She had used that like a weapon, a jagged little edge that kept bringing the hero back to her. It made her feel special, superior even. Now, listening to MJ admit to the same petty vanity, Felicia sees even more similarities between her and MJ. Hell, she can believe that Red here was the bad girl in Peter's life a lot easier now.
"But even with that edge, you pushed her to him." Sonja reminds Mary Jane. "Every time she got upset with Peter, you were always there to remind her what he meant to her and her to him."
Felicia watches the actress closely, as MJ just stares down at her cup. Not reacting to Sonja's words.
"You loved him," Sonja continues, her ghostly form unwavering, "yet you helped his love for another grow. That is not the act of someone using a secret as a weapon. That is the act of a friend who put another's happiness above her own."
"Somebody had to," MJ whispers. "She made him happy. And he made her happy. Who was I to ruin that?"
And there it is. The point where the parallel snaps clean in two. Felicia turns her gaze to her coffee, watching the steam curl up in lazy spirals, because she doesn't want either redhead to read what's surely written all over her face.
Because she wouldn't have done that. No way in hell.
She used the masks, sure. She kept her edge sharp, and she kept Spider coming back for more. Even when it was clear that there was another woman in his life that was better for him. The thief takes what she wants. She doesn't give it away out of some misplaced sense of loyalty. She would have schemed, manipulated, charmed her way between them and never once felt guilty about it.
So no. They aren't the same. Not where it counts. MJ is, at her core, a good person who let her heart override her own desires. Felicia is a woman who learned a long time ago that the world doesn't hand you anything you don't take.
Only now she isn't completely like that anymore. Because these two, MJ and Peter, are possibly the worst influences she has ever had. They want to bring out the best in her. In doing so, she wants these three to be happy. She wants to make them happy. Hence, the supportive girlfriend role she is playing. No matter how exhausting it is to play it.
Felicia shifts, her knee bumping MJ's. "If she is as amazing as you guys said she is, then she'll be fine. The girl died, sure. But now she's back and gets a second chance to live her life. How many can say that?"
"Based on what Peter's told me over the years?" MJ counters with a dry smile. "Quite a few."
After a moment of mulling that over, Felicia concedes. "Okay, sure."
"Heck, Peter's died twice now." MJ reminds her. "Against Morlun and then against that Magik girl."
Oh yeah. Felicia forgot about those two incidents. In her defense, though, she wasn't around when they happened and only heard about them through second- or third-hand accounts.
Any response she would have stops when a hiss from one of the doors sounds off, and all three ladies turn to Johnny Storm, strutting into the room wearing baggy pants and a wife-beater shirt, whistling a merry tune. But that tune slows to a stop when he sees the two women on the couch and the astral one nearby them.
His eyes shift between them before he nods his head at them. "Sup."
While Hardy looks at the flame-powered member of the FF with a raised brow, from the corner of her eye she can see Mary Jane look at him with a tired, bemused smile.
"I'm guessing the date with Stephanie went well." MJ proclaims.
A pleased grin works its way onto Storm's face. "She was as dumb and shallow as you said."
"And as bendy too, right?".
Johnny's smile gets slightly bigger as he nods. "Yeah." He says, his tone reminiscent.
Felicia rolls her eyes and sees that MJ does the same. At least one person enjoyed themselves tonight.
"So where'd Webhead go?" Johnny asks them as he opens the fridge and pulls out a gallon of juice.
Felicia lets out a sigh. "He went somewhere with Elektra and Laura. Coping the only way he knows how."
He twists the cap off the juice. "Beating up criminals?" He asks, rhetorically.
MJ nods. "Pretty much."
Johnny then proceeds to drink straight from the gallon. As he does so, Felicia remembers that the man before her is also someone else who had died and come back to life. At least, that's what she heard. There was the other rumor that he wasn't dead, only trapped in the Negative Zone. Though that doesn't sound like an improvement.
Once he finishes and places the juice back in the fridge, he turns his attention to them. "So how are you girls handling Web's ex being back?"
MJ's gaze hardens slightly. "She was my best friend too, you know."
Storm looks a little guilty now. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just…"
Now Mary Jane looks guilty as she drops her glare and sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just been a long night."
Johnny holds up both hands in surrender. "Hey, no apology needed. This whole situation is..." He trails off, searching for a word that doesn't exist.
"FUBAR?" Sonja provides.
Felicia raises a bewildered brow at Sonja's choice, just 'cause it's military jargon, while Johnny seems to consider it. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Although it is pretty close." Mary Jane interjects.
Johnny leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "So what's the plan? You gonna camp out here 'till Webs gets back from venting?"
"It's called being supportive girlfriends." Felicia comments sardonically. She turns back to the actress and says. "I gotta tell ya. I expected drama when joining this thing of ours, but I got more than I bargained for."
MJ tiredly looks at her with questioning eyes and asks, "What kind of drama did you expect?"
Hardy shrugs her shoulders. ""I don't know. Maybe some jealousy, petty jabs, a little competition. I'm just surprised we haven't been doing anything like that. Outside the bedroom, I mean."
Mary Jane gives her a flat look as they both ignore Johnny mumbling something like 'Lucky bastard' as the supermodel says. "Why is that the place where your and Sonja's mind always goes to?"
"Oh I'm sorry that a stressful life gets to me and I need something that I can take my frustration out on and feel satisfied when I do."
MJ rolls her eyes. "Just because he heals faster now doesn't mean it's okay to try and maim him for your own benefit."
"I don't do it to hurt him." Felicia clarifies. "He just gets the job done, and I don't have to hold back when he does."
Sonja nods in agreement. "I am of the same mind."
They hear something of a straining sound coming from Johnny. "God, I hate him so much right now."
Felicia snorts as she looks at the flame user and smirks. "If you hate him now, I can't imagine how you'd feel if tonight had gone well."
Then again, she doubts that Sable or Widow would have immediately jumped into bed with them, or just him, after the first date.
Johnny's annoyed expression gains a hint of confusion. "Why? What was so special about tonight?"
Felicia blinks at him, her coffee cup pausing halfway to her lips. She exchanges a glance with Mary Jane, who also has a raised brow over Johnny's confusion. Sonja's ghostly form flickers with something that might be amusement.
"You haven't heard?" Felicia asks, her tone carrying that particular edge of delighted disbelief.
"Heard what?" Johnny sets the juice down, his attention now fully captured.
Mary Jane shifts on the couch, exchanging a look with Felicia that communicates an entire conversation in a single glance. Tell him or don't tell him? It's not really their news to share, but then again, Peter did ask both women in front of half the Avengers. The cat's not just out of the bag—it's doing acrobatics across Times Square.
"Peter asked Black Widow and Silver Sable to join our relationship," Sonja states, because of course she does. Subtlety doesn't seem to be the warrior's strong suit. "Both of them. On a date. Tonight."
The silence that follows is almost comical. Johnny's eyes widen in complete disbelief while his body is frozen stiff. As if the information had shorted his brain.
"Black Widow and Silver Sable." he parrots, his voice flat. "Black Widow and Silver Sable. On a date. With you three. And Peter."
All three ladies nod.
"Five women," Johnny asks again, his voice rising slightly. "Peter asked five women on a date. At the same time. And two of them were Natasha Romanoff and Silver Sable."
"That's the summary, yes," Felicia confirms, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. Despite the exhaustion weighing on her bones, watching Johnny Storm's brain short-circuit in real time is strangely satisfying.
"Okay." Johnny holds up his hands, pacing now. His bare feet slap against the kitchen tile. "Okay. Just—give me a second here." He turns, takes three steps toward the refrigerator, pivots, and comes back. "Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. The woman who once threatened to castrate me for suggesting we get coffee."
"She said that?"
"Verbatim," Johnny confirms. "And Silver Sable. The woman who literally runs a small European nation and commands a private army. That Silver Sable. Agreed to join a harem, of all things, with Peter Parker."
"It's more of a polyamory." MJ clarifies. "And they didn't join. They agreed to the date to see if they can… meld, I guess."
