“A hero is not a god or an idea. A hero lives here... on the street, among us, with us. Always here but rarely recognized. Look in the mirror and see yourself for what you truly are. You're a New Yorker. You're a hero.” - Karen Page
Glancing down at her watch, and then her phone, Karen checked the time.
“3:42,” Foggy Nelson hummed from beside her, “the same 3:42 it was six seconds ago when you looked. Unless - did you develop super powers too now? Can you slow down time? Or speed it up? Stop it? Cause that would be great in court during the prosecution's closing statements when I want to just take a second to go bash the gavel against my head. How come I never get the cool powers?”
“Foggy.” The reprimand was nothing but warmth and a smile.
“I know. But, hey. I did at least distract you enough to let maybe, like, 30 seconds go by, before you checked the time again. I count that as a win.”
This time she just looked at him, lowering her chin.
“I don’t get why you’re so nervous, Page,” he shook his head. “You’ve taken on Wilson Fisk, to his - very scary - face. This should be cake. No, pie. No, what’s another baked good?”
“I’m not nervous,” Karen rolled her eyes, “well, I am a little worried this taxi I called is going to be late, making me late, making me look bad and losing that first power struggle in the interview.”
“Ah yes, marking your territory,” Foggy nodded. “Wise power move. Like a dog. That’s why I got to my dorm first in college.”
“Your roommate was Matt,” Karen chuckled.
“Exactly. And look at us now. And look at who runs that friendship? Me. The Alpha.”
“Don’t ever say that again.”
“It’s also why I set up my desk first when we got that office.”
“I believe I was your office manager.”
“That was just a fancy term for secre - person who ran the place and kept us in line and in business, yes, agreed.” He sighed. “You’re going to do great. As always.”
“I know,” she smirked. “I’m just, excited. I’ve missed this, you know? Don’t get me wrong,” she rushed to put up her hands at his pout, “I love working with you at Matt, really. I missed that a lot too. Helping investigate cases is great, rewarding. But working for the paper, filled something inside of me that I didn’t even know was empty, you know? It was, a purpose. And I was good , Foggy. I loved all of it, even the not fun parts like being targeted by murderers and worse, internet trolls. This isn’t going to be the same, but it’s something. Getting real information out there to the people that need to hear it. Cutting through all the crap. No bullshit bias, no red tape, no puff pieces. Just the truth.”
“You and Marty,” Foggy put a hand on her shoulder, “fighting for truth, justice, and the little guy.”
“And you too.”
“You’re fighting for me?” Foggy splayed a hand over his heart.
“You know what I mean,” she pushed him away. “You fight for all that too, every day.”
“Speaking of the little guy,” Foggy stretched. “Bug-Man, really?”
“Spider-Man is doing a lot of good for the city,” Karen smiled, “just like Matt. Karen Page, reporter, has already weighed in on the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen more than enough. Spider-Man is getting murdered by the media for clicks and ad revenue. To them, he’s just a mask. But we know better. It’s time this city does too.”
“We know Matt,” Foggy lifted a finger, “yes. But this guy? Maybe he’s a self-sacrificing, puppy saving vigilante like our horned friend. Maybe not.”
“He saved that ‘horned friend’ last week when Matt got shot by those mafia assholes.”
“Matt got shot and I wasn’t informed?”
“Do you really want to know every time your best friend is shot?” Karen crossed her arms.
“Yes!” Foggy waved his arms. “Maybe - yes. No. I don’t know. That’s a lot of stress and I’m not ready for grey hair yet. Maybe only the life threatening gunshot wounds.”
Karen’s laugh was soft. There was still a little sadness there. Maybe there always would be. But it was nice to be able to talk about these things without arguing about them. Matt was never going to stop being Matt. And Foggy and Karen had long since decided that they were never going to stop loving him.
“So,” Foggy coughed after a long moment, “how mad do you think Jameson is going to get when he finds out that this interview is about Spider-Man and not some puff piece to inflate his ego, and wallet?”
“Well,” Karen checked her watch as a taxi pulled up to the curb, “I’m about to find out.”
Starting a talk show with Patricia, “Trish”, Walker was not something Karen Page had ever imagined. She had grown up watching Patsy on television, never really liking the perfect little girl with the perfect life, when hers had been such a mess. Thankfully, the real Trish Walker was nothing like her doe-eyed prepubescent counterpart. Karen couldn’t imagine the bubbly blonde facing down against Fisk, but then again, she wouldn’t have been able to say the same about herself not long ago. The woman wasn’t known for her hard hitting reporting, with Trish Talk being glorified gossip and feel good fake news. But Walker wanted more. And she had the know-how to do it. Karen wielded a pen or a keyboard like Daredevil did his fists. But when it came to having connections, navigating marketing or social media or even setting up recording equipment, she fell short. Trish would also bring listeners. Sure, Karen Page was a well-recognized and respected name in journalism now, but not everyone read the paper anymore. Karen wanted the truth to reach more people, and that’s exactly what Trish could help do.
