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When Spidey Met Oracle	By : littleblackduck Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 37996 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: The Spider-Man universe and characters are owned by Marvel. The Oracle universe and characters are owned by DC. I make no profit from this work. This is a sequel to "When Spidey Met Batgirl." I think you should read that first, but that might just be

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
CHAPTER TEN: So Much For the Afterglow
Susan Richards wasn't so modest that she'd never googled herself.
The Invisible Woman knew that people thought she was the most powerful member of the Fantastic Four. Hell, Doctor Doom had once said the same thing while possessing her body with his satanic powers.
Sue brushed all that off because she knew it didn't matter. The members of the Fantastic Four didn't care who was supposed be better than whom. Johnny and Ben's joshing had never been about who was the strongest. Those stupid pranks between the Human Torch and the Thing had always been jokes between brothers. Her family knew, bound by blood or not, when it came down to it they'd do everything possible to keep each other safe. So, if one of them had an ability, all of them did. Sue would protect them with her invisible fields just like Johnny would burn bullets out of the air or Ben would clobber whatever came at them and Reed would figure it out.
And despite all she had seen, despite all the times she'd saved all of reality and despite everything she could do, the Invisible Woman was still just Sue Richards, a mother of two married to a man she loved deeply. A man who was constantly distracted by the myriad thoughts in his head -- thoughts no man before him ever dared dream.
That was what would make things so much worse for a woman weaker than Susan: she couldn't even really be mad at Reed Richards for this neglect. Mr. Fantastic could never only belong to her. He had too much to offer the world.
Susan had known who Reed was before they got married. Hell, she'd known who he was before she joined him and his college roommate on that experimental spaceflight with her poor little brother in tow. What happened to them in the cosmos probably should have been the end of their story, but by some marvelous miracle, it was just the beginning…
None of that really mattered to Sue, either. Sure, it was the defining moment in her life, but if anything, the birth of the Fantastic Four had just been another obstacle between her and Reed and the life she imagined for them. Susan understood that Reed would never be the type of man who could put her first. She didn't need him to be. She didn't need a man to complete her, but she wanted one that would constantly challenge her. Sue was up for that and she'd blissfully found that with Reed. Susan knew that Mr. Fantastic was going to fix everything.
Everything.
Before he was done, Reed Richards was going to cure cancer, perfect the unified field theory and on some idle Tuesday probably get around to the common cold. And he was going to do all of this with the same gentle compassion that first drew her to him.
She'd always wanted to be with that kind of person -- not so she could try to relieve his stress or serve as superhero soccer-mom… She wanted to be there to push Reed when he needed to be pushed because Susan was just so goddamn mad that her brain wasn't wired like his. If she couldn't have the biggest brain in the world, she was determined to provide the mind that supported his. The one to bounce off his ideas. The one brave enough to tell the smartest man in the world when he was wrong.
The Invisible Woman was ready to handle all of that responsibility and what it entailed for her, her husband, and their children. Sue wasn't prepared, however, for Reed to suddenly drop all he was doing and carry her up three flights to their bedroom on his stretchy appendages for the type of carnal attention he usually reserved for anniversaries and Valentines Days...
She was pretty sure his feet were still two floors down when he entered her.
All of that certainly came out of nowhere, and after they had their decadent fun, she turned to the love of her life. "What's wrong?" she panted.
"I have no documented proof to confirm this," he said between bated breaths, "but by the limited evidence, I can only assume there's been some kind of pyscho-seismic event…"
"Let's get on that then," Sue said, rolling out of the bed.
"The world can wait," he told her.
She suddenly found rubbery arms wrapping around her sweat-soaked, naked torso and drawing her back toward him.
"Something's wrong, Reed," she said as he placed her over that impossibly long elastic dick. "You know that, right?"
"Most likely, sweetheart," he admitted, pushing into her cunt, "but we can't actually fix everything, can we?"
"Reeeeed," she moaned in response. He was inside her again, using his powers to stretch into that place within her… The place nobody but him could find…
*
People asked Spider-Man about his costume a lot. Why the red and blue? Why spandex? Why not something less goofy?
Fair questions all.
Peter Parker was acutely aware of just how ridiculous he looked in his suit. Uniquely aware. While so many of his peers could just put on their duds, do their thing and go home without ever noticing that their ass was hanging out the whole time, he had spent years pouring over thousands of photos of himself in action from every possible angle. You'd think that gave him the advantage of picking the shots where he looked his best to run in the Bugle, but that had rarely really been in his best interest. Not working for J. Jonah Jameson. He learned early on that the old skinflint would pay a little bit more for the pics where Spider-Man came off his worst. Peter was ashamed to admit it, but in the really lean days when he was desperate for cash, he sometimes went out of his way to look stupid in front of the camera.
He really had been just the shittiest photo-journalist.
As far as the costume itself, though, he got asked about the mask more than anything else. Why cover his whole head? He'd changed his Spidey-suit a few times, but he always tended to stick with the full head mask.
"It's not like you're completely hideous," Ms. Marvel had teased him just the other day. Carol Danvers was cool and knew his identity, so hanging out in her room had been one of the few chances for him to air out his face while he was staying with the Avengers. "Maybe everyone wouldn't hate you so much if they could see you had a face..."
"I can't do the domino mask thing," he explained. "All that spirit gum is bad for the complexion."
"Bullshit," she said, pointing to her own blemish-free face.
"Well, clearly not for you," he conceded, "but I have sensitive skin!"
Carol picked up the web-themed headpiece he'd left on her dresser.
"Well how about a cowl like Cap or Daredevil?" she asked, pulling it over her face. It was a terrible fit with all that silky blonde hair, but he couldn't say it wasn't working for her. Maybe he should try a sash with his tights. Not that he had her hips...
Okay. So Peter thought she was hot. Sue him.
"I just don't understand how you can stand being cooped up in this thing," she said, shaking her web-head. "It's not very comfortable."
"It's not supposed to be," he told her. "I don't want to be comfy when I'm Spider-Man. I want that bit of unease. It puts me in the right mindset. Keeps me on my toes."
Compartmentalization. It was the only way his life worked. Even when it didn't.
When he came to on the floor, despite the darkness, Peter realized fairly quickly he was wearing the mask. That was never good. Peter only ever woke up in his mask for one of two reasons and he was pretty sure he hadn't just spent the night with Felicia. That meant Spider-Man must have been knocked out and left for dead…
Again.
