Chapter 2

Before I knew it, Uncle Ben had left me in the gracious care of the ‘White Queen’. I didn't know what earned her the name, but the name itself was sufficiently menacing.

"So, Peter, I noticed your camera is back to full function." It was odd to see her face so impassive when her words were kind.

I was a little thrown off before I got my bearings together. This was just small talk, like all psychologists tend to do. They simply never found anything to talk about that actually interested me. Sure, one of them had noticed the camera. They assumed I was passionate about photography, but it was never about the photos for me.

"It was your father's." She didn't really ask, and I wondered if she had read my mind.

"Richard Parker's, yes."

"I've spoken at length with Ben and May." She set herself up to prove to me that she's on my side. To show she understood at least some part of my thoughts. All psychologists did it. They needed to find common ground with my beliefs so that we could work together to understand each other, or some other such nonsense.

"If Richard Parker isn't really your father, why do you care so much about the camera?" Once again throwing me off, this time with her almost contentious attitude.

"Peter would have wanted to keep it safe."

"Peter as in, Richard Parker's real son," she prompted as if to clarify.

"Yep." I said with my eyes close, popping the 'p' at the end.

"Forgive me Mr. Park-" she stopped scribbling in her pad momentarily and looked up at me, somehow noticing I was uncomfortable being called Mr. Parker. "Peter, but what does that have to do with you?" she asked.

"Well, it would be the right thing to do for one."

"In case the real Peter came back?"

"Well no. I don't actually think he's coming back. I mean, not anymore. Maybe he really did just die that day," I said.

I noticed she didn't like that answer because she pursed her lips and scribbled aggressively some more.

"I just think that it may be my fault that Peter is dead, I owe it to him to at least not fuck up his life in some way. Even if I can't quite live up to his name."

She liked that answer even less. It was the cussing wasn't it? It was probably the cussing.

"Well from where I'm standing it looks to me that your attachment to your birth parents could be a thing that has survived this new…development to your mentality. Perhaps the need to take care of that camera is simply your subconscious fighting back, as it were."

"You don't believe me then."

"I do not."

I sighed with a defeated finality. My shoulders dropped considerably and I no doubt just looked like a ten-year-old who was denied ice cream.

"Which is why, you're going to have to convince me."

"Huh?" This was significantly different from any of my other appointments.

"Ben and May say you're a very intelligent young man. Your email," she smiled, "was enough proof for me. I have long since believed that our control over our own minds and bodies far surpasses what we think. I'm fairly certain that an intelligent man such as yourself will either convince me or will rationalise my arguments appropriately."

With her pitch done, she adjusts herself in her seat. She sat in front of me with one leg crossed over the other. She wore red heels and a white dress that ran from her shoulders to below her knees. It was form fitting, but very professional. It was clear she even dressed like the character I recalled.

I decided it was time to bite the bullet. This was a leap of faith I would have to take if it meant I might be able to convince another person of my situation. Anyone would do. Start small and work from there, that's what I say.

"Well I'm sure you have many arguments to convince me," I ventured, "and I've read quite a lot on psychology myself." I look at her in the eyes. This was serious now. All childish thoughts aside, I had to make her see that I was not merely a love-struck ten-year-old. I knew things about her that would not only make her very angry but could also get me killed. "But the only way I could convince you to see it my way, would be if you read my mind."

There. I said it.

And she laughed. Fuck.

With a beautiful woman laughing at my words, I was considerably less confident, but I barged ahead regardless.

"Your name is Emma Frost. Your father's name is Winston Frost. You have two sister's and a brother. A brother who might be gay, in case you didn't know." I began to ramble. Without taking a breath I continued, "Don't look at me like that, I'm not a stalker, I'm eleven for Christ's sake - sort of." I shook my head and carry on, "The names Max Eisenhardt, Scott Summers or Ian Kendall may mean something to y-"

She narrowed her eyes at me, "Ian Kendall was my professor while I studied for my doctorate. Why would you know that name?"

That is when things started to change. It felt like the temperature in the room had dropped three degrees.

Finally, I finished, "and you're a telepath."

Her light blue eyes had almost solidified. Their colour had shifted so much they practically shined like diamonds. "I take it I am a character in this world of yours," she asked coolly.

"Um, yes." And then suddenly I could feel her rooting around my head. I experienced thoughts as she did and could clearly feel her almost ripping through my mind to find out why I know what I did about her. She was not kind as she stole memories of her portrayals as I had seen them and my impressions of her; and she knew everything.

I reeled back from her, somehow breaking contact by willpower alone. It's true I wanted her to see the truth, but this felt wrong. And it was painful.

She seemed equally shocked by the disconnection. Undoubtedly, she would have searched for as much information as she could get from me.

"You hadn't been reading my mind all this time?" I gasped out. "I mean, I sort of assumed you had already read my mind and the fact that I was still in one piece was evidence that you wanted to help me, somehow" I trailed off. I was breathing hard and scared out of my mind.

Here I was, face to face with a powerful telepath. Who I had probably severely pissed off? In the body of a nearly eleven-year-old powerless Peter Parker.

What was the safe word again?

I wilted under her stare. She was barely in her twenties; she would have been only a few years older than me in my past life at best. Yet the combination of behaviourally acting like a child and the sheer competency of her gaze was paralysing.

"Your name was Peter," she started.

I could only nod my head. I had gone by Peter Calvert in my past, but I wasn’t really attached to the name ‘Calvert’. It always felt like something assigned to me by the orphanage, a replacement for a family I would never have.

"You were born an orphan and dealt a really shitty start in life."

Well I couldn't argue with that.

"You were an uninterested student and that only carried on to your work life. You put no effort nor love into your work. You just needed the money."