Johnny froze up again. His face is completely gobsmacked. The man is clearly struggling to re-calibrate his reality to include the fact that his best friend had somehow managed to weave this complex, sprawling web of hearts. If Felicia were to guess what is going through his mind, she would assume he's waiting for someone to tell him it's all a joke. Cause what they are telling him is too ridiculous to be anything but. And she can't blame him. She forgets how she got convinced to join in the first place.
'Oh right, amazing weekend long sex on top of a pile of money.' She recalls, a small smile forming on her lips.
It was kind of hard to say no after that. Or walk.
The doors hiss once again; this time Sue walks in, looking tired as they do. She stops to look around, eyes shifting between her brother and the other three ladies in the room. Felicia can see in the woman's eyes that she quickly figures out what is going on, somehow.
"Johnny?" She calls out to her stupefied brother. "Can you take a meal to our patient? She needs to eat."
The Storm sibling remains frozen in place. He blinks, his mouth remains open, and his eyes are just staring off into space. As if he cannot process the information he was just given.
"Johnny?" His sister calls out again.
The flame user snaps back at his sister's voice. "Yeah." He mumbles out, still looking dazed. "Yeah, sure."
He walks out of the room without another word. The three ladies stare at him as he does so before Sue turns her sights to them. "I'm guessing that you told him about the date."
"Yup." Felicia says, and nods along with MJ and Sonja. "Completely glossing over us saying that it didn't end well."
Sue raises a curious eyebrow and walks over to the chair by the couch. "What happened?"
Felicia takes a deep breath and tells the beautiful blonde genius about their night. All the while thinking about how her Spider is doing.
(Horizon Labs)
Climbing up to the rooftop of Horizon Labs, blending into the shadows, Elektra quickly makes her way to the specific sunroof she was told to go through. She spots it, as it is the only one that has a dim light coming out of it. She looks through and sees Peter Parker hunched over a workbench below, his back to her, still in his Spider-Man suit from the neck down but with the mask pulled off and resting beside his elbow like a deflated second face and his gloves on top of it. She studies the space around him before she drops silently through the sunroof and lands on the floor soundlessly.
"Surprised it took you so long."
Laura's voice prompts Elektra to raise a brow slightly at the girl, who is sitting on a stool between a stack of composition notebooks and a rolling cart with some unfinished invention on it, before turning her focus to Spider-Man, who has yet to acknowledge her arrival. She walks to him and takes in more of her environment.
The lab is not small. That is the first thing she notices, but it does feel small. Though that is only because of the sheer density of occupation. There are so many tools and machines scattered about, placed in a way that someone would when they would need them, but are out of the way. Whiteboards filled with complex equations she doesn't even try to understand. Computer monitors with open programs and sticky notes that are there to remind him of personal matters like his rent and bills. And trash ranging from half-eaten energy bars to crumpled hot dog wrappers.
In summary, it is about what she believes the inside of his mind looks like.
She reaches him and carefully places the sack on the desk next to the other one. "Here are the materials you asked for. Perhaps now you can explain what you needed this all for."
She had just spent two hours breaking into hospitals, stealing specific medical contrast with specific labels, per Spider-Man's instructions. When Laura suggested that they should let the sales happen but make sure the weapons cannot be used, both Elektra and Spider-Man waited for her to elaborate. As it turns out, she did not have a plan, merely suggesting Spider-Man make her idea feasible. It went quiet for a few moments, and Elektra thought that Spider-Man was going to reply with a sarcastic comment over Laura making him come up with an idea.
But then she saw his eye lenses narrow as he stared down at the docks, as if he was in deep thought, before they widened as if a light had gone off in his head. He quickly told them he had an idea and what he needed them to do to make it happen.
He claps his hands and rubs them with the excitement of a child. "Okay, pop quiz." He pulls out the contrast vials and syringes from the sack as she notes his voice is lighter and more jubilant than it was when she came to him at the Baxter Building. "Besides being contrast agents, what do all of these things have in common?"
Elektra says nothing. She has neither the patience nor the inclination for guessing games at this hour, and she lets the silence carry that message, arms folding across her chest as she stares at him flatly.
Laura has no such restraints. "They are all things you asked us to steal because you couldn't without feeling very guilty," Sh e answers from her stool.
Elektra glances at the girl, a bit bewildered by that response. The delivery is so flat it nearly reads as mockery, but there is nothing in Laura's expression beyond blunt sincerity. She simply stated the obvious.
Peter pauses for a moment as he stares at the girl too. "Not the answer I was looking for, but you're not wrong." He picks up a vial and holds it up at them. "Each of these are labeled as GBCAs. Which stands for Gadolinium-Based Contrast Agents."
Not familiar with what he is talking about, Elektra lets the man continue as she leans on the table now, waiting for him to finish.
"Now, gadolinium is used in about a third of all MRI scans worldwide." He explains as he pours the vials into a boiling flask. "See, the human body is basically water and fat and not much else that is useful when it comes to an MRI scan. Until you add something like gadolinium. Gadolinium possesses seven unpaired electrons in its 4f electron shell, the highest number among all known elements. This unique electronic configuration gives gadolinium extraordinary paramagnetic properties, as these unpaired electrons align with external magnetic fields, creating a powerful local magnetic moment that enhances tissue contrast in MRI scans by a factor of thousands compared to surrounding tissues.
"In MRI applications, gadolinium-based contrast agents work by shortening the T1 relaxation time of nearby water protons. When injected into the bloodstream, the gadolinium ions alter the magnetic properties of surrounding tissues, making blood vessels, tumors, and inflamed tissues appear brighter and more distinct in the resulting images. This allows physicians to detect abnormalities as small as 1-2 millimeters that would otherwise remain invisible."
Elektra hides her irritation, though there might be a microscopic tightening around her eyes. "Fascinating chemistry lesson." She says with her voice flat. "How does this help us stop nuclear devices from detonating?"
He waves his hand placatingly at her. "I'm getting there, hang on, this is the good part. Now," he says, finishing pouring all the vials into the boiling flask, "here is where it gets interesting. Gadolinium isn't just paramagnetic, but it also has one of the highest neutron absorption cross sections of any naturally occurring element. Cadmium and boron got nothing on it."
He turns on the bunsen burner before he looks back at them. "Does anybody know how this helps us?"
While Laura looks at him with her blank expression, Elektra does try to think what he is getting at. She is not a genius and science isn't her forte, so she has no idea what he is getting at.
"Alright, guess Chernobyl wasn't something you guys heard about." He comments. The flask behind him began to bubble behind him over the flame. "Okay, nuclear reactions are basically neutrons slamming into unstable nuclei, causing them to split and release more neutrons, which then slam into more unstable nuclei, and so on. It's a chain reaction."
Laura voices her thoughts. "Nuclear plants do that to boil water to form steam to spin the turbines."
Elektra understands that much as well. She knows how nuclear weapons and reactors work, for the most part.
Peter nods at the young mutant. "Exactly. Now what happens when you introduce something into that mix that eats neutrons before they can do their job."
It clicks for the assassin. She straightens up slightly as she answers. "The reaction stops." She is starting to get an idea of what he intends to do.
"Yes! Exactly!" He says with the proud excitement she's heard a few of her teachers express. "The reaction doesn't slow down. It dies. No chain reaction period."
Now she understands what his plan is. "You intend to introduce this element to the cores."
He nods with a smile on his face that brims with excitement as he turns back around to his work. "Basically. See, once this thing is in the cores, it completely chokes out the system before a reaction can even start. And the best part? The bad guys won't know until they try to use them. There's no way to detect it beforehand. Not without pulling the core apart and running isotopic analysis, and even then, gadolinium in trace amounts blends right in with impurities you'd expect in any fissile material. Fisk's buyers can inspect these things all they want. They'll pass every test that matters to a purchase. It's only when someone actually tries to pull the trigger that they'll find out they bought twelve very heavy paperweights."
"So the transactions are able to proceed," Laura notes, displaying minor, subtle signs of happiness that are nearly imperceptible to Elektra. "The authorities are still free to pursue the targets they wish, and for any who manage to evade capture or are allowed to escape, the weaponry will fail to operate when they attempt to deploy them."
"Furthermore, Fisk's standing will suffer significantly once rumors begin to circulate," Elektra adds, following the same reasoning. "Particularly if multiple attempts are made, and none result in success."