He found himself forced to rethink this assumption as he sat up to check himself for bodily harm. He wasn't bleeding to death, which was a delightful surprise, but there was a sticky mess on his stomach and the bottom half of his goofy, red and blue spandex tights were down around his ankles. All of this seemed to suggest that he and the Black Cat had, in fact, been up to shenanigans...
No, Felicia's in trouble, he remembered.
There was a buzz in his head and it wasn't spider-sense as much as a humming migraine. He twisted around and found the source: Osborn's stupid machine, running like gangbusters. The rest of it clicked. This whole day with Oracle: finding the communicator at Ashley Moon's apartment, fighting Doc Ock and his crew, and then coming across Os-bot building that thing… He had thought for a second that it had sent him back in time, but that had all been in his head. That's when he must have ejaculated. During that weird, hazy dream-thing with Barbara.
"I wish I could meet this woman just once without making a mess of my costume," Spider-Man muttered, pulling up his cum-spattered pants as he stood.
"Believe me, I know what you mean," said that incessant voice in his ear. Oracle was still distorted, but he knew the truth now. The long lost Dark Damsel was the witty redheaded vixen behind the voice-filtered curtain. "Are you okay?" she asked in that deep, Darth Vader bass that shouldn't seem sexy, but did.
"I'm swell," he replied, tucking his limp dick in his tights. "Actually, it's more like I'm flaccid."
"Good," she said. "Let's try to keep it that way. What's this anti-lust frequency supposed to be?"
He did a quick mental recheck of his math before rattling off the necessary quantum of hertz and requisite amplitude for the counter-vibration he'd told her about in their shared flashback.
"I'll have it up as soon as I can," Oracle sighed. Those deep electronic sighs had been creepy before, but he was really starting to… to like it. He felt this odd, lusty thrill.
"Sooner rather than later," Spider-Man groaned. "I'm starting to feel frisky again."
"I know they're probably squishy, but try to keep it in your pants, hero," Oracle said.
"Don't listen to her," a voice called out in the darkness.
Spider-Man turned, spotting Huntress. His eyes were finally adjusting to the dark, but what he saw didn't make any sense. She had been webbed to the wall and her costume was torn.
"Oh no," he said, rushing toward her. "What happened?" The last thing he remembered before that X-rated headtrip down memory lane was trying to disable the engine. Then it was fuzzy and weird and raw.
"Just a tease," she purred, the wanton desire in her voice triggering a nerve. Spider-Man's eyes drifted down to her bared breast, the chocolate-colored nipple jutting out at him, plump and full, just begging for a pinch...
Keep it together, Spider-Man commanded himself. He successfully fought the pinching urge, but he couldn't help but thumb that thick nub as he gingerly pulled her bunched bra back down over her well-rounded titflesh. It wasn't his fault. Not completely at least. Not with her pushing her chest into his hand. He tried to ignore the deep moan oozing from her lips as the cotton brushed her olive skin.
"I-I'm going to get you down," he said shakily, leaning closer than he really needed to reach the webbing on her wrist. Before he had that chance to tear it way, she arched her back, grinding her crotch into his. There was a white flicker that ran from his mind down through his cock. A ragged muscle memory of one wondrous thrust into the hot, sucking depths of her velvet pussy...
Did that actually happen? He didn't recall doing anything like that, but he didn't remember webbing her up, either. But unless the Scarlet Spider was swinging around somewhere, he must have done that. Did that mean he'd torn her shirt, too?
"God no," Spider-Man groaned. He was going to sick. "Whuh-what did I do to you?"
"What do you want to do?" she pouted, still rubbing his body with hers. "Don't you still want me?"
"Nuh-no," he moaned, but he wouldn't have believed him either.
"Come on, Spider-stud," Huntress moaned. "You can't get a girl going and then just leave her like this. You know we both want this..."
"No," he said again, his hand lingering on her web-bound wrist. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but his dick hardened against her warm, gyrating body. When he'd woken up, he'd felt like he'd blown the kind of load that'd leave him limp for the long haul, but after less than 30-seconds of standing within fucking distance of her, his cock was raring to go. He kept telling himself that his raging erection was more a testament to the power of the device than any true desire for Huntress, but he had his doubts. She was dark and dangerous and everything Aunt May had told him to avoid. This woman was sex on fire.
"Please," she whispered as he delicately traced the length from her arm to her shoulder, "I need you." She thrust her firm breasts into his chest as his fingers crawled up her neck to caress her face, gently tickling her earlobe before he found her communicator and tugged it away.
"I think I'm just going to leave you tied up while I take care of business," Spider-Man said, tearing himself away.
"Just fuck me!" she screamed.
"Ask me again after I'm done," he groaned. "I doubt I won't still be up for it."
He hated to think that this was happening all over the city. He had to stop this and soon. He pulled up the side of his mask to his temple to jam the second comm in his ear. "Really need that counter-pulse, O-Town," he said.
"It's ready," Oracle told him, that distorted bass now in stereo. "I was starting to worry. What were you two doing?"
"Nothing, honey," he lied. That's right, keep making the dumb jokes, Pete, he told himself. Just keep thinking like Spidey. Worry about all the guilt later…
"You're right," she sighed, initiating the pulse. "Pretty sure I don't want to know..."
He barely heard her over the low, stomach-churning dirge that thrummed through his ears. If not for the fact that it was the worst sound he'd ever heard, Spider-Man might have cheered. He wondered if it was the terrible pitch itself that was killing his erection rather than any specific effect he theorized it was supposed to have on his limbic system. Nevertheless, the fog of lust lifted and he could focus his attention on Osborn's machine.
Oh, science, he thought, stumbling toward the Deimos Engine. The ladies come and go, but you? You're the love that never lets me down... He wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd first tried to stop it, but it seemed easier now as he accessed the controls. Easier without the ticking clock to contend with.
"Is the frequency working?" Oracle asked, just barely audible through the murky Brownian sound.
"Like baseball statistics!" he shouted as the engine started cycling down. "I'm going to try to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow on this doo-hickey before we're staring down the barrel of Caligula II: Osborn's Revenge."
"You know that reversing the polarity of a neutron flow isn't an actual thing that's going to help, right?" she asked him.