Her, and Danny Rand buying a whole entire radio station just so the pair wouldn’t be beholden to executives who only wanted to pad their pockets and toe the line. Between the scandals at Rand Enterprises and his dealings with The Hand, Danny knew how dangerous cover ups and misinformation could be and had boldly offered when he had heard they were considering just starting a small podcast. Maybe Karen could convince him to buy her and the boys an actual new office building one day so they could move out of the back of the deli.
Karen thought of them, Matt and Foggy, tuning into her first live broadcast. She could see their genuine and proud faces and it made her smile.
“Hold that thought,” Trish stepped toward her, glancing over the reporter’s shoulder, “whatever it is. You’ll need it to keep the smile on your face. Jameson got here fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t stopped complaining about the coffee.”
Damn it. He’d marked his territory. She was early and he’d still made sure to get the upper hand.
No. She had the upper hand. This was their show. She had all the hands. And they were fists. Okay, she had the upper hand, but not when it came to metaphors.
The first ten minutes of the interview felt like a high schooler’s career day project. Why did Jameson become a reporter? What, in his opinion, is the most important aspect of journalism? Where did he see journalism heading? It was a boring question, but it was also a leading one. Jameson couldn’t resist the opening to plug his new podcast, one that was devoted solely to Spider-Man.
“New York is a city teeming with heroes.” Karen leaned forward. “Why focus on Spider-Man?”
“I wouldn’t use ‘heroes’ and ‘Spider-Man’ in the same breath,” Jameson guffawed. “But, yes, you are correct. We do have heroes. Like the brave men and women of the police force, whom Spider-Man is constantly getting in the way of.”
“Spider-Man saved a group of officers from a bomb just last week -” Trish lifted a hand.
“He was showing off!” Jonah boomed. “He was careless and one of those brave men suffered a broken arm from that menace’s web swinging him around.”
“I’d wager a broken arm is better than being dead.” Trish shrugged. “Even still, New York has the Avengers -“
“I don’t always agree with some of their members and their behaviors, thinking they are better than the rest of us with their powers, up in their tower, looking down on the rest of us. However , the Avengers have saved the planet.
“Spider-Man has helped the Avengers save the earth. He’s saved this city, alone.”
Trish traded a look to her quiet co-host. The woman was no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“He’s put this city in danger, too,” Jameson argued. “He was just cleaning up his careless mess. And besides, we know who the Avengers are. We can see their faces. Hold them accountable for their actions.”
“So can their enemies. Pepper Potts was kidnapped by Aldrich Killian because of her connection to Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Maybe Spider-Man is trying to protect people he cares about.”
“The only person that webbed vigilante cares about protecting is himself .”
“Speaking of which, what about the other vigilantes protecting this city? Like Daredevil -“
“Call him what he his,” Jameson interrupted Trish. “Devil. He’s just as bad as Spider-Man. They all are.”
“Then why focus so much on him?” Trish tried to sound innocent.
“I thought this interview was supposed to be about me, not -”
“Is it true that a few years ago, your son, John Jameson, was bumped from a talk show appearance to make room for Spider-Man?” Karen interjected.
“That has nothing to do -”
“You’re a wealthy man, are you not?” Karen pressed.
“Well, of course. Very. I worked hard for every red cent. No shortcuts. No superpowers.”
“So you think if you had superpowers you would’ve been able to get, what? Richer, and faster?” Trish tag-teamed.
“Obviously,” Jameson huffed. “These mutants, mutates, freaks of nature, whatever you call them, have an unfair advantage.”
“Huh, interesting.” Trish smiled over at Karen. “I didn’t realize Spider-Man was charging for his services.”
“Well, he -”
“Doesn’t.” Karen cut him off. “Yes, we know. A cop stops a robbery. It’s brave, of course. But he gets paid to do it. Even if a firefighter is just rescuing a cat up a tree, he’s still clocked in. I’m not trying to say anything negative toward the men and women who serve and protect our city. But it is their job, which means they get paid. When have you ever seen Spider-Man asking for a check before jumping into a burning building? Or posing in Times Square for pictures?
“And we mean the real Spider-Man, of course,” Trish waved a hand, “not the tourist trap cosplayers.”
“Spider-Man risks his life day after day with no thought of reward.” Karen finished.
“There’s a million reasons why he could be doing it,” Jonah gestured widely. “The glory, fame. The power. Showing off -”
“I don’t see him cheesing it up for the cameras.” Trish grinned. “The only pictures and videos we see of Spider-Man, actually, are usually from kids. Kids who want a photograph with their hero.”