Peter snaps his fingers at them. "Bingo. They get kaput instead of kaboom."
Elektra gives the hero an impressed look. "This is very clever."
"Thanks." He says with sincerity. "It's gonna take me a minute to get the pure gadolinium from these vials. See, right now the gadolinium is bound to chelating agents. That's the organic cage leashing the gadolinium from just latching onto the first thing it touches once it's in a patient's bloodstream, because pure gadolinium is nasty stuff. Toxic." He picks up the boiling flask, swirling the pale liquid inside with satisfaction. "So I'm cooking off the cage. Heated transmetallation. Basically, I introduce a competing metal ion, crank up the heat, and it displaces the gadolinium from its organic binder. The binder falls away, and what's left behind is a stupidly concentrated, stupidly pure gadolinium nitrate solution." He taps the side of the flask with a gloved finger. "No cage. No leash. Just raw neutron-eating goodness."
"Will it take long?" Elektra asks, looking at the little amount that is slowly being produced. "And will you have enough?"
"Should be about an hour. And definitely." He responds as he continues his work. "I did the measurements the moment I came up with the idea and told you two what to get."
Elektra stares at the hero's back as he continues on with his work and finds herself doing something she rarely does. It took him perhaps thirty seconds to arrive at a plan that neutralizes twelve nuclear devices, preserves whatever operation the federal government believes it is running, and quietly destroys Fisk's credibility with the very buyers he needs to impress. Thirty seconds. She has seen master strategists in the Hand take days to construct schemes with fewer moving parts, and even then their solutions tended toward the blunt instrument — kill the buyer, kill the seller, burn the product. Clean, but wasteful. This is not blunt. This is surgical.
She has trained her mind for years to catalog threats quickly, to read a room of armed men and know within a breath which one will draw first, which one is the coward who'll break if pressed. That is a different kind of speed than this. What he just did, from the moment Laura's half-formed suggestion left the girl's mouth to the moment his eyes lit up, he formulated a plan that will neutralize several problems in one move.
Which brings her back to what her mind is currently on. Doing something she rarely does. Reevaluating her original thoughts on the hero.
She was wrong about him.
(X)
Peter watches the liquid in the flask carefully. Making sure the chelating agent bonds with the competing metal ion so it doesn't just re-latch onto the gadolinium once it's freed. Little tricky, honestly. Too much heat too fast and the whole batch cooks unevenly, leaving pockets of contaminated solution that won't be pure enough to do the job. He's done delicate work before—rewiring web shooters mid-swing, patching together makeshift antidotes in the middle of a fight—but this feels different. This feels like something he can actually control.
He likes that feeling. He's been needing that recently.
"With the level of intelligence and problem-solving you are displaying, it's a real wonder why you have any problems whatsoever."
Laura's remark from her spot causes the brilliant hero to pause momentarily. Getting what she is saying, or rather not saying, a soft sigh escapes him as his shoulders drop. "Yeah, well, science has always come easy for me." The lively enthusiasm he had just shown vanishes almost entirely. "Variables in chemistry, math, and engineering are things I can measure and predict."
Even though he isn't looking at her, thanks to his enhanced senses, he can tell Laura tilts her head curiously. "But not the variables with your problems?"
"No." He responds before he corrects himself. "I mean yes but-" He cuts himself off, an audible exhale muffled by his hands as he props his head on them, elbows braced on the gleaming lab bench.
"Is it because your problems affect you emotionally?" Laura inquires.
Peter opens his mouth to respond but closes it when he really thinks about Laura's words. He'd like to say it's more complicated, but that would be a lie for the most part. Everything that is going on is taking its toll on him. Gwen, his attempt at expanding his polyamorous relationship, listening to his Uncle's sage words, and everything else are problems he is having trouble solving because it feels like it's all piling up at once. His emotions are high. He's struggling to get it together and figure it all out.
Well, that's not true. He is struggling with what to prioritize. He knows his duties as Spider-Man and Avenger team leader come first, but he also knows that he can't only prioritize those. He has to make time for Peter Parker stuff. Work, love, and family need as much attention.
"How did you solve your financial crises?"
Laura's question brings him out of his turmoil and he looks at her in confusion, while Elektra is looking at her with a raised brow. "My what?"
"Your financial crisis." She reiterates without even blinking. "From what I was told by the children, their parents, and their uncles, you have struggled for years to gain financial stability. How did you solve it?"
Wondering where she is going with this, Peter indulges by answering her. "This job." He gestures to his lab around him. "Marla Jameson got me an interview with Max Modell. And I impressed him when I saved his and this place's bacon in a small crisis."
Laura nods and moves on. "And your current standing in both the hero community and the general public? You have been negatively viewed by other heroes in a bad light, hardly even respected by anyone who does not know you, and the general public have always viewed you as a menace."
Boy this girl does not hold back. "The menace thing was mostly Jameson's fault." His tone flat as he glares to the side at the thought of his old boss now benefactor. "The man made it his life mission to make me the bad guy in everyone's eyes. Though now that he knows it's Peter Parker under the mask, someone he knew since I was a kid, he changed his tune. It's similar with the hero community. More know who I am because I'm trying to be more trusting."
'Course he's still careful. He wouldn't tell someone like Red Hulk, who he barely knows and is sure doesn't like him.
"And finally, what about your romantic endeavors? Based on what Johnny Storm has told me, you had a habit of, in his words, landing total babes and baddies, but could not keep them long."
"Did he seriously say baddies?"
"He did." Laura nods. "Back to my point. You are now in a committed and expandable polyamorous relationship with three baddies."
"Please don't call them that."
"Which consists of a supermodel, a thief, and a warrior spirit from a bygone era, who are okay with you expanding said relationship to include those like a former KGB spy and a mercenary."
Elektra decides to chime in here. "I have dealt with undead ninjas and being abducted and replaced by aliens, and yet that is the strangest occurrence I've ever heard."
Elektra's comment aside, Peter focuses on Laura's question. "Well, I can honestly say that my current relationship works because I let the girls take the reins for the most part."
Out of everything that has been going on, his romantic life is by far both the most stressful and yet the best thing going on. It should go without saying why.
Laura stares at him expectedly. Like she is waiting for him to say something. Though he has no idea what. Bringing up problems that have plagued him for years don't tell him what to do now.
"The solution to your current problems is rather obvious." She says at last. "Don't do it alone."
Peter pauses. "Say what?"
"You did not solve those problems alone." Laura counts them off on her fingers. "You impressed your boss with your intelligence and skills, Marla Jameson made the introductions possible. Mayor Jameson changed his mind about you being a menace when you revealed to be the man he has watched grow since you were an angry young boy. Your standing in the hero community is better than it ever has been because you've decided to stop keeping so many at arms length and trust them with you greatest secret. And your polyamorous relationship required Mary Jane, Felicia, and Sonja to agree to it and help establish it."
Peter looks down at his hands.
Laura continues, "The common variable is not your intelligence. It is that you allowed other people to become involved."
He wants to argue. Really, really wants to argue. There should be a flaw somewhere. A missed variable, a bad data point, a hidden complication she doesn't understand because she wasn't there. His financial problems didn't simply vanish because Marla helped him get an interview. He had to impress Max and constantly avoid getting fired for repeatedly disappearing from, or hardly appearing for, work. His standing with the hero community is still uneven at best and on a knifes edge at worst. He feels like if he screws up with this team or something, he'll be back to being tolerated by most heroes. His relationship is held together by affection, patience, and a frankly alarming tolerance for weirdness. Sonja is an exception to the last two.
But the pattern is there.
He glances to the part of the table where his gloves sit beside his mask. The mask that has always felt like a barrier or wall. The people he loves stay safer because no one can connect them to Spider-Man— but the same wall that keeps them out of danger has a way of keeping them out of everything else too. Even stuff that is just Peter Parker and not Spider-Man.
He looks towards Laura with one question on his mind. "What exactly brought on this therapy session from you? No offense, but I didn't think of you as the type to help people emotionally."
There is a subtle shift in her posture and a slight twitch on her face that he would have missed if he wasn't observing her as closely as he is now.
