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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
- 10
- 11
- 12
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Sex on Fire
Renee Montoya usually found that the answer to every question came in time.
When she was a beat cop walking the streets of Gotham, it came in the time it took back-up to arrive. After she made detective, it came in the time for forensics to provide lab results or the long hours interrogating the right suspect. Now, in her strange, new, ever-changing life as The Question, she learned that the answers would come in ways she'd never expect, be it the passing of seconds or the changing of seasons. Sometimes they came to her in a flash. Sometimes in her dreams. Whatever the case, Montoya just had to do something she'd never been very good at before:
Renee had to be patient.
Before he died and passed on his mantle, the original Question, Charles Victor Szasz, told her that he had the ability to "walk in two worlds," a meditative trance that allowed him to read the secret language of cities. Of everything Charlie had tried to share with her during the months he spent training Renee, this was certainly the thing she had been worst at because it didn't make any damn sense. It probably didn't help that Professor Aristotle Todor had corrected many of the toxic, hallucinatory effects of the binary gas he had created that she and Charlie used to secure the pseudoderm mask to their faces and change their hair color when they became The Question.
"I never really bought into all that shamanistic nonsense Charlie got into towards the end," Tot told her once. "The poor guy was probably just trippin' balls, dear."
And that was enough for a while.
It wasn't until Montoya had been in New York City long enough that she realized where she might have gone wrong when she tried Charlie's weird trick before. Despite everything he had told her, walking in two worlds wasn't about asking the right question and getting the answer in whispers and brief catches of conversation on the street. It was about shutting up, opening your eyes, and listening for what the universe was trying to tell you all along. So, as the new Question lurked in the shadows of its skyscrapers, the Big Apple confessed its secrets.
"Help me!" her new city screamed in the jittery unrest of its citizens, the cracks in its foundations, and its preponderance of freshly replaced windows. "Save me from my heroes!"
For the longest time, it'd been impossible for Renee to imagine leaving Gotham. When she turned in her badge and gun and left the GCPD after her partner, Crispus Allen, was gunned down by a corrupt crime scene technician who'd walked off scot-free, her friends had encouraged her to move out and move on. They told her to get a fresh start somewhere new. Back then, she'd looked at them like they'd just suggested she fly to Mars and check out the nightlife, but for one fleeting moment she wondered if being a cop wasn't so murky and grey in a place like Metropolis. Or maybe Chicago or Portland. She never considered trying things out in Manhattan.
When she was on the job, just the idea of New York City had always terrified Montoya. Working in Gotham with just the Batman and his sidekicks and associates skulking all over the place had been a nightmare when you were trying to break a case. The legality of the Dark Knight's methods was this constant fly in your ointment. If it came down to apprehending an Arkham escapee, there was nobody better than Batman, but when it came to a fresh crime case, sometimes he did more harm than good. The Caped Crusader might have an excellent track record for solving the mystery and hunting down the guilty, but he didn't always leave you with enough legally obtained evidence to make it stick. Nothing stuck in a cop's craw more than finding the perp only for them to skate on some technicality like a confession coerced by a scary man in a cape who was only marginally deputized and refused to testify in court.
In New York City, you had that times a thousand. Renee had worked with enough ex-NYPD transfers to know just how crazy things got here with all these friggin' superheroes in the same scant thirty-four square-miles.
Besides, Renee had grown up a Gotham girl through and through. It was Charlie who actually got her to leave for the first time, unless you counted that prisoner transfer from Central City she'd been assigned, and she certainly didn't. Charlie took Montoya to the Middle Eastern nation of Kahndaq where they received the Order of the Crescent -- the highest honor the state could bestow upon a non-Kahndaqi -- after preventing a terrorist attack orchestrated by Intergang. From there they journeyed to Nanda Parbat, the Himalayan mountain retreat where she was trained to expand her mind and hone her body as Charlie lay dying from lung cancer.
After he passed away and she decided to pick up the void visage of The Question in his honor, she was as ready to wander the earth as Charlie ever was. Since then, she'd traveled the world in her pursuit of the Bible of Crime. She'd gone to France at the behest of Batman Incorporated. She'd lived in L.A. and North Carolina... But she still never thought she'd live in New York. Sure, she'd spent a week there as a favor once, running down a few leads about Spider-Man and his connection to the Daily Bugle tabloid, but even that had been a waste. If anything had come of it Renee certainly never heard anything back from Oracle...
The Question only found herself living in Manhattan now for one reason and one reason only:
Bruce Wayne hated New Yorkers.
At least, that had become the general consensus. Montoya didn't personally believe it, but she could certainly see why the majority of average Americans polled on the subject saw it that way. There'd always been a bit of rivalry between Gotham and New York -- which had only intensified since the Knights beat the Yankees for the pennant last year -- so the idea that Gotham's favorite son had some deep-seated disdain for the Big Apple shouldn't have been all that surprising to anybody. That didn't mean it should be making headlines, but thanks to Spider-Man and the fickle viciousness of the 24-hour news cycle, it was a constant point of contention for the pundits.