"Yeah, well, 'I'm going to use Reggeon calculus to correct for supernatural inelastic collision' doesn't sound sexy," he mumbled, toggling into the settings for the atom-smashing array. "Uh, not that I still care about that kind of thing…"
"Whatever," she said, mercifully ignoring his rambling. "I'm feeding your counter-frequency into the Emergency Broadcast System. Maybe that'll stop half of New York from doing something they're going to regret in the morning. Hang on a second." She clicked off the line while Spider-Man started inverting particle acceleration equations. He was just compensating for the cell decay in the oscillating field for the reverse boost when she came back. "I've instructed S.H.I.E.L.D. Command to outfit a tech squad with earbuds so they can help you shut down the device."
"Suddenly you don't trust me on this?" he asked. "Believe me, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's killing the mood..."
"That's never been my experience," Oracle murmured to herself. "Rogers said they're ten minutes out."
"Well tell Cap they can take their time," Spider-Man announced, re-activating the revised engine sequence. The machine thrummed to renewed life and based on the lower-pitch of its hum, it appeared to be working like he had planned. "I'm done here."
"That fast?"
"I know, a little anti-climatic, right?" he said. "But it's like you said, I just act like an idiot."
"Guess I shouldn't be that surprised you're so quick on the trigger."
"Oh, come on!"
"Kidding," she said. "I thought you liked the jokes."
"I like my jokes," he explained, stepping back from the controls now that he was finished. "How long was this monstrosity running?"
"Twenty-one minutes and nine seconds," she told him.
"That's it?" he wondered. Spider-Man knew it'd be another twenty minutes at least before all the steel had been re-transmuted and the effects were completely neutralized, but he was still surprised. "It felt like we were in that psychic eddy much longer than that."
"Speed of thought, I guess," Barbara replied. "Who really knows with telepathy?"
"How did you do that anyway?" he asked. "That whole Eternal Sunshine routine in my bespotted mind?"
"It… It doesn't really matter," she said. I don't want to talk about it, was the obvious subtext, but Spidey decided not to push it.
He looked out through the broken window at the glittering lights of Manhattan. "Twenty-one minutes," he said to New York City. His city. The only place he'd ever really call home and he'd let her down in the worst way. "I just hope nobody got hurt..."
*
She was sore and exhausted and she could feel it... Every hot, fluid drop on her back. As a lady of science, she knew it was stupid, but she could swear that they burned. Just like the liquid heat still seeping from her freshly-fucked pussy. She'd cum three more times before he was done with her.
"God, Carlie," Harry groaned from the spot where he'd collapsed beside her. "That… That was…"
Weird, she thought, completing the thought he couldn't quite finish. That was unbelievably weird. But she couldn't tell him that, could she? Carlie knew she needed to say something, though...
"Thanks, " she murmured, "for… for not cumming in me…"
Warmth flushed through her face at those words. It was the first thing she could think of. Carlie wasn't always so good about taking her birth control. It's not like it had been the most pressing obligation in her hectic, sexless day-to-day routine, but Harry obviously had some strong swimmers. The broken, infant cries from the living room were pretty evident proof. She still couldn't believe she'd just said that to him. She couldn't believe she'd just done any of this. It was stupid and wrong in a million different ways. She was pretty sure she'd just fucked up her life. But god, she felt like she had needed this...
No, she told herself. She'd just had sex with the father of her best friend's baby. And worse, he was more than that. Harry was...
"I should probably go..." he said uneasily, derailing that unpleasant train of thought.
"Uh, yeah," she nodded before glancing at him. Harry tried not to look too relieved as he hustled out of the bed to collect his clothes off the floor. She didn't blame him. If he didn't want to talk about it either, that worked for her.
Carlie carefully rolled over, wincing as she sat up. She covered her breasts with an arm, feeling shy all of a sudden. Her other hand fell lower to cover her nethers, but feeling the wet mess of matted hair between her legs didn't make her feel any better. Harry's jism sliding down her back toward her sore bottom didn't either.
Carlie had asked him to spank her. Begged him to, even…
She scrambled toward the closet while he was dressing. She was just cinching her robe closed as he zipped up his trousers and sheepishly looked her way.
She saw the bite mark on his shoulder as he threw on his shirt. It was only a bruise so she… she hadn't broken his skin, but she knew it was there. Given her job, Carlie thought a lot about the physical evidence of the most terrible crimes, and that insight extended to the small ones, too. Like what she'd just done with Harry.
For the non-existent record, she hadn't intended to hurt him with that bite. It's not like he'd complained when it happened. He'd been pretty focused on what he was doing to her at the time. Before, she'd had the mattress to muffle her moaning, but then he flipped her over and everything changed. The angle was different and he was pumping into her so deeply. The things she heard herself screaming... She'd just chomped down on the nearest soft surface to shut herself up.
Their eyes locked and Carlie felt this pit in her stomach.
Honestly, she felt more alive right then than she had in years, but there was no way she was going to do this again. Not… not with Harry. He was a nice guy and all, but not the type Carlie wanted to end up with. His life was too complicated. Harry Osborn had too many secrets…
He was dressed now and ready to leave. This might be her last chance to say it… The thing that weighed so heavily on her just then…
Carlie could see he was about to say something, but she couldn't let that happen. Whatever it was, it'd just be one more variable in an equation extrapolating beyond her control.
"Please don't tell Peter," they both blurted together.
*
It had only been a five minutes, but based on their proximity to the machine, he knew that was much longer than he needed to wait.
"Think you're ready to come down now?" Spider-Man asked the Huntress.
"Sure," she spat. "If you're ready for that ass-whupping I owe you."
He opted to cut her loose anyway.
"I... I don't really remember what went down..." he said, tearing the webbing away.
"Nothing happened," she told him as he lowered her from the wall. She pushed him away the second her feet touched the floor.
"I know there's no excuse for what I... for what happened, Huntress," he started to say.
"Nothing happened," she seethed through gritted teeth.
Spider-Man didn't know what he was supposed to do with that. "Sorry about your costume," he mumbled lamely, handing her the ruined utility belt he found on the floor. "I can web it up for you if you want."
"That's just your weird little thing, isn't it, Spider-guy?" Huntress grumbled, slinging the belt over her shoulder.
He wondered what she meant by that, but had his suspicions.
"Oh, I've got your communicator, too," he said, reaching into his mask to pluck it from his ear. Oracle had signed off to de-brief S.H.I.E.L.D. but he figured she'd need it later.
"Thanks," Huntress said, flicking waxy residue from the earbud in disgust. "I feel like I'm forgetting something, though…"
"Like what?" Spidey asked.
"This," she replied, slugging him in the gut.