"It's for Franklin and Valeria." She reveals pretty quickly. "I moved into the Baxter Building to be a live-in caretaker to them. There are areas that I am good at. Such as handling situations that require careful judgment and de-escalation, but emotional support and understanding are different. I have been reading materials on the subject, focusing on ones that apply to children, but application is difficult without practice.
Peter blinks at her. "Wait, you're applying emotional development for children on me?"
Should he be offended by this? He feels like he should be.
Laura merely stares at him with the same blank expression she has had all night. But beside her, Elektra clearly seems to be struggling not to smile.
Peter narrows his eyes at the assassin. "Something funny?"
Elektra's mouth flattens back into that neutral line she wears like armor. "Nothing at all."
"Uh huh." He turns back to the flask, giving the flame another quarter-turn down. The liquid has gone from cloudy to something closer to clear, a faint shimmer riding the surface where the displaced chelate is settling out. Good. On schedule. "For the record, I'm a fully grown adult with a bachelor's degree and a mortgage-adjacent rental agreement."
"And the same mentality you had when you were seventeen, as evident with the younger you being here." Laura says.
"That's beside the point."
(Baxter Building)
Being incorporeal is not something Sonja enjoys. It's an odd sensation. She doesn't feel like she is standing, yet she is grounded. She cannot float through the air, but she doesn't feel the ground. After having spent roughly thirty minutes regaling Sue Storm with the tale of their date with Natasha and Silver, Sonja has the urge to sit but does not need to.
It's really an odd sensation.
Anyway, currently Sonja is listening to Felicia finish telling their tale while Mary Jane, who is looking particularly exhausted, is struggling to stay awake. Not out of boredom, obviously. But it has been a long day.
"…and after those awkward questions and we said our goodnights, Peter got the call, and we rushed over here." Felicia finishes.
Sue does not react the way Sonja expects. The blonde woman leans back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, and stares at the ceiling for a long moment, and then she laughs. "Boy, when I heard about what Peter was going to do tonight, I figured there was going to be some awkwardness and tension. But this is definitely unexpected."
Sonja nods. "We knew it was a long shot. But we did not expect Natasha to be the one to self-destruct."
Sue seems to mull over that for a moment. "Well, considering what she is getting into, you can't blame her. I mean, look at it from her perspective. You three have so much more history with each other that if she or anyone else were to join in, they'd be at the bottom of this thing."
Felicia can't resist the urge. "Not the worst position to be in." She says with a cheeky grin.
Sue gives a disapproving look, and MJ gives her a flat one.
Sonja huffs in amusement before she clarifies something. "It's not as if she doesn't have her own long and complicated history with Peter. Based on what he has told us, she has a better connection with him than Silver."
Mary Jane and Felicia nod in agreement, while Sue looks at the warrior curiously. "What are you talking about?"
Sonja glances at Mary Jane, who has her eyes closed and her head tipped against the back of the couch, the coffee cup listing dangerously in her lap. No help there. Felicia, meanwhile, is watching her with the expression of a woman who has decided this is not her story to tell and is quite happy about it.
Very well. Sonja has never had much patience for the modern habit of speaking around a thing rather than through it.
"There have been two occasions," Sonja begins, "where Peter and Romanoff's crossed in ways that were… more than professional. He told us of them before he asked her on the date. He believed we deserved to know before we agreed to anything."
Sue's brow draws down. "I'm going to need more than that."
Sonja nods and crosses her arms, though it does nothing for her other than give her more of a presence. "The first time was when the Black Widow was captured and tortured by Hydra. Apparently she had discovered their plans to assassinate Nick Fury. The torture was so intense that Natasha's mind fractured defensively to protect itself. She managed a desperate escape, but the trauma left her with severe amnesia. She completely forgot she was the Black Widow and developed a gentle, civilian persona named Nancy Rushman, a regular schoolteacher. It was during this vulnerable time that Spider-Man found and protected her."
"Sounds like something he would do." Sue's comment gets hums of agreement from the other women in the room. "So during that time they grew close?"
Sonja hums again, but in confirmation. "From what we were told, he and Natasha, or rather Nancy, spent some time together. Aiding her in discovering what had happened to her and regaining her memories. She was grateful and got to know the kind of man Peter is. Both in and out of his mask. Though she did not connect the two."
Sue looks astonished. "Wow. It's like those cheesy Spanish soap operas Ben and I watch."
The mental image of the toughest and meanest-looking member of the FF sitting on the couch watching Spanish soap operas makes Sonja and her host smile.
"So she obviously got her memories back. But I'm guessing it wasn't a fairy tale ending."
Sonja lets out a sigh. "Peter told us that Romanoff decided that those feelings belonged to Nancy, not to her. That they were a symptom of the torture rather than a development that occurred during their time together. Brief as it may have been."
Susan looks at the warrior spirit, observing her closely. "You don't believe that."
Impressed by the Invisible Woman's observation skills, Sonja doesn't deny it. "No," she says. "A mind that shatters does not invent things whole from nothing. It takes what is already there and gives it room to breathe. Nancy Rushman was not a stranger who fell in love him. She was Natasha Romanoff with the walls torn down."
Of course, Sonja is basing this on her experiences. In her previous life, she had close friends. But only a handful she trusted without a doubt, and even then she kept most at arm's length. In this life? Much of it was spent watching her host perform similar actions until Mary Jane met the one friend that broke through those walls. The young woman lying in a bed not far from where the supermodel is sitting.
Gwen Stacy is by far the most influential figure in Mary Jane's life. Both in life and most of all, in her death. As a result of that, Mary Jane brought her walls down and allowed herself to take off the mask she wore, exposing herself to the beauty of living life in such a manner. And by proxy, exposing Sonja as well. The ancient warrior's own walls were forcibly lowered. She was exposed to true unconditional love and the pain that came with it.
Sonja will not lie, at least not anymore, she wondered why Mary Jane continued to keep her walls down and allowed herself to be so vulnerable. But as time passed, she understood. To trust someone without any doubt and to be trusted. To lower your guard. There is so much she learned to do thanks to Mary Jane and Peter. And for that she is grateful. She is grateful to the woman who allowed her to be with a man like Peter Parker and that same man for loving her.
"Okay, that was one instance. What was the other?"
"The other is…" Sonja trails off because even this one was strange for her to hear. "Frankly, difficult to retell. Not because it is painful, but because it is difficult to understand. Are you familiar with the dark sorcerer, Baron Mordo?"
Sue nods. "Yeah. He hates Stephen Strange with a passion."
No surprise. If you don't know a villain, either you are new or they are. "Evidently the man had gotten his hands on a power that no mortal being should possess. The Word of God."
Sue's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "The Word of God?"
"That's right." Felicia confirms, her tone lighthearted but tired. "And before you ask, it is not the same as the bible the nuns hit Red here with when she misbehaved in Catholic School."
MJ rolls her head enough to give the thief a dull look. "Really?"
Felicia gives a cheeky smile and shrugs as Sonja continues. "As I was saying, the Word of God is an artifact that is capable of, quite literally, rewriting reality. One merely needs to open the book, scribble whatever they desire and it becomes reality. Mordo rewrote reality and made himself Sorcerer Supreme and made Hobgoblin his acolyte."
"Which explains how Peter got involved." Sue surmises.
Sonja nods in confirmation. "Yes, but that wasn't all. Mordo also created the Red Cat. A sort of amalgamation of Romanoff and Felicia. Where it was physically Romanoff but it was her psyche combined with Felicia."
"Which explains why it ended the way it did." Hardy interrupts with a guilty look.
Sue's brow furrows further, and she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees. "What do you mean?"
Felicia looks down at her cup, her face blank, but Sonja can see subtle signs of guilt and shame.
"Red Cat betrayed him," Sonja says. "And Strange. She delivered them both into their enemies' hands, and they were trapped in the dream realm as a result."
Though Susan is shocked, she gets even more so when Felicia adds. "And that was after he spent a year with her in that magic school learning magic from Strange."
To say Susan is shocked is an understatement. But that is nothing to what Felicia looked like when Peter first told his girlfriends. Especially after what he said next.
"Does he know why she did that?" Susan asks.
