd said suddenly.

"Uh... are you sur--"

"Yes." She said hurriedly. Then she met his eyes and her urgent tone softened. "Please?"

He smiled back uncertainly and took the proffered hairs. He noted that there were skin tags at the end. So that meant live cells. His palm flowed with tendrils briefly and he felt his body accept the tiny amount of material with barely any change.

"Anything?" She asked.

He concentrated and his head blurred. When the tendrils settled, his hair and eyebrows, which had been brown, were suddenly the same bright red that MJ had.

"Wow." She smiled and reached up for his head suddenly, stroking a hand through his hair. He savored the sensation. Luxuriated in it. His hair had been coarse and slightly wavy. Impossible to tame. Cletus' red hair was even thicker than his own hair and tended to clump, when he'd bothered to run his hands through it.

The new head of straight red hair he sported was silky and unfamiliar. "Uh... I guess since I had your hair, I can copy your hair?" He said uncertainly. It was really, really hard to think as she continued to run her fingers across his scalp. this close, her scent was tantalizing. He had to restrain himself to keep from reaching out to return the favor by running his own fingers through her hair.

"It feels just like my hair. That is so weird. Cool, but weird."

She looked at his eyes, hers had gone thoughtful and intense once more.

"What?"

"So maybe you can just do what you've had?"

"I'm guessing," He replied carefully, "I'm guessing I've got a sample of it... so I should be able to duplicate it. It's not just the genetics of what I'm consuming. I need... the gross physical structures. Kind of like what I do with clothes. I need to get the whole thing to get the structure right... at least if I want to do it quickly." He kept talking more to distract himself.

She pulled her hand back away from his hair and he gave a sigh which was halfway relief and halfway disappointment. She rubbed her palms together gathering up dirt in tiny black rolls that she carefully pushed together in one hand.

"What is that for?" He asked, looking down into her hand.

"Most dirt is just skin cells, right?" She said slowly.

"You want me to...?" He stared hard at her. "You want me to eat dirt off your hands?"

"Please?" She turned pleading eyes, "I want to know how far you can get with this."

He sighed, unable to resist. He took a momentary chance and this time actually allowed his palm to press briefly against hers as he swept the dirt up in his tendrils.

He pulled his hand back sharply at the sensation. That... delicious, tantalizing taste as his feeding tendrils had brushed against her hand. He'd felt her pulse for a moment. Strong, beneath her warm, soft skin.

She didn't notice the intensity of his gaze, staring at her now clean palm. She'd shivered just a tiny bit as their hands touched. He'd seen that. He'd felt it. A sudden rush of confused feelings assaulting him as he hurriedly stepped back form her.

"That tickled," She declared holding her hand up. "I didn't expect those tendrils to tickle."

"I... I guess not." He said stiffly.

"So... see if you can turn into me." She'd asked with an almost too eager smile. He frowned a little and concentrated. Another mystery. One he could concentrate on later. When he wasn't trying to fight down a sudden mess of urges with regards to the young Miss Watson.

"Not much. I don't really feel anything." He said after a moment of attempted concentration. He'd gotten himself under control and he'd tried. His heartbeat had spiked, but there hadn't been much of a change. He'd barely felt a stirring in his skin. "Any change?" He asked carefully.

She'd noticed that he'd moved back, but she didn't follow. "You're really pale. Not much else. You've got my hair color and your skin's gone bleached out like... oh, wait. It just looks pale compated to earlier."

She stepped close to him once more and took his hand once more into that warm, delightfully soft hand of hers. They were the same color.

He swallowed hard and realized he was drooling.

"We almost look like fraternal twins like this." MJ grinned.

"Yes." Pete said weakly, pulling his hand back as quickly as he could, which got her frowning.

She asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" He said hurriedly. Unconvincingly.

"What?" She asked again, her brow furrowing into that adorable little scowl of hers. See? She was adorable. Peter was not supposed to be adorable. He'd eaten people for goodness sake. He should not have been considered 'adorable'. He caught himself and couldn't believe he was still worked up about that.

"You're feeding me bits of you." He said awkwardly.

She nodded. "Yes. I want to see--"

"You. Are. Feeding. Me. Parts. Of. You." He said slowly. Distinctly enunciating every word.

She frowned. "So?"

He covered his face with his hands, blushing brightly again. He had to tell her. He'd told her everything else, so he had to tell her otherwise, he got the impression she wasn't likely to let it go. He mumbled something into his hands.

"I didn't catch that." She said, still scowling cutely.

He gave an exasperated huff and looked her straight in the eye. He had to make this absolutely and perfectly clear. "You're delicious."

"... wait, what?" She stared. The scowl was gone, replaced with confusion.

"Delicious." He said, turning his head to the side, her skin color was really well suited to blushing. "I've got it under control," He said slowly."I think. But... um... yeah. I'm worried I might not... you know... be able to stop myself if you keep doing that. So... yes. No more of me eating bits of you."

"Oh." She looked thoughtful and quiet. She looked at the pallets, crashed and scattered all over the area. Then she looked at him, not quite meeting his eyes. "But you've got it under control, right?" There was a pleading note to her voice that worried him.

He nodded jerkily, running his tongue over his dry lips. "Yeah. I have it under control. I just... it might be a bad idea to tempt me with anything else from you for a while, okay?" He smiled weakly once more. Embarrassed, he looked away and stayed a pace back.

She also looked embarrassed, looking away for a moment then back to him. She was chewing her lower lip, deep in thought. This was it, Peter realized. She was going to tell him she couldn't deal with it. He was in a good spot to start running. He would probably have to.

He might even have to eat her to make sure she didn't tell anyone. Exactly what you wanted anyway, right? His voice drawled in his head.

He stood stiffly, trying his best to ignore her while he was still so very tempted. The hunger had settled, but that taste had been... he shuddered and tried his best not to notice the slow, delightfully wicked and teasing smile spread over her features.

He looked up at her sharply and asked anxiously, "What?"

She giggled into her hand, "I guess this would make oral sex really awkward then?"

He sputtered and she simply laughed. Just like that.

- - -