"Oh, right," he groaned, sinking to his knees. "That." He swore sometimes he wondered why he even had spider-sense.
"Testa di cazzo," Huntress muttered, sticking the comm back in place before walking away. "Let's go find your girlfriend."
As he struggled to his feet, Peter remembered an all too important lesson his beloved uncle had taught him... For as much as Ben Parker had always said that with great power there must also come great responsibility, there was something else he told his nephew almost as often in their quiet little home in Queens...
Don't go messing around with no Italian girls.
They found her eventually, and when they did, that terrible knot in his chest finally untangled. Felicia Hardy was alive. Death hadn't claimed another one of Spider-Man's loved ones. Why she was dressed like a janitor in a broom closet was a little beyond him, but it'd been a strange day and a half. The Black Cat was zonked out on goofballs.
"I've got smelling salts in my belt," Huntress told him, handing him a capsule from one of her utility pouches. It occurred to Spidey it might be time to step-up his own cache of gadgets. At this point, all he was packing was spare web-cartridges, some spider-tracers and his signal light, and he hadn't changed the batteries for that in months…
"Oh, Spider..." Felicia murmured sleepily once she'd been revived. "I was having the sexiest dream about you... You had four extra arms and knew exactly what to do with them..."
"Um, maybe not in front of mixed company?" he whispered, helping Felicia up while Huntress scowled at him. "You alright?"
"Norman Osborn's here," she tried to warn him, "but it isn't really him... It's a... a clone or something..."
"Life-like robotic duplicate," he corrected as he walked her out of the closet. "It's been taken care of."
"Our lives are stupid, Spider," she muttered. "Really, really stupid."
"What's new, pussycat?"
"Your tailor's an asshole," Huntress told her.
*
You'd like to believe that S.H.I.E.L.D. only took the best of the best from the choice intelligence agencies, but in truth, it took a little something more to get someone to join up. The vast majority of, say, Quantico graduates were more than content to work their way up the F.B.I. hierarchy without all the fun of flying cars and form-fitting blue uniforms that left nothing to the imagination of their co-workers.
It hadn't been a nod from that curmudgeon Nick Fury that had drawn Victoria Hand to the organization. Fury ran S.H.I.E.L.D. like the walking, talking, cigar-smoking anachronism he was, hiring as many of his friends that weren't dead yet to comprise his inner-circle and ignoring everyone else. Maria Hill had been in charge for maybe a month before Tony Stark took over, so she didn't really have a chance to change things and Stark ran the place like a budding dotcom which drew in a lot of eager young hipster idiots with no clue what they were doing. Norman Osborn's recruiting tactics for H.A.M.M.E.R. had been unorthodox, but effective. The man wasn't well, but he was a hell of an operator. Victoria was still trying to get some sense of Steve Rogers. He was old school like Fury, but idealistic in a way that was either naïve or inspiring. She hadn't decided.
What had first drawn her to S.H.I.E.L.D. was the idea that working for the organization could provide her with the proof that she lived in a very strange world and the opportunity to make it better. Even as an accountant.
It was that same sense of duty that had forced her to abandon a great glass of Scotch and a quiet night to herself so she could run across Central Park to Avengers Mansion and get help for that stupid ass, Spider-Man.
Wong, the New Avengers gentleman's gentleman swore when he opened the door and saw her, then he stormed off toward the kitchen. She didn't blame him. Hand didn't like Wong anymore than he liked her, but she didn't like anyone she couldn't legitimately prove even existed. Victoria's world needed to be supported with paper work, and she couldn't find any on him. She certainly couldn't find any proof he was in the country legally. She'd tried to push the issue with Commander Rogers, but he wouldn't budge. Hand didn't have much choice but to let it slide. Booting one unctuous creep wasn't worth the loss of their top mystical asset, and somehow she saw Stephen Strange kicking up a fuss over his former manservant getting deported.
"Anyone here?" Victoria shouted as she entered the mansion. "Um… Avengers Assemble!"
She knew there were people who dreamed of saying those words, but she wasn't one of them. She always found the phrase pompous and smug. It certainly didn't seem to work. Instead of Earth's Mightiest Heroes all she got was the nanny.
"Oh, hello, Ms. Hand," Squirrel Girl said when she saw her. "What brings you by so late?"
"I need the team," she said. "Spider-Man's up to something."
"I'm afraid they're all out at the moment," Squirrel Girl explained. "Mr. Cage is with the Thunderbolts and his wife and Miss Danvers are having a girls' night, so I'm watching the baby."
"What about everyone else?"
"Mr. Barton organized something called a 'pub crawl'," she shrugged.
God damn Hawkeye, Hand internally moaned.
"I'm going out," Wong muttered, brushing past them with two heavy bags in hand.
"Where should I tell everybody you've gone?" Squirrel Girl asked.
"Don't," he replied and just like that, he was out the door.
"I hate this place," Victoria muttered.
"Don't say that, Ms. Hand," she smiled. "Isn't everything that happens in the mansion just so terrible interesting?"
"Everybody here's an asshole."
"I certainly wouldn't put it like that," Squirrel Girl scoffed. "They're all just… colorful."
"Everyone here hates me."
"I'm sure that's not true, Ms. Hand," she beamed. "I don't hate you."
"Give it time," Victoria mumbled.
Hand actually had a lot of respect for Squirrel Girl. Finding Doreen Green's dossier was a rite of passage for a fledgling S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not even twenty-years-old and the woman had faced Victor Von Doom, Fin Fang Foom, and repelled an invasion from Apokolips all on her own -- unless you counted her legion of squirrels. Why she wasn't leading the New Avengers was a testament to everything wrong with the Avengers as a concept.
Doreen was amazing.
It was just admiration for a colleague. It wasn't a crush. Victoria Hand was nothing if not a professional.
Sure, Hand found the young woman attractive in an odd way she was in no way comfortable with. The tail was the obvious thing. It should have been a deal breaker, but in her teens, young Vicky Hand had really been into manga…
Doreen was too young for sure. Victoria wasn't so pathetic yet that she needed to go after college girls who might be up for experimentation. Even if there was something adorable about that overbite...
Besides, after her relationship with Isabelle had imploded, Victoria had more or less given up on romance. She had been in love with Izzy and she’d left her because Hand dared to tell the great Nick Fury he was wrong. So much for a partner who'd see you through anything...
"Oh, come on, you gloomy gus," Squirrel Girl said, leading Victoria toward the couch in the living room. "Why don't we just sit down and you can tell me what's wrong…"
"With me or the world?"