Sonja tilts her head side to side. "He had a theory. And it was a very plausible one. Hobgoblin intentionally let him keep his memories during that incident. Memories of his relationship with Felicia at the time. And though this was some time after the Nancy Rushman incident, it is Peter we are talking about. So, Hobgoblin combined the worst traits of both Romanoff and Felicia into one person, the Red Cat, and wanted him to trust her—to fall for her—so that when the betrayal came, it would gut him very deeply."
Sue is just stunned by this. "That is messed up."
"Tell me about it." Felicia's eyes have yet to lift up from her mug. Her sights likely fixed on her reflection, Sonja surmises. "Knowing that a part of me would betray the man I love… Makes me wonder what the price was. And if I'd do it here."
"You wouldn't/You wouldn't." Both MJ and Sonja immediately state with real conviction.
Felicia glances up at the two and her lips turn upwards. Clearly appreciating the faith they have in her. More faith than she has in herself.
Sonja turns her attention back to the matriarch of the FF family, and said woman is still processing all this new information. "I have to admit, Peter asking Natasha out makes more sense now."
"And why she self-sabotaged." Sonja states. "She does not do complicated or ambiguous. When the world offers her a clear target, she can evaluate the task, decide if it is feasible, and execute it without unnecessary noise or introspection. But tonight that was not the case. She had certain expectations I'm sure, but whatever they were, they did not happen."
"Well, I'm sure you all had expectations." Sue defends.
Felicia nods. "True. I expected them to be cool with another date if this one went great. Maybe someone one-on-one time with me, and two-on-one with these two."
As did Sonja and her host. They did not expect much, but certainly more than what they got. After all, why say yes to considering joining this thing of theirs without being prepared to lay everything out?
A thought goes through Mary Jane's mind. "Then again, at the end of the date, Silver didn't say no."
"What did she say?" Sue asks.
Sonja is the one who answers. "Her exact words were, 'Perhaps another time. Under different circumstances.'"
Sonja wonders what the mercenary meant by that. If Peter were single? She doubts that. The woman said yes to a date knowing his circumstances. Maybe she meant when they figured it all out? But then wouldn't it be better if she were involved as that occurs? It would allow her to form a stronger bond with them.
"What do you suppose she means by that?" Sue asks them.
All three shrug as MJ responds. "No clue."
"Whatever the case, Sable does seem to be more willing to give this a try than Romanoff." Felicia voices as she sips more of her coffee. "Which is kind of baffling considering Romanoff has more history with Spider than Sable."
MJ nods in agreement. "Sable's relationship with Peter has always been straightforward. Professional and respectful."
"Until recently." Felicia states, recalling the passionate kiss Silver gave Spider-Man. And with her jealousy gone now, since she got her man, Hardy can see that the kiss did indeed start off as a gesture of gratitude. But it got more passionate and intense as the seconds passed.
She can't blame Sable. Spider is one hell of a good kisser.
Sue leans back in her seat as she takes all this in. "Well, I have to say, your situation has been the most interesting piece of gossip to go around the hero community since the Illuminati."
Felicia glances at MJ and sees the supermodel glance back before they both look away and sip their respective coffees. Neither say anything about the topic because they know it's a bit touchy. Hardy remembers how pissed Peter was at Reed and Tony for the role they played in the Hulk coming back and picking a fight with the whole world. Hell, it was because of them that the Skrull invasion happened, Norman was able to rise in power, Kingpin was able to rebuild his criminal empire better than ever, and made putting either one away next to impossible if any hero had a hand in it.
The fallout with the secret organization that dictated how the world ran was massive. What made it worse was that it was run by the most respected and loved people in the hero community, sans Captain America.
Actually, the worst part was that no Illuminati member got arrested or anything. Sure their lives fell apart for a time, but they got it all back.
"So," Sue gets both of their attention. "I have a question, and I hope I'm not crossing a line here, but it's one that I feel like I need to ask."
Sonja has a good guess as to what that is but is beaten to voicing it.
"Why are we okay with bringing more women into this?" MJ asks for the blonde mom.
Sue nods in confirmation. "From what I heard, it sounds like you're more than okay with it. You've been encouraging it and pushing him to do it."
That is true. They did encourage him to ask Natasha and Silver on a date with them.
MJ looks to be in deep thought. "I guess it started with Sonja. I'm sure you've heard that she's been inside me, watching me live my life without me ever knowing she was there."
Sue nods, confirming she has heard about that. From who, Felicia can only ask.
"And as a result of that, she fell in love with Peter too." MJ continues. "It's hard not to fall for a guy like that when you're literally living inside the skin of the woman who loves him."
"That isn't to say I confused her feelings with my own." Sonja clarifies. "I, quite literally, saw him through her eyes. Witnessed his nobility, will, determination, passion, and heroism. Traits that I certainly desired in any partner."
Both Sue and Felicia nod in understanding.
"Then that whole thing at the Avengers Mansion happened." MJ says, her eyes on sonja as if she were a puzzle to figure out. "We're still not sure why, but Sonja was finally able to show herself." She shakes her head. "But anyway, before and after the fighting, and a little bit during, I was able to ask her how this works."
Sonja nods and picks up here again. "Through the blessing of the Red Goddess, Scáthach, I was gifted with great strength and the ability to master any weapon. In doing so, I also had to make a vow that I cannot lay with a man that does not defeat me in fair combat. A vow that I am certain is still applicable even now and even through Mary Jane."
Sue blinks in shock. "Wait. You're saying that if MJ had gone on to have sex with Peter, without you fighting him first, you could have…"
Both redheads nod, answering the unasked question. Felicia looks at Sue. "Messed up, right?"
The mother of two can only nod.
MJ turns the mug in her hands. "She was okay with me being with Peter, even if that meant she would be imprisoned for who knows how long or even die. But I wasn't. How can I be okay with killing a woman who loves the same man that I do, just so I can be with him? How would I be able to live with that?"
She wouldn't be. Sonja knows this. She knows, even with her permission, Mary Jane would wallow in guilt over the warrior's death if worse came to worse.
"Technically, Sonja is already dead." Felicia points out.
Mary Jane is unamused. "You know what I mean."
Felicia just gives the redhead a cheeky grin.
"But that still doesn't explain why you're okay with expanding your relationship."
Sonja can hear her host's thoughts. Every single explanation and reason they told themselves why they are okay with this predicament. Then she feels MJ's mind going back to the Isle of Gaea when they were in that lovely tree house, having discussions on what they wanted out of this.
"Because we want him to be happy, and he wants us to be happy too." Mary Jane states. "Loving Peter is both the hardest and easiest thing for us to do. It's hard because of all the weight that comes with him carrying the world on his shoulders, and we have to be there to support him. But it's easy, because he makes it easy. He gives everything he has to everyone. Strangers, villains, people who spit on him. And somehow, he still has enough left over for us."
"But we're not the only ones who love him." Felicia interjects, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. "We see the way these other women look at him. Natasha, Silver, to name a few. They've got that same hopelessly love-struck, slightly terrified look we do. They've built up these massive walls just to survive their messed-up lives, and Spider is the one guy who they want to let through, but don't think that they can do so with his current situation. We know exactly how lonely it is to love him from the outside. Why should we lock the door behind us and leave them out in the cold, especially when we know Peter has enough room in that massive, guilt-ridden heart for them too?"
"The fact is, there is no simple answer." Sonja voices. "We've all loved the same man for years. Whether we admitted it," She gives a pointed look at the two women, "Or even knew in my case. And we, for some reason or another, decided to share that love. With the belief that life would be easier and more abundant as a result."
Sue seems to think about this, her gaze moving from MJ to Felicia to the spectral warrior. "You think Natasha and Silver would actually make your lives easier?"
All three shake their heads. "Not at all/No/Not even a little."
Sue huffs in amusement. And Sonja can understand why. It is ridiculous that the four of them are willing to bring more drama by inviting the likes of Silver Sable and Natasha Romanoff to their dynamic. But as Felicia stated, why should they deny them the chance to explore this possibility. Or any other that wishes to be involved. Though if Sonja were being honest, she isn't too keen on including so many. If only because at some point, it would be too ridiculous.
But she doubts many would find Peter, or any of them, to be so irresistible that they would be open to this. Right?