“But that’s the thing. These kids are going to idolize this freak - who has powers. Then, what? They go off and try to be like him. Jumping off buildings and attacking people. With no superpowers to save them when they fall. He’s a bad influence on today’s youth.”
“I don’t think being inspired to be brave and good and unselfish is a bad thing.” Trish lifted her brow, thinking of her sister and how much Jessica made her want to do and be, just, more . “I think it’s beautiful.”
“Let them be inspired by Captain America, then, for crying out loud. Now that’s a true American hero. Obeys the laws. Serves his country.”
“Steve Rogers is a wonderful influence, yes. But he’s also dated, no offense Captain.” Trish leaned toward the microphone. “Spider-Man is new, now. That’s what kids flock to.”
“He’s also local.” Karen added. “Sure, the good Captain is Brooklyn born and bred and we love the guy. Who doesn’t? But half of the time he is off with the Avengers, stopping global threats, which is incredibly important. He’s an American hero. A world hero. But Spider-Man? He’s ours. When was the last time you saw an Avenger stop a late night alley mugging? Help an elderly woman across the street?”
“And if you haven’t seen that video of Spider-Man doing just that yesterday, check out our website.” Trish plugged.
“Both Captain America and Spider-Man stand for the same things.” Karen continued. “Justice. Doing what’s right. Selflessness. Spider-Man just does it in our backyard. Tell me Jonah, what do you stand for?”
“Not for this!” Jameson barked, ironically, well, standing. “This is an outrage! This is one-sided and -”
“Bias?” Trish cocked her head. “That should make you feel right at home, considering The Daily Bugle has had nothing but negative bias toward Spider-Man since he showed up in New York, twisting facts to fit someone’s narrative. On the other hand, we’ve done nothing more but state facts, relay the feelings and sentiments of many New Yorkers, and ask relevant questions.”
“But,” Karen sighed, lifting a placating hand toward the man. “We apologize, Jonah. You’re right when you said that this interview was supposed to be about you. In your paper, you like to speculate about Spider-Man. I think I’d like to speculate - about you .”
Jameson laughed, but the cold, clipped bark didn’t quite have the bite intended.
“I think you, J. Jonah Jameson, spent your entire life focused on one thing - making money. And yet here is someone who is out there, every single day, risking life and limb, with no thought of himself or reward. So, if a man like him is good? Is a hero? Then what are you? Despite being who you are - a millionaire, man of the world, civic leader, famous public figure - despite all of that, I think that you know that you can never climb up to his level. You’re not selfless or brave like him. And you can’t give yourself superpowers. So what is left for J. Jonah Jameson to do then? All you can do is hate him, to try to tear him down, because you’re jealous of Spider-Man .”
The room crashed into silence. Even the slight buzz and hum of the equipment seemed to still.
“You girls have some nerve,” Jonah clenched his teeth and fists. “This is - this is defamation of character.”
“Mr. Jameson,” Karen folded her hands, “I think you forget that I also work with attorneys. The same attorneys who put away criminal kingpin Wilson Fisk. You know the guy you wrote a front page story about being one of New York’s greatest philanthropists. If that was how defamation of character worked, you’d have Spider-Man suing you for every ‘red cent’ you earned.”
“This isn’t how journalism works,” Jameson seethed. “You hacks, you kids, will be out of business before you can even afford good coffee. And then you’ll never be able to get a real journalism job because of this.”
“Maybe this isn’t how journalism works,” Karen nodded.
“But maybe it’s how it should,” Trish finished. “Denial is a warm bed that no one wants to get out of and media outlets like the Daily Bugle, and my old show, are the comforters on that bed. They keep you complacent. Keep your eyes down. It’s time to wake up. Face the truth.”
“This is about more than one man or one vigilante. Yes, Spider-Man is a hero that should be celebrated, not condemned on the front page.”
“But the fact that he is slandered on that same front page, day after day,” Trish followed, “is a sign of a much bigger problem. Sex trafficking, war, human rights issues, corporate corruption, are all drowned out by this noise. Not only are you being told lies about a hero who is trying to fight against these issues, those lies are playing a part in covering them up.”
“Bad shit happens every day,” Karen grabbed her mic, ignoring when Jameson shoved off his headphones and started walking away, “and every person, not just vigilantes or superheroes, are capable of making change.”
“Whether that’s journalists reporting the right news, the real news,” Trish cocked her head, “or people like you, listening to the truth. We all have that power to do something about it. So do something.”
“And then you brought out Louis Theroux,” Foggy stabbed at his Thai food. “First, you shredded Jameson’s entire moral character, and then you just straight up Hulk-stomped his ego by bringing out a world famous reporter and documentarian. Priceless.”