"Well, let's start with you and see where that leads us," Doreen suggested.
Where it had led had been a bit of a surprise. Hand had started out explaining about the wall-crawler's drop-by. How that transitioned to them kissing was a bit of a haze. How kissing those hazelnut flavored lips had ended up in fairly dramatic, life-affirming sex, however, was seared into Victoria's mind. She suspected that every intimate detail of that little development would be fueling her masturbatory fantasies for years to come…
Hand couldn't explain why she'd done it. Maybe it had just been too long. Too long since the exquisite delight of a pair of soft, cone-shaped breasts gently grazed the length of her tummy while a pretty girl kissed her way down from her tits to her warm, waiting wet pussy -- complete with the rare but pleasing shock of a nipple making brief but sweet contact with her hard clit shortly before her lover engaged in some world-class cunnilingus.
And that thing Squirrel Girl had done with her furry tail when Victoria had been spooning behind her... God damn that thing she'd done with that tail!
"There now," Doreen said after they finished. Victoria was surprised by the roughness of her hands as she fastened the front of Hand's bra into place. So much of Doreen was soft, but her hands had a sandpaper-like texture.
If the younger woman was freaking out over their encounter, she certainly wasn't showing it. Everything in her file said Squirrel Girl was unflappable, but even after this?
"All better, Ms. Hand?" she asked.
"Um, maybe…" she giggled nervously. Fuck. Victoria was giggling. But it was just so damn cute. Doreen had tossed her salad, but she was still calling Hand "Miss" like a schoolgirl.
Then Victoria's skirt on the floor started vibrating in two-second bursts and all infectious cheerfulness drained right out of her. She frantically fished her phone from her pile of clothes. It was a Priority Three transmission from S.H.I.E.L.D. Command.
"Hello, Commander Rogers," she answered.
"I received your message about Spider-Man shortly after one of our freelance technical operatives reported his involvement with a Class 3 event in Manhattan, Agent Hand," he told her. "I thought you'd like to know that the situation's been handled."
"Um… really?" Victoria said as Squirrel Girl helped her button her shirt. "That quickly?"
"Spider-Man's more capable than you think," Rogers told her. "Now, I know that you're off-duty, but I've dispatched a clean-up crew to 405 Lexington Avenue to dismantle a reputedly nasty bit of Osborn-tech. Given your familiarity with his methods, I think they'd value your input."
"I… I can be there in twenty, sir." Squirrel Girl handed Hand her panties.
"Five might be better," he said.
"On my way, Commander." Victoria thought she was finally starting to get a feel for the new boss… Old-school, idealistic taskmaster. She could work with that.
"As always, I appreciate your diligence in your duties," he said then. "I know you haven't enjoyed the warmest welcome from the team, but give it time. They'll come around. We did with Hawkeye and the Vision."
"All due respect, sir, but I was never a supervillain."
"I know," he told her. "Neither were they. And if I may offer a little bit of unwanted, less than professional advice: don't be afraid to let your hair down, Victoria. Based on my years with them, the Avengers are nothing if not indulgent to those who let it all hang out."
"I'm… beginning to see that, sir..." she said as Doreen lightly nibbled her neck with those prominent teeth while she zipped up her skirt.
"Excellent," he said. "Rogers out."
And just like that, the man was a mystery all over again.
"Cheer up, Ms. Hand," Squirrel Girl said, walking Victoria to the door. "Isn't the world such a strange, wonderful place?"
*
Having bagged up the remains of poor little Os-bot, the S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians were now carefully taking apart Osborn's failed experiment in terror while a medic checked on the Black Cat. Felicia said she'd been drugged and Spider-Man knew better than to take any risks. Even a robot Norman was likely to have mixed something nasty into whatever chemical cocktail he'd injected her with. Spidey insisted she let someone look her over and she eventually agreed. The fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. medical agent Trevor Cahill was a good-looking dude probably didn't hurt. Ironically, the wall-crawler waved off the dashing young doctor when he came at him with med-probes and bandages. The web-slinger's sense of caution didn't extend to his own person, of course…
He'd be fine.
Don't get him wrong. Spider-Man had learned there was a time and place to let himself heal. He spent so much of his time swinging around the city or fighting for his life and that usually meant pushing past the hurt and doubt and fear and getting the job done. But after that happened, once the battle was won, the evil plot thwarted and lives saved, he knew enough to make his way home, collapse in his bed and let his body knit itself back together so he could do it all over again the next day.
Some fights were different, though. Some battles were a little more taxing, and sometimes, before the long trip home from whatever smoking crater where he'd scraped his narrow victory, the spectacular Spider-Man just had to give himself a moment to lean against a wall, catch his breath, and feel his pain. He tried not to involve trained professionals for these tiny respites in case they were trying to identify him by D.N.A. -- a definite possibility this time around with Victoria Hand flitting about, supervising the clean-up and taking statements. While she was grilling the Huntress about her "unauthorized incursion into New York airspace," Spidey slipped out a window for a little peace and quiet on one of the Chrysler Building's iconic gargoyles.
The singe across his chest from Os-bot's heat vision was little worse than a sunburn, but those contact burns from Electro would need some home treatment. The cut from Catman's knife wasn't too deep and he was pretty sure Doc Ock hadn't cracked his ribs. That gut punch from Huntress didn't helped any, but he could assume he deserved it.
What really got him, though, was adding all this post-coital exhaustion into the mix of tentacle bruises and flesh wounds. That was new. When he got tuned up like this, sex was rarely a factor. Not even with the Black Cat. Grievous bodily harm was one of the few things that didn't turn Felicia on. And when he lived with Mary Jane, getting smacked around this much usually led to a fight about why he was so desperate to throw his life away and the glorious makeup sex didn't usually happen until well after he'd healed...
He had to wonder about any lingering mental damage from whatever psychic hoo-doo Oracle had pulled, but the jokester in him brazenly brushed that off. It's not like he could actually get any crazier...
Regardless, the web-head decided he didn't need to swing by the Night Nurse's clinic for professional care, which left him free to decide what excuse Peter Parker was going to give his friends and family this time… Tripped down the stairs running for a subway? Winged by some crazy cabbie? Knocked down by a bike messenger? God, sometimes he wondered if MJ left him because everyone they knew was secretly convinced she was abusing him and she just couldn't stand the unwarranted dirty looks any longer.