(Pier)
The fog rolling off the Hudson is a gift. Peter isn't sure who to thank for it, but he'll take it.
Peter crouches on the roof of a rusted maintenance shed at the edge of the pier. The mist beads cold on his lenses and turns every floodlight into a smeared halo. It won't blind thermal scopes. Nothing short of a brick wall does that. But it softens edges, blurs silhouettes, and makes tired eyes behind those scopes work a little harder. He'll take it.
Beside him, Elektra is a shadow with a red stripe through it. On his other side, Laura is so still he has to remind himself she's breathing. He'd like to say Kraven can learn a thing or two from this girl, but maybe that's exaggerating.
He turns his attention back to the assembled men and watches the sniper on the nearest catwalk sweep his thermal scope across the yard in slow, patient arcs.
Patient. That's the word that keeps bugging him about these guys. Fisk's usual muscle would be complaining about the damp by now. This one hasn't so much as rolled his shoulders in twenty minutes.
"The patrol pairs rotate every four minutes," Elektra murmurs, barely louder than the water slapping the pilings below. "The sniper on the crane sweeps east to west. He pauses on the eastern stack for six seconds, perhaps seven. He is bored of it."
"You got all that from watching for twenty minutes?"
"Fifteen."
Of course. Peter closes his eyes and lets his spider sense stretch out, not the frantic, everything-at-once buzz he's used to, but the narrower thing he's been fumbling toward since the island. He thinks of it the way Elektra described it to him under those strange trees on Gaea's island: not a net thrown over the world, but a hand reaching into it. Pick one thing. Hold it.
He picks the crane.
The sniper up there is a blot of warmth and irritation. Peter can feel the slow swing of the man's attention the way he'd feel a flashlight beam passing over his skin. East. Stop. The man shifts his weight. West.
"Now," Peter whispers.
They go.
Elektra drops off the shed without a sound, and he doesn't hear her land. Laura follows, and he hears her only because his senses are dialed in so hard that he catches the faint scuff of her boots on wet concrete. He fires a line to the lip of the nearest container stack and swings low, keeping his body below the top row so the steel stays between him and the scopes. He lets go early and sticks to the corrugated side of a container three rows in, fingers and toes flat against metal so cold it bites through his suit.
Below him, two guards walk past. They aren't talking, which is still weird. Fisk's usual hires would be complaining about the fog, the overtime, somebody's cousin's fantasy football league. These two move in step, rifles held low and ready, heads turning in overlapping arcs.
Professionals. Every instinct he has says this would be so much easier if he could just web them to the ground and move on.
But thirty unconscious mercenaries is a message. So is one. Fisk would know by breakfast that someone had been here, and the buyers would know by lunch. The whole point is that nobody ever knows.
The guards turn the corner. Peter drops.
Elektra is already waiting at the first container, the one that burns hottest against his senses. It sits wedged in the middle of a row, painted the faded blue of a legitimate shipping company that probably has no idea its logo is out here tonight. The doors are sealed with a heavy padlock and a customs seal. The seal is fake, he's almost positive, and the lock is very, very real.
Elektra kneels in front of it and produces two thin strips of metal from somewhere in her sash. Peter doesn't ask where.
Laura takes up a position at the end of the row, her back to the steel, head tilted slightly. Her nostrils flare once. She's listening with more than her ears. He finds it comforting in a strange way to have somebody on this mission whose senses are almost as annoying as his.
"How long?" he breathes.
Elektra doesn't look up. "Less, if you stop asking."
Sheesh, it was just a question.
He watches her work, because there's nothing else to do and because it's genuinely something to see. Her fingers barely move. There's a tension wrench in the bottom of the keyway and a pick riding the pins, and her eyes are half-closed like she's listening to music only she can hear. He's picked locks before, mostly with webbing and brute force and a lot of apologizing afterward. This is different. This is patient.
His spider sense prickles at the base of his skull. Not danger yet. Just attention swinging their way.
"Crane," he whispers.
Elektra goes still. Laura goes stiller, if that's possible. He flattens himself into the gap between two containers and counts. The sniper's awareness slides over the row like a cold draft. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
It moves on.
A soft click follows, the most beautiful sound Peter has heard all night. Elektra slips the padlock free without letting it knock against the door and eases the locking bar up by millimeters. The hinges are rusted. Peter can already hear the shriek they're going to make.
He reaches past her and puts two fingers on the top hinge, then two on the bottom, and shoots the tiniest spurt of web fluid he can manage into each joint. It isn't oil, but the polymer is slick before it sets, and he only needs it for a few seconds. Elektra glances at him, and he thinks something might cross her face, but it's gone before he can tell what it was. She pulls. The door swings open with nothing louder than a sigh.
"Two minutes before the next pair," Elektra says. "Perhaps less."
"Then I'll be quick."
He slips inside, and she eases the door nearly closed behind him, leaving a gap the width of a hand. Darkness swallows him. His lenses adjust, and the shape in the middle of the container resolves.
It's smaller than he expected. That's always the worst part. The device isn't some cartoon bomb with a big red button. It's a matte gray cylinder a little longer than a golf bag, bolted into a shock-absorbing cradle and surrounded by crates of packing foam. Stenciled on the side are words in a language he doesn't read and serial numbers that have been ground off. The hum against his spider sense is so strong it almost has a taste, metallic and wrong, like biting down on foil.
His hands want to shake. He doesn't let them.
He pulls a small driver from his belt and gets to work on the access panel. The screws are tamper-resistant, a clever little star pattern with a pin in the center. He built a bit for exactly this shape an hour ago after guessing at the manufacturer's likely design. He guessed right, and the first screw turns. Then the second. He sets each one in the tray of his case in order, because he is absolutely not going to be the guy who reassembles a nuclear weapon and has a leftover screw.
The panel comes away. Beneath it sits the physics package: the high explosive lenses wrapped around the tamper, the tamper wrapped around the pit. Running into the heart of it is a thin steel line with a sealed valve at the end.
There it is.
A boost line. Designs like this pump a gas mixture into the hollow center of the core right before detonation to squeeze more fission out of less material. Somebody engineered a way into the very center of the thing so it would burn hotter.
Peter is going to use that same door to make sure it never burns at all.
He uncaps the first syringe. The solution inside is clear as water, and he knows better than anyone how much it doesn't look like it could matter. He fits the needle to the valve's service port, feels the gasket seat around it, and begins to press the plunger down slowly. Too fast and the pressure could trip a sensor he hasn't found. Too slow and he runs out of time.
Slowly. Steadily. Just like the flask. Just like anything he can actually control.
His spider sense spikes.
Footsteps sound outside, closer than they should be. The patrol is early, or it's a different patrol, or someone decided to take the long way. He hears two sets of boots on concrete, and then one of them stops.
It stops right outside the container door.
Peter freezes with his thumb on the plunger and a third of the dose still in the barrel. He can hear the man breathing. He can hear the soft creak of a rifle sling. Through the gap in the door, a flashlight beam slides across the far wall of the container and paints a pale stripe on the foam crates.
Where are Elektra and Laura? He doesn't know. He can't feel them at all, which either means they're very good at hiding or they're somewhere he really doesn't want to think about. He hopes it's the first one. He hopes neither of them is about to put claws or sai into somebody.
The beam drifts toward the device.
His elbow is braced against a packing crate. His muscles have locked so tight that when he shifts a fraction to keep the needle steady, the crate scrapes against the container floor, a dry little rasp that sounds to his ears like a car alarm.
The flashlight snaps toward the sound.
"You hear that?" the guard mutters.
Peter doesn't breathe. He doesn't move. He runs through options in a fraction of a second. He can web the man, yank him inside, and knock him out. Then what? A missing guard. An alarm. A fight on a pier surrounded by twelve nuclear bombs.
Something small and gray streaks across the floor between his feet.
It's a rat, a fat, wet dock rat that must have been hiding in the foam. It darts through the gap in the door and straight across the guard's boots. The man jerks back with a startled noise that he's probably going to be embarrassed about for the rest of his life.
"Rats," his partner says flatly from a few feet away. "Place is crawling with them."
"This door should be shut."
Peter's heart stops. Again.
"It's shut. It's the fog. It swells everything." The partner's voice is already moving on. "Come on, we're behind."