“Not to mention name dropping Christiane Amanpour as one of your upcoming guests,” a slim red headed girl raised her hand like she was in class as she approached the table. “Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt but I saw you over here and had to say hello. I listened to your show today and it was awesome, seriously. I’m studying journalism, or, will be, when I get to college, and I loved everything you said. Especially just tearing down Jameson like that. Brutal.”
The group stared at the stranger with mixed expressions of gratitude and confusion.
“Thank you,” Trish nodded, trailing off.
“Oh, Mary Jane, MJ.”
“Thank you, MJ,” Trish repeated, smiling kindly.
“I think the format of your show is great,” the girl continued. “Yeah, you’re interviewing some heavy hitters, but you’re talking with real, everyday people just as equally, with just as much respect and honesty. You’re speaking to the people that these issues affect and getting every side to every story. You’re not pulling punches when interviewing the ones at the top, the big names, the CEOs. But you’re also not ignoring the rest of us.”
“Hey MJ!” A voice called from across the restaurant as a lanky kid hurried around tables. “I’m sorry I’m late. There was - traffic.”
“On the subway?” MJ lifted her brow.
“After the subway, on my way - here. Accident. Had to go around.”
Someone at the table leaned forward, brows bending behind thin-rimmed glasses.
“Peter,” MJ rolled her eyes, gesturing, “these are the women from the radio show I was telling you about. The reporters who talked about -”
“Spider-Man,” the kid whirled toward them.
“Well, yes,” MJ shook her head, “but also a lot of other really important issues.”
“Right, right,” Peter bobbed his head.
“I’m going to grab us a table,” MJ scanned the restaurant. “If Gwen and Harry are coming too -“
“And Ned -“
“And Ned. We’re going to need a bigger booth.” She turned back to the group. “Again, I am so sorry for this,” she gestured between her and the boy, “but it was really nice meeting you.”
MJ disappeared behind a family of four that had bustled by, Peter bracing himself as the toddler ran between his legs. Slowly, he spun back to face the strangers.
“Yeah, uh,” he scratched the back of his head, “like she said. The show is great. What you said about Spider-Man - it was nice hearing someone in the news not out for his blood, you know? I mean, I’ve seen him around, not like around like I know him, but around. He seems like one of the good guys and it’s cool that someone else thinks that.”
“A lot of people think it,” Karen replied, “just not the ones that are speaking up the loudest.”
“Looks like that’s changing,” Peter grinned.
“It is,” Trish agreed.
“And what you said? That we all have the power to do something? We do.” Peter nodded, more to himself than to them. “And I think we will. Someone close to me used to say something like that all the time. It felt almost like I was listening to one of his speeches again - it was, nice. So, uh, thanks - or - good job, again.”
Peter gave an awkward wave and backed away, nearly bowling over a bus boy before turning around to find his friend. The kid tripped but still managed to catch the guy’s tray of dishes before it crashed to the ground.
“That was interesting,” Trish chuckled.
“Kids,” Foggy lifted his hands, shaking his head.
When everyone seemed to stare it him to continue his statement, he just gestured broadly again.
“Just,” he sighed dramatically, “ kids .”
“God you’re weird,” Jess spoke up from her corner chair where she had been slouched and half-hidden in her hood the whole meal.
The man opposite her cocked his head to the side suddenly, face pinched.
“What is it, Lassie?” Jessica leaned forward.
“Single vehicle car accident, just around the corner” he reported in a hushed tone. “Woman’s trapped.” He paused, ears perking. “Someone’s calling 9-1-1. Damn it.”
“What?” Karen glanced around.
“Not an accident. Failed attempted carjacking. The crash sent the thief through the windshield but he’s awake - and armed.”
He rose from his chair just a fraction of a second before Jessica before waving her off.
“Matthew,” Foggy huffed, “don’t look a superpowered gift horse in the mouth.”
“It’s one guy,” Matt shrugged. “Stay, celebrate.”
“Do I look like the celebrate type?” Jessica rolled her neck.”
“Hey,” Trish elbowed her sister.
Matt paused again, letting out a puff of air.
“Huh, it’s all taken care of. Car thief is unconscious and the woman is safe.”
“What?” Karen asked and then lowered her voice. “That was fast.”
Matt reached out with his senses to find whoever did this, weeding his way through the din of the restaurant, when something made him stop.
“Hey MJ,” a short, rounder kid waved, “where’s Peter? He texted he was here.”
“He is,” she sat down, “ran to the bathroom.”
Matt leaned back in the booth, thinking about the scrawny kid with the too-fast reflexes and even faster heartbeat.
Everyone did have the power to do something about the things that happened in the world, and their own city. And he was pretty sure that Spider-Man just had.