Spidey chuckled at that thought and his ribs exploded with pain. "Maybe not cracked, but totally bruised," he groaned.
"You should have let Agent Cahill check you out," Oracle told him and he actually jumped, a move that only made him feel worse. Spider-Man forgot he was still wearing the communicator. He hadn't been muttering to himself this whole time, had he? He did that sometimes. "I think we can agree that you've done your fair share for the day," she said. Her voice wasn't all distorted now. "You don't always have to be a hero, Peter..." She sounded like her. He could hear Barbara.
"I'm fine," he lied. "I've survived worse," he then added truthfully. "And I wouldn't want anyone else over the channel thinking I'm a big wuss anyway."
"You can speak freely," she said. "It's just the two of us on this line and I know you're a wuss."
"You let a girl beat you up once and she never forgets it," Spider-Man sighed. "So I take it the Warrior Queen of the Sucker Punch doesn't know who I really am..."
"Pretty sure she knows you're a wuss, too..."
"You know what I mean," he said.
"Of course she doesn't," she assured him.
"But she seems to know certain things about me… and you. Us."
Oracle didn't say anything for a bit. "You never tell that story?"
"I'm not that kind of guy, remember?" Spider-Man said. "And in all of these years, I've only really had two people who know me well enough to hear that story. The Human Torch is a great guy, but not all that discreet, you know? And I doubt the other one would enjoy hearing about you all that much..."
"Because she's Skrull-Jessica Drew?"
"Something like that."
"Well, you can rest assured that names were changed to protect the less-than-innocent," she told him. "I know how to keep a secret, Peter."
"I'll say," he murmured. "I still can't believe it was you... this whole time. You know, you haven't always been nice to me today, 'Oracle'..."
"I was maintaining my cover," she insisted.
"Why wouldn't you just tell me, Barbara?"
"It's complicated," she said. "Me and you… Us? That was all a long time ago..."
"Funny," he smiled. "I remember it like it was maybe an hour ago…"
"Could we maybe not talk about that?" Oracle asked quietly. He could practically hear her blush.
"I used to wonder about you," he told her. "Maybe once or twice a year, when my life wasn't absolutely insane, I'd hit the AP wire at the Bugle for any mentions of Batgirl. All those blurbs where you and Bats busted up a gun-smuggling ring, or when you took down the Mad Hatter. Never saw any pictures of you in action, though. Don't any of those Gotham rags have any decent photographers?"
"I thought about shooting some pics myself and selling them to the papers, but that sounded dishonest somehow..."
"Mock all you want, Miss Know-It-All, but Spidey gots to get paid, yo."
"No matter the consequences, Mr. Parkergate?"
"Am I really taking crap from the Great and Mighty Oracle about moral grey areas today?" he asked. "You put me up against Doc Ock as a fake out, then ditched me!"
"As I recall, you thought I was Doctor Octopus," she said.
"That's not the insult it used to be," he assured her. "Otto's really slimmed down lately. Dying almost agrees with him."
She actually laughed at that. This light little guffaw tinged with sunny warmth. It was a nice laugh.
"So, whatever happened to the Dominoed Daredoll?" he asked her. "You just disappeared. I figured you gave it up after a few years. Maybe got married, had a kid... You always seemed smart enough to eventually trade all this insanity for real life or something someday…"
"I'm not married," she said. "Close once or twice but…" She stopped. "I'm not married."
"Things happen, right?" Spider-Man said. "Guess you're not all that smart after all..."
"Why would you assume I got married?" she asked. "Why not just assume I died?"
"Wishful thinking I guess," he told her. "Besides, you always hear about that kind of thing, right? Even if nobody's there to see it..."
"Seems like it at least."
"I almost asked Batman about you," he admitted. "We've met up a couple times, but he didn't seem too up for a chat about mutual friends during that mess with Carnage and the Joker."
"He's not the greatest conversationalist," she said, "but he seems to be changing."
"What about this new Batwoman I've heard about?" he asked. "She's supposed to be a redhead..."
"That's not me," she said in that same quiet, sad tone. "Being Batgirl... it stopping being an option."
"Guess it's good I didn't try checking her out -- er -- looking her up," Spider-Man replied. "Not like I ever would have had the time..."
"Probably best that you didn't," Barbara said. "I don't really know her, but from what I understand she's not really your type…"
"You don't have to be jealous," he joked. "I'm not looking to trade up or anything. Trust issues aside, I thought we made a pretty good team."
"You did good work today, Spider-Man," Oracle said, clearing her throat. "When things went… off-kilter you helped me through it. I appreciate that."
"I'm just glad you managed to reach me," he told her. "You did a hell of a job on my head… Wait. I didn't mean it like that..."
"Was it really that bad?" Barbara asked with this delicious hint of mischief.
"You totally blew my mind," Spidey grinned under his mask. "I just hope I didn't screw with your memory too badly."
Oracle groaned at the puns. She swore, he was worse than a certain former Boy Wonder. "How many more of these do you have?" she asked.
"Just a few more," he assured her.
"Are you sure we can't get off this topic?"
"Nice one," he chuckled, softer this time. His ribs barely rattled.
"What can I say?" she asked. "You bring out the worst in me."
"I think I can live with that."
"You have to know that you should be doing more with your life, Peter," Oracle said to him then. "I know more than a little about you… The man you are and the man you could be. You're better than what you've been."
"I know," Spider-Man sighed. "I suck. I kind of get that a lot after my team-ups..."
"I'm not saying this to be mean," she explained. "I'm saying this because I know what it's like to reinvent yourself. How hard it can be. How rewarding, too."
"Why did you give up the whole cape and cowl thing?" Spider-Man asked.
"That's... not important," she said. "We're talking about you."
"Right," he said to himself. "I know I need to figure some things out, but there's never time you know? Life just... It doesn't stop, does it?"
"No," she replied. "Life doesn't stop. Sometimes not even when you think it has..."
There was that mournfulness again. It was even more obvious when she was unfiltered.
"So where's the victory party?" Spider-Man asked, trying to change the mood. He wanted her happy. He loved the idea of her happy. "Do you still live in Gotham? I could swing by the great suckhole of the Northeast with an authentic New York pie. Pepperoni and onions. I wouldn't literally be swinging, mind you, but I might have enough money to hop a train."
"You have $5.61 in your checking account and no savings to speak of," Barbara told him. "You need to get a job, my friend."
There was just a bit of cheerfulness in her voice now and his heart actually thumped.