Harsh but true, I suppose.

"Despite needing to fend for yourself your whole life, you took care of your fellow orphan. A bipolar girl, trapped in the mind of an eight your old."

"Hey now, someone had to take care of Cali-"

"And despite all that weight you had on your shoulders, which you carried without a hint of complaint, I might add; you still believed you could not fill the shoes of a six-year-old."

"I never claimed- Hey, now, what?" I stumbled on my words; the conversation was not going where I expected it to at all. "Aren't we going to talk about all the comics and movies?!" I nearly shouted in bewilderment.

"Mr. Parker left you with me so we could work together to understand what you're thinking and make you feel better. Your parents are very worried for you, Peter. Comic books and heroes have nothing to do with this. We'll open that particular can of beans at a later date," she said with perhaps the most expressive face I have seen yet. The dislike was palpable.

"You, young man, are critically self-depreciating. And it is not healthy. You do realise that in this world that you've come to inhabit – and find as real as your old one, I might add; Peter Parker was a six-year-old boy. It is a tragic loss, certainly. But you and I both know you came to terms with that a while ago," she admonished as she got off her seat and approached the couch I was sitting on.

"And in some ways so did Ben and May," she finished now sitting beside me and rubbing my back.

Her words and actions provided little comfort in my confusion. Something she probably noticed as she continued, "Ben and May both know that something had died within their nephew that night. Peter had lived with them only a year prior to the accident. Did you even know that?"

I was stumped. I hadn't, in fact, known that. I had been under the impression that Peter had simply taken up note making a year before my arrival, which is why I didn’t know much about his life with his biological parents.

"So, the accident was a rough time, May and Ben knew things would never be the same. But you came back home, and while strangely reserved, you were still a delightful child to have."

I opened my mouth to speak and she interrupted me, "Their words, not mine."

"So now, tell me, what exactly have you been failing to live up to?"

"Spider-Ma-"

"Spider-Man does not exist. Not yet anyway. Everything you think you know is a possibility Peter. Do you think you're the only person with knowledge they shouldn't have or don't want?"

"You do realise that there is such a thing as a precog? How do you think they deal with all the possibilities for the future? You do what you can, and you hope for the best, Peter."

How do you comb your hair? The question enters my mind unbidden, in the voice of Deborah Ann Woll, from Daredevil. I almost snickered, the Parker tendency to find humour in unfortunate situations having struck me truly.

Dr. Frost's curiosity must have overcome her because I felt a light touch on my mind. A far cry from the pain I felt before. This felt more like a gentle prod, almost a pleading question. She already knew my most embarrassing thoughts of her so allowing this seemed inconsequential in comparison.

"You are so strange," she said as she looked at me. "You've been so busy pretending to be Ben and May's nephew that you've deprived them of a son. You do know that's how they think of you don't you? And don't tell me you don't think of them as parent figures. Perhaps it's time to stop being the best version of Peter Parker, and simply be the best version of yourself, hmm?" Once again, her face is almost impassive, despite warm words.

My face heated up, she was sitting rather close to me and now that conversation had lulled, I found myself praying that she wouldn't look into my mind again. She would not have appreciated my stray thoughts.

I did not feel anything against my mind that time, but she said, "I don't use my abilities often you know," as though she had read me.

"In fact, I have never so far, needed to use it in my line of work. Despite the fact that I deal mostly with irregularities of the mind. If a patient can be helped without the interference of my abilities, then that is always the first step. I'm honestly surprised I had not run into a problem counselling wouldn't fix sooner. Then again, my practice is quite new."

She smiled brightly and rubbed the top head. This being the first time I'd seen it; I was quite stupefied. "You're only my fourth long term patient, you know."

While I was starting to see her point, the root of the problem still remained.

"But what about Ben and May?"

"I'll tell you what. I'll talk to them tonight. I'm going to cancel all my meetings for a week anyway," she said as kissed my forehead. "I'll be taking a bit of a trip," she added coldly. "And after that, we'll continue our meetings. Sound good, young man?" once again back to her impassive yet warm self.

We talked for hours more, recounting stories of myself and this so-called multiverse. With direct access to my mind, she knew exactly how I thought and what to say to help me heal. She did more to clear my conscience and help me grow in those few hours than any other therapy, meditation or self-reflection since I woke up in this body.

All too soon, a ring chimed and the door to the counselling room was opened. Uncle Ben had come to pick me back up. Goodbyes were said in a blur and before I knew it Ben had assured Dr. Frost that he and May would be available that evening to meet her and we were on our way home.

"So, how'd it go bud?"

Dr. Emma Frost had me on the back foot for the entire session. Which was crazy! I was the one with otherworldly knowledge! I was the one who knew more about the other. And she hadn't even used her ability till the end!

"She's good."

She had certainly given me a lot to think about. I could see her point of course, but like Ben always said: With great power comes great responsibility. I had the power to fulfil Peter Parker's potential, to improve hundreds - possibly thousands of lives. Which meant I had a responsibility to be the best version of Spider-Man as I could be. As much as I wished to simply be Peter, the nephew - or even the son of Ben an May Parker; could I really deprive the world of Spider-Man’s strength?

But maybe Dr. Frost was right. Maybe being the best version of Spider-Man didn't mean being the best version of Peter Parker. I had to accept that Peter Parker was gone and believing that the world would benefit more from me pretending to be someone else rather than simply being the best version of myself was surely doing myself a disservice.

Ben gave me a concerned look. I would usually complain quite loudly during these drives back home. I was far too introspective for his liking after this one. But my words assuaged his concerns. After all, I had never complimented any of the counsellors before.

Eventually we were both able to relax and drove home together singing along softly to Hotel California on the radio, a song we both loved.