A long, awful pause follows.
Then the flashlight beam swings away, and the boots move off, and Peter lets out a breath so slow and quiet it hurts. He silently promises that rat a lifetime supply of cheese. He will never make fun of Jeff for being scared of things ever again. Well, maybe once more.
He finishes the plunger. The last of the solution slides into the valve, down the line, into the hollow at the center of the pit. He pictures it spreading across the inner surface, a thin film of an element with an absurd appetite for neutrons, waiting.
Needle out. Cap back on. The spent syringe goes into its slot. The panel goes back on, screws in order, one, two, three, four. He runs a gloved finger along the seam to make sure it sits exactly the way it did. He checks the foam and nudges the crate back a quarter inch to where it was before he bumped it.
He slips out. Elektra is somehow already at the door, and Laura is somehow already at the end of the row, and he has no idea where either of them went during all that. Elektra eases the door shut, sets the bar, and closes the padlock with a click muffled against her palm. She presses the fake customs seal back into place, smoothing it with her thumb.
"You made a noise," Laura says, very quietly.
"I'm aware."
"The rat was fortunate."
"I'm very aware."
Elektra looks at him. For a second he braces for a lecture, something about focus, about the difference between a professional and a man who scrapes crates in the middle of a nuclear sabotage. It doesn't come. She just tips her head toward the next row.
"Eleven more," she says.
He feels relief at not being lectured. "Eleven more," he agrees.
For the next two hours, the three of them repeat this pattern of undetected sabotage to the best of their ability. There were quite a few close calls, and yes it's mostly because of Spider-Man as the two ladies seem keen to point out, but by the time the sun crescents over the horizon, the job was done. And at the nick of time too. The bombs are all being loaded on to semis to be delivered to the buyers, and the three are all watching this from the same rooftop they started the night on.
Spider-Man lets out a breath of relief. "Man, I'm glad that's over with."
Elektra keeps her eyes locked on the activity below as she nods in agreement. "Yes. With what we accomplished, Fisk's reputation will take a major blow, affecting all his future dealings."
That is music to the Webheads ears. As much as he needed to vent by punching a few bad guys tonight, he'll take hurting Kingpin's business as a consolation.
And with that train of thought, he's right back where he was hours prior. Gwen is alive, and is likely waiting for him to come and talk with her. Or more accurately, yell and curse at him for keeping her in the dark about his double life and his part in her death. He'd like to think that MJ may calm her down or vouch for him, but even with MJ going first, Gwen very likely has some stuff she needs to get off her chest.
"Your mind is back at the building again, isn't it?"
Laura's question brings him back, and he looks at the young mutant and can't help the quip that escapes him. "You know, for a girl who struggles with understanding emotion, you're pretty good at picking up on how I'm feeling even through the mask."
A single blink is all he gets from her before he lets out a sigh. He sits down on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side, and rubs the back of his neck through the suit. It doesn't help. It never helps, but his hand does it anyway. "Yeah," he admits. "I'm thinking about her."
Elektra and Laura wait patiently for Spider-Man to say something. They don't wait long as the man takes a breath.
"Everyone she knew, everyone that she cared about and cared about her, had moved on." He tells the two deadly women. His face racked with guilt, "They all built lives without her."
"Like you did." Laura states.
Spider-Man grimaces. "Yeah."
He moved on. He lived his life after Gwen's death. As hard as it was, it was what he needed to do. It's what you're supposed to do.
"I told myself that she wouldn't want me to wallow in misery. She'd want me to live my life the best way I can." He lets out a bitter laugh. "It's the typical stuff you hear from everyone when they lose someone they love. Except in my case, she came back to life."
"Do you think she'd resent you for living your life?" Elektra's questions.
Spidey shakes his head and lowers it. "Maybe not living my life, but certainly hiding a huge part of it from her." He responds, his voice soft and broken. "In the end, she still hated Spider-Man because she believed he killed her father. And at the very end, she found out who I was. She died hating me."
That is the clincher he keeps coming back to. It's what is holding him back from going back to that building. He can handle villains and gunmen trying to kill him, and his fellow heroes disliking or even outright hating him. But the thought of Gwen hating him…
"I am directly responsible for many deaths, Spider-Man," Elektra states. "I've killed many who deserved to die, and many who did not. I make no apologies for it. Many look at me and see a cold-blooded killer." She turns her attention back to the hero. "You are not like that. You risk your well-being to aid those who need it. In whatever manner you can."
The hero looks at her curiously. "Your point?"
"She must look past the propaganda she has been fed and see the man she knows." Elektra simplifies.
Beside her, Laura nods in agreement. "If she is as good a person as you say, then she will not be upset with you in living your life after her demise and will allow you to explain everything you need to explain in regard to her father's death."
Both make good points. Unfortunately, those good points are overshadowed by one simple fact. Spider-Man sighs, "Everything you two are saying is making sense. Logically. But this isn't just a logical problem. It's emotional."
Elektra takes a moment before she says, "The best advice I can give you is to brace yourself. She will unleash everything that is bottled inside of her. And all you can do is take it."
He knows that. He knew that the moment she crawled out of the grave. Of course at that time, he thought the worst was going to be explaining how and why she's back.
"I don't know what she needs from me," he admits.
"Then ask her." Laura's expression barely changes.
"And if she says she needs me to leave?"
"Then leave."
The answer comes without hesitation. Simple. Brutal.
His hands tighten. "And if she hates me?"
Laura takes longer to answer this time.
"I do not know," she says. "But avoiding her will not make her hate you less."
No. It probably won't.
(Baxter Building)
Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy, daughter to deceased Captain George Stacy, sits on a bed hugging her knees, her vacant eyes staring down at her bare toes. Her blonde hair, once vibrant and bouncy, now hangs limply around her face, casting a shadow over her eyes. The hospital gown feels paper thin against her skin. The sterile smell and rhythmic beeping noises of machines she doesn't recognize, were all reminders of how out of place she is.
Once, she was known as a brilliant girl with a bright future. That was what she heard from everyone around her always saying about her. Her teachers admired her brilliant mind, her friends loved her effortless grace and beauty, and her family were proud of the kind and gentle nature she displayed. They all saw her as this amazing woman who was gonna take on the world and conquer it. She was valedictorian, science major, debate champion, and proud daughter to the most distinguished police captain the city has ever had. She had everything anyone needed to succeed and change the world.
But life has a cruel unapologetic way of mucking things up.
She died. She was thrown off a bridge and was killed. She doesn't know exactly how, she was only semiconscious, but she remembers the cackle of the Green Goblin, the wind rushing, a tug on her stomach, and then nothing. Then there was a light, so bright but not blinding. Then her mom and dads voice. It is hazy to recall now, but she remembers joy in their voices but also pain. As if they were sad to see her. As for the everything around her, it was all so warm, peaceful, like a dream you don't want to wake up from. But as she thinks about it, it also feels like a blurry dream. The kind of dream you know you had but can't remember it. And it ended abruptly, like the sensation of falling. Next thing, she was in a dark place, coughing and confused.
She pulls her knees tighter to her chest. She was in a coffin, buried six feet underground. At first she was panicking, confused as to what was going on. She was in complete darkness, couldn't see her own hands, and she was hyperventilating. Fortunately, she was quick to realize that her panicking was going to do her no good. If anything, it was going to be detrimental, since she'd be using up her limited air. So, she banged on her coffin until it gave out and she crawled and clawed her way out from her grave. Her mouth and nose filled with dirt, her fingers hurt like hell, and dirt dug deep into her fingernails, but she kept going until she reached the surface.
Once above, the first thing she saw was Spider-Man. Peter. But not her college boyfriend she felt like she saw that same day. She saw Peter, who looked beaten and battered with his costume torn and blood on his person, and she saw how much older he looked. She passed out after that and she had been dreaming since.
Her dreams consisted of so much light. Of so many voices and blurry faces. Try as she might though, she cannot get a clearer image in her head. But it's not like recalling a memory, it's more like trying to process a complex equation. Which makes no sense. How can she not understand memories she has of people? Maybe it's a byproduct of her… resurrection.