"Then I guess I'll just hop the train," Spidey said. "They almost never notice and I can hunch down to clear most of the tunnels. Or better yet, I could catch a flight. I haven't seen the old Vulture in a while, so I figure he'll pop up any day now…"
"You're a good man, Peter Parker," she told him. "But you could be great."
"We'll have to agree to disagree on that," he replied, "but, um, thanks?"
There was a pause, like she was about to say something but thought better of it.
"Barb?" he said.
"This is Oracle signing off."
"Huh?"
The only response was a high shrieking tweet from the comm that came with a low-level spike from his spider-sense. Spider-Man just managed to reach up into his mask and pull out the ear piece before it started sparking.
"No," he murmured, looking at the now useless bit of circuitry smoking in his hand. "Don't do this, Barbara…"
*
CONNECTION TERMINATED.
Somehow, the words on the screen, as final as they seemed, weren't enough.
It's time, Barbara thought.
There was a door in her world she'd been meaning to close for a while and everything that had happened today told her she had to do it now. Too many people knew about Oracle. She just couldn't work like that anymore. She'd gotten too big in her tall, sunny tower. Time to step back into the shadows...
"You could talk to him, you know," someone said behind her. "Maybe even see him."
"No, Dinah," Barbara sighed as Black Canary brought her a hot cup of Darjeeling. "I can't."
"It'd kill me if you honestly thought there was anything you couldn't do," she said. "Least of all this…"
"Stop it," Barbara insisted. And that would have been enough for anyone. Anyone but her best friend.
"Babs, I know what he means to you."
"No," Barbara said again, staring down into her teacup. "I'm sorry, Dinah, but you really don't understand who Spider-Man is to me..."
*
Mary Jane Watson hadn't done the Walk of Shame in years...
She considered it one of those signs of maturity she took pride in, and yet here she was, strolling across the Brooklyn Bridge with jism trickling down her thighs. She knew she could take a cab home. Hell, considering the time and the distance, it was dumb for her not to, but it's not like it was the stupidest thing she'd done that night.
Besides, the long shuffle home after random sex with a guy you'd just met was a sacred tradition: a tiny, self-imposed punishment during which she could try to clear her head and promise herself never again.
Somehow, making her wary way through the streets of Brooklyn on wobbly legs, passing strangers who seemed similarly dazed as they wandered by, Mary Jane got the feeling she wasn't alone. There was definitely something in the air and it positively stank of sex and regret.
The shower was just shutting off when she got back to the apartment. "Please tell me you didn't use up all the hot water," she begged.
"You should be fine," Harry told her, stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. "Wait. You were washing up when I left the apartment. I thought you had a business dinner tonight..."
"I did," MJ informed him briskly. "Completely professional."
"Okay, red." Harry had known Mary Jane long enough to tell when something was bothering her. He also knew when it was something she didn't want to talk about, maybe ever, but that didn't always stop him. "So tell me," he grinned when she passed him on her way into the bathroom, "is Superman's pal as dreamy as all the girls say?"
"That depends," Mary Jane countered. "How were the daddy-lessons with Carlie? It looks like somebody bit you..."
"I withdraw my question," Harry blanched, heading off toward the couch he'd been crashing on.
"Good night, Harold," she sang, slamming the door closed.
She heard little Stan crying from the other room. Shit. She'd forgotten all about the baby. Mary Jane had no idea why it was so hard for her to remember that Harry was a father now. It's not like it was a completely brave new endeavor for him, but given his track record it was just so odd to think of him as the responsible daddy now.
Serves him right, she thought bitterly. MJ knew she was kind of being a bitch, though. Harry was doing his best. She didn't want to know what he'd gotten up to tonight. Whatever it was, if he was willing to go so far as to lie about hanging out with Carlie to do it, it must have been tawdry. Not that she was going to judge Harry too harshly for letting off a little steam. Not after the night she'd had.
When she got done with Jimmy, she'd gotten dressed in the hastiest hurry. She realized just how hasty she'd been as she pulled off her inside-out sweater vest and undid the mismatch of fastened blouse buttons. Stripping out of her clothes, Mary Jane knew that she wasn't looking forward to seeing young Mr. Olsen on the set tomorrow. What had she been thinking? First, she just wanted to tease him for even daring to bring up that whole fake photo scandal, but then she'd just gotten into it. Jimmy had just tried so hard not to blow his wad from her footplay. She didn't know why that turned her on so much, but it did. And he played along so well she just got swept up in the game.
She climbed into the shower and scrubbed her skin hard, trying to wash off the shame and faint afterglow of sensation from Jimmy's lingering kisses. And all that jizz. Mary Jane just felt so dirty. It's not like she completely regretted how things had turned out at dinner. Putting aside the professional complications, it had been pretty enjoyable. The sex had been good. Great. She still wasn't ready to compare Jimmy to Peter, but he definitely beat Bobby. Not that she was going to tell Jimmy that when she next saw him.
At the very least, Pete had been the furthest thing from her mind.
The way young James had babbled on about that ex-girlfriend of his while they got dressed, MJ just knew this Chloe Sullivan was a blonde. She'd have to be blonde to be dumb enough to let a guy like him get away.
Red versus gold. The eternal struggle.
Jimmy Olsen was smart, driven, sweet and a hell of a lay. Mary Jane finally got why Peter hated him so much. Jimmy Olsen was the successful version of Pete he could have been if he wasn't so determined to sabotage himself.
Not that any of this was at all about Peter.
Mary Jane drew her soapy luffa across her breasts. Jimmy focused so much of his attention on her tits. All the boys did. She scrubbed down her torso past the belly button where he'd drilled his tongue, down to the pussy he'd so vigorously fucked. The sponge spread her lips as she wiped away the last of him.
She had to be sure.
The luffa fell to the bottom of the tub as she traced her lips with her bare hand now. She felt the slimy wetness on her fingers. That wasn't just water. Mary Jane stuck a finger inside, just to see if his cum was still in her pussy and she groaned. MJ didn't feel any of his semen lingering within her, but she remembered how it felt when his twitching cock flooded her.
Jimmy hadn't stopped when he came. He just kept fucking her. She'd already climaxed a number of times and his determination just pushed her over the edge all over again.
"J-Jimmy," she moaned, surprising herself as her finger started working its way back and forth in her snatch. She wasn't sure when her other hand started squeezing her boob, but the rhythm tugging her tit started to match the one playing her pussy.