She clenches her eyes shut. Seven years. Mary Jane said it's been a little over seven years since she had died. Her mind wants to say it's not true but looking at her best friend, who looks amazing but still noticeably older, confirms it. That and the unfamiliar technology she sees around her. She saw Sue Storm, or rather Richards now, using some kind of pad to show her entire bio scan.
She understood most of what the woman said, how she was in a coma due to her mind rebooting from her resurrection. But some stuff she did not understand. How was she alive again? She thinks about it, and she gets the sensation of… falling? Except very different from what she experienced on the bridge. It felt more like she was being pulled down.
A wave of exhaustion hits her but she forces herself awake. She doesn't want to sleep. She knows she'll have to sleep eventually, her body will need it, but not right now. Not when she needs to do something. Have a conversation that is long overdue with someone.
Peter.
She has thought long and hard about what to do in regards to Peter. And one thing comes to mind as the best course of action. An experience she went through before she met her college boyfriend. One she went through with her high school boyfriend, Darius LeClerc.
But even with that, she doesn't know if she can follow through with it.
The doors hiss open and she opens her eyes to look at Jonny Storm entering with a trey of food. More evidence that a long time has indeed passed because Johnny Storm looks a lot older than the last time she saw him.
Though he does have that same easy going smile she's seen him put on. "Johnny Storm. We met earlier when you woke up screaming."
"I know." Gwen says in a dead tone, not looking at the celebrity hero she remembers anymore. "You were on the floor."
Johnny clears his throat. "You-uh, might be misremembering that." He says with a slight blush of embarrassment. He then places the food on the bed table and slides it to her, "Anyway, here's your food."
"Thanks." She says as a reflex.
"Don't thank me yet. According to my sister and Reed, this stuff is supposed to be good for your health, but I tried it and… yuck."
He's trying to lighten the mood. And while she appreciates the attempt, she can't find herself mustering even a small smile.
The room goes silent save for the air conditioner and the monitors beeping. She suspects he is going to hit on her. Last she remembers, the guy was a hound dog. Chasing pretty girls wherever he went.
"You know," he starts. "Believe it or not, there are some people who can understand what you're going through. Coming back to life I mean. Myself included."
Gwen finally looks at the celebrity hero with a raised brow, "You?" She questions.
He no longer has the same easy going smile he walked in with. He now has a melancholic look that tells her he means what he is about to say. "I was trapped in this place called the Negative Zone by this bug called Annihilus. Long story short, he held me captive for months, close to a year, killed me and brought me back to life more times than I cared to count."
Gwen looks horrified by this, "Oh god." She quietly says in shock. "Didn't your family try and rescue you?"
"They didn't know." He tells her, "They thought I died saving them and didn't know Annihilus could do what he did, so…."
Gwen looks at him with pity and says, "I'm so sorry."
He waves it off, "Eh, it no big deal. When I came back, I came back as a total badass. I stopped an alien invasion and made Annihilus my bitch. Literally. Had him on a collar and on his knees."
Having no idea who Annihilus is, Gwen will have to take the Human Torch on his word.
"Anyway, time moves differently in the Negative Zone, so while two years passed there, back here it was only a few months. But even a few months is long enough for the world to decide you're gone," Johnny says. He drops into the chair beside her bed, the same one she half-remembers him tumbling out of, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "I came back expecting a parade. Balloons, maybe. Ben crying into a handkerchief. What I got instead was Sue hugging me so hard she nearly cracked a rib, and then about five minutes later, somebody handing me a new uniform."
Gwen looks at him. His hands hang loose between his knees, fingers laced, thumbs rubbing against each other in slow circles.
"A new uniform?"
"White and black. Very sleek. Very not me." He pulls a face. "Turns out while I was busy getting murdered on repeat, Reed decided the Fantastic Four needed a rebrand. We're the Future Foundation now. Think tank. Save the world through science, build a better tomorrow, the whole deal."
"The Fantastic Four isn't the Fantastic Four anymore?"
It shouldn't matter to her. She has bigger things to worry about than the name of a superhero team. But it does, somehow. The Fantastic Four were constant. They were on lunchboxes and cereal boxes and the front page of the Bugle every other week. Her father used to grumble about the property damage they left behind and then, in the same breath, admit that the city was lucky to have them. They were as permanent a fixture of New York as the Empire State Building.
She looks back down at her toes again, but her gaze is filled with concern. "It's only been seven years," she says quietly. "Seven. That isn't very long. Not really. People have careers longer than that. Mortgages longer than that." She tilts her head toward the machines lining the wall, the screens with no visible buttons, the thin glass panel Sue was carrying earlier like it was a clipboard. "But everything looks like it was pulled out of a science fiction movie. I don't recognize half of what's in this room. Mary Jane had a phone that didn't even have buttons on it. It was just a piece of glass." She rubs her thumb against the back of her other hand. Her skin feels strange. New, almost. "How does the world move that fast?"
Johnny nods. "Honestly, a lot of that's on Reed and Tony." He tips his head toward the door, as if his brother-in-law might be listening on the other side. "Between the two of them, they've been dragging the whole tech industry forward by the collar. Reed invents something that shouldn't be possible, Tony figures out how to sell it at a mall, and then five years later everybody's got one in their pocket. And the rest of it is just…" He waves a hand at the ceiling, the walls, the city beyond them. "Constant fighting. Invasions. Gods showing up. Every time something blows up, somebody builds something better so it doesn't blow up again. It adds up. Necessity, mother of invention, all that."
"Tony," Gwen repeats. "Tony Stark?" Last she remembers, the guy was a military tech industrialist. he made weapons for the army, not the common man.
"The one and only. Richest guy with the biggest mouth on the planet. Present company excluded." He leans back in the chair until it creaks. "Makes sense, right? It's a lot easier to build the future when you're flying around in the prototype every weekend. Being Iron Man kind of gives you a head start on field testing."
She stares at Johnny, and for a moment the room seems to tilt, the way it did when she first sat up and the blood rushed out of her head.
"I'm sorry," she says. "What?"
Johnny looks at her blankly. "What, what?"
"Tony Stark," she says slowly, "is Iron Man?"
"Yeah." He says it like she asked him whether water is wet. Then his expression shifts as the realization lands on him. "Oh. Oh, right. You didn't—he didn't come out with that until after you..." He trails off and gestures vaguely at her, at the bed, at the whole impossible situation.
"Tony Stark," Gwen repeats. She can't seem to stop saying the name. "The billionaire. The one who was on every magazine cover with a different model on his arm. He's Iron Man?"
It is so small, this piece of information, compared to everything else. Compared to being buried, and seven years, and Peter. But it lands on her with a strange, disproportionate weight, because it means that the people she thought she understood—the famous faces on the news, the fixed points in her world—were never what they appeared to be. Iron Man was Tony Stark. Spider-Man was Peter Parker. Everyone she knew was wearing a mask, and she was the only one who didn't know the rules.
Her laugh comes out thin and brittle. "Okay. Sure. Why not." She drops her hand into her lap. "What's next? Captain America is secretly the Hulk?"
She means it as a joke. She means it to sound absurd, to let a little air out of the pressure building behind her ribs.
Johnny doesn't laugh.
He doesn't say anything at all. He opens his mouth, closes it, and looks down at his hands. He scratches at a spot on his knuckle. The monitor beeps. The air conditioner hums. The silence stretches on long enough that Gwen feels her stomach sink.
"Is Captain America-?
"No." He shakes his head quickly, and Gwen feels some relief.
Before the Human Torch says anything more, the doors hiss open once again, and the man that Gwen has been waiting for is standing there. Wearing the colorful outfit she last saw him in, except now without the mask.
The moment she sees his face, she is right back where she was moments prior. A wave of conflicted emotions she can't figure out. There is love, anger, fear, sadness, joy, heartache, and so much more. She feels like crying, but from what, she cannot say. She just sees him, older than the last time she saw him. Which, to her, feels like yesterday.
Except it wasn't.
Johnny claps his hands, "Okay, I'll leave you two to it." He announces as he walks past Peter.
Gwen stares at Peter as the pyrokinetic leaves the room. She does not say a word as her old boyfriend does not look her in the eye.
The emotions that she is feeling right now cannot be put into words. But still, she will see this through.
She has to.