The last time she'd done this, it had been out of frustration. Now it was all about desire. She fell against the cool shower tile as she dug into herself deeper. Her thumb found her clit and Mary Jane cried out, making sharp circles on her tight little button.
"Jimmmmy," she whined again. "Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy…"
Peter could have the Black Cat and Carlie and his precious Batgirl if she could just have this.
She drove two trembling fingers into her cunt. The water temperature suddenly dropped just as she came, shocking her. The only warmth in the world was pouring out of her now...
Once MJ was clean, she toweled off and put on her PJ's, stepping out to the living room where Harry was rocking his son to sleep.
Back when they were dating, Mary Jane had never really imagined marrying him. Back then, she couldn't see herself getting tied down to anybody. But for one moment in time, she let herself imagine the world where that was her baby and that was her man. It didn't feel quite right, but she was sure there were worse ways her life could turn out.
"You're getting good at that," she remarked, joining him on the couch.
"Carlie really taught me a lot," he said softly.
"Harry, it's me," she said, rolling her eyes. "I don't care what you do. You don't have to try to convince me you spent the night with Miss Cooper."
"I didn't!" he panicked. "I never would!"
Little Stanley started crying again.
*
Oracle had told Huntress to play nice with S.H.I.E.L.D. so she had, answering all of the condescending questions from the uptight chick with the glasses. As far as Helena was concerned, there were two types of bureaucrats: ones that needed to get laid and, worse, ones that actually got off on the tiny bit of power they had in the world.
Somehow, Victoria Hand was both.
The obnoxious little pencil pusher made a point of threatening to detain the Huntress for more questioning. Helena would have loved to see her try it. Eventually, Hand informed her she could leave and after she checked on the Black Cat, Helena did just that. No need to say goodbye to Spider-guy. She's had her fill of him for sure. She didn't blame him for what happened. He obviously hadn't been in his right mind and lord knows she'd said and done things she never would have if not for that fucking machine. That didn't mean she liked the schmuck.
It didn't mean she forgave him, either.
Before she signed off for the night, Gordon had instructed Huntress to make her way to the Metlife Building for extraction. There was a nice little helipad on the roof for Lady Blackhawk to park the Aerie Two so they could get back to Gotham.
Zinda was just landing the chopper when Spider-guy showed up out of the blue, climbing up onto the rooftop in a big hurry.
"Where is she, Huntress?" he asked. "Where's Oracle?"
"You're not going anywhere near her," she said. She felt this chill when she said it.
"Huntress, please," he said. "I... I need to see her, Helena."
She was taken aback by this. Gordon had told this jerk her real name? That wasn't like Barbara at all. What was her deal with this asshole?!
"She.. she doesn't need to see you," Huntress said, climbing into the helicopter. "Oracle has to be protected!"
"What about what I need..." she heard him murmur over the sound of chopper blades as they took off for home.
*
Spider-Man could have gone after the helicopter, of course, but he knew that'd just be pointless. The Huntress wasn't talking and it wasn't like he was going to dangle her from a rooftop until she gave up the information. She wasn't some skel from Josie's bar.
Simple as that.
The next day he'd start asking around, but that wouldn't do any good either. It'd turn out that Felicia knew less about Oracle than he did, so he'd try the Fantastic Four and some of the Avengers, surprised by how many of the other capies and cowlheads he knew who had at least heard the rumors about the information broker for the costumed crime-fighting set. Apparently, Oracle tended to work more with the JLA, not that Spidey had a lot of contacts to go to there. It was almost weird how their strange little community seemed so distinctly divided into two camps. Little leaguers and avenging sons and daughters. It was like Westside Story or something.
What wouldn't surprise him was the fact that none of them had mentioned it to him. Nobody kept him on the loop about anything. Yeah, he tended to get a little chatty in the middle of a smackdown, but that didn't make him a gossip!
Daredevil would tell him how he and Iron Fist and some other people Spider-Man knew had actually worked with Oracle when the Secret Society tried to destroy Metropolis. There'd been this massive call to arms. Funny how Spidey hadn't gotten an invitation. It was like Flash Thompson's twelfth birthday all over again…
Peter would even try searching the web for any mention of her, but that would be another dead end.
A few days later, while working with the X-Men to save some kids trapped in the sewers, their computer expert, Cypher, would explain why he hadn't had any luck googling her. "It's insane but any mention of Oracle gets deleted from the net almost the second it's posted. It's just another piece of the legend. Whoever he is, he likes his privacy…"
It would be a big disappointment, but the day wouldn't be all bad. Spider-Man would get the chance to kick Wolverine in the face without any reprisals. That was always fun.
The oddest thing about his little jaunt with the Children of the Atom would be the way Emma Frost kept smiling at him. The White Queen was usually just so disdainful toward him, but when they weren't busy mucking about in god knows what sludge or running from scaly, lizard-ized versions of her teammates, he'd see this sly smirk on her face. It certainly wasn't like she was flirting with him. It wasn't that kind of smile. It was more like the mirthful simper of someone who knows a secret...
Eventually, on the day of Harry Osborn's big going-away party, the wall-crawler would take a long swing to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier to ask the incredibly busy Steve Rogers if he knew who made the call that brought the tech team in to Multivex corporate headquarters. All Cap would tell him was that he couldn't divulge the identities of agency assets anymore than he could tell the world who Spider-Man really was. Peter would try to understand.
Then the world would turn upside down.
It would come quietly in the form of some anonymous agent approaching Steve with a tablet. "Commander, we got a report of a skirmish in Gotham City," he'd hear them say as Spidey was leaving.
"Gotham," Rogers would sigh with derision. "What is it this time?"
"Noah Cutter, A.K.A. The Calculator and a number of H.I.V.E. combatants blew up a helicopter on the docks," the agent would say. "All of our underworld informants are saying they killed a well-known cyber-terrorist."
"What are you telling me, son?"
"Oracle's dead, sir."
And when he'd hear those words, for one long moment, Spider-Man's brief week-long search for her would just fade away and he'd suddenly find himself back on the roof of the former Pan Am Building, staring up after his last tangible link to that beautiful girl with the sharpest blue eyes and tinkling laugh he always had to coax out of her.
He was caught in a web all over again. One made by the strands of fate and bad luck, but most of all, the ridiculous limits of what he knew...
All these years and that whole crazy day later and Barbara had still never told him her last name...
NEXT: Sex on Fire
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When Spidey Met Oracle