In the many months since it had first formed, Batman Incorporated had enjoyed a lot of positive coverage from the American media. Especially when one considered the general sense of distrust toward superheroes since the SHRA had been repealed. Norman Osborn's constant and very public accusations against the Avengers and their tactics during his brief escape from federal custody certainly didn't help, nor did Superman's recent announcement that he was renouncing his citizenship. Yet during all of that controversy, Batman, Inc. had been "Teflon, baby" as John Stewart had so pointedly put it on The Daily Show, because the biggest win in Batman Incorporated's column had been its ability to symbolize hope in the face of fear itself.
Renee wasn't clear on the finer details of the Serpent's War. All she really knew was that an ancient Asgardian evil had come out of nowhere with a horde of Nazi robots to wreak havoc and let cry the old Norse gods of war and hate and terror. And while The Serpent brought devastation across the globe, Odin and his kingdom fled, leaving mankind to its dire fate as the Norse God of Fear warped some of Earth's mightiest heroes and villains in his own twisted image.
While the Justice League had flown out into the cosmos to fend off Parallax with the Green Lantern Corps before the Fear Entity joined its chosen disciple on Earth, the Dark Knight stayed behind to fight the Scarecrow -- who'd found frightful new powers through the use of the Norn Stones -- in the streets of Gotham while the rest of Batman Incorporated provided food and shelter for the cowering citizens of a terrified planet.
The truth of how the Serpent and his forces had been defeated was still wrapped up in the usual secrecy that ended those types of things, but the Avengers had clearly served some small part... Although all that amateur video footage of Captain America and his cohorts carrying Thor's battered body through Broxton to Asgard looked like them running away from the fight.
When it was all finally over, Batman, Inc. was lauded for its worldwide relief and rescue efforts during this harrowing, extinction-level event. The Asgardians had abandoned them all to a crisis Odin himself had started, and the JLA had gone off to face a greater threat out amongst the stars, but Caped Crusaders around the world had risked everything to maintain order and safety as the world burned. Where the gods and superheroes failed, Batmen prevailed. The Avengers may have technically saved the day, but in the annals of history, it was only because of Batman Incorporated that there was anything left worth saving.
All that good will toward the brand lasted about two weeks thanks to the "Spider-Island" fiasco.
You would figure the blame for a viral infection that gave everybody in Manhattan wall-crawling, web-slinging superpowers before transforming them into giant arachnids in the thrall of the malevolent Queen of Spiders would fall on the web-head's feet, but that wasn't the way that story broke. Somehow, the fallout wasn't about trying to hold the Spider-Man accountable. The question everyone suddenly found themselves asking was why Batman, Inc. hadn't done anything to help.
The easy answer, of course, was that once the virus went airborne, Mayor Jameson had ordered a quarantine to ensure that this "spider flu" didn't spread, which meant there was no getting into the city until after the situation had been resolved, but that wasn't enough to satisfy the critics. Somehow, that just begged the question why, after all this time, there still wasn't a Batman in New York City.
"Bruce Wayne's taken it upon himself to police the world because he thinks he can provide law and order better than the world's elected lawmakers and appointed peacekeepers," Trish Tilby had said on her new GNN show. "Batman can fight super-villains in Japan and give financial aid to crime-fighters in Africa, but when a genetic epidemic explodes 90 miles from Wayne's front door, the Caped Crusaders can't be bothered? I thought the whole point of Batman Incorporated was that the Dark Knight would be everywhere now..."
From then on, that was the story: If Batman, Inc. was so great, how did Spider-Island happen?
If Bruce Wayne was sweating all the flack he was taking from the media, he hadn't shown it. Not publicly, at least. He never issued any press statements in response to the commentary, which was surprising because, if the rumors Renee had heard were true -- and they usually were -- it would have been all too easy to shift the blame for all this back where it belonged. Apparently, despite heavy opposition from City Hall, Batman, Inc. had been vigorously looking to recruit a New York City operative since its inception, approaching several of the Big Apple's established vigilantes over the last several months with offers of cutting-edge non-lethal urban assault equipment and advanced training. They just hadn't found any takers. Montoya wasn't clear on how many almost-Avengers had been asked or who they were, though the largest number she'd heard had been twelve and most of her sources said that the first to decline was T'Challa, the King-in-exile of Wakanda who'd recently abdicated his throne and was now prowling the streets of Hell's Kitchen as the Black Panther.
While Bruce Wayne hadn't made any public response to the Spider-Island criticism, it was maybe two weeks after Jameson lifted the quarantine when the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises and Batman, Inc. called Renee to his office.
"I understand that you're occupied with your own... questionable activities, Miss Montoya," he said after she made the trip to meet him, "but Batman Incorporated would like to contract your services once again, if you're available."
"What could the Batman possibly need?" she asked. "Aren't you the one who gives him all those wonderful toys?"
Ever since Wayne had announced that he'd been funding the Dark Knight's activities in Gotham for years, Renee had been curious about the true nature of his relationship with The Terror That Flapped in the Night... The kind of questions she always figured Commissioner Gordon had pursued before he first teamed up with the Batman in the beginning. She eventually decided that Gordon had never gone public with his queries for a reason and Montoya saw little reason to go where the Commish hadn't dared...
"Batman needs an asset in New York," Wayne explained. "Temporarily," he assured her. "Just so we know what's going on. As soon as we find a proper operative for the city, you come home. Two weeks, tops, Ms. Montoya."
That had been three months ago. Montoya figured Batman Incorporated's overtures to Frog-Man hadn't gone so well after all.
Wayne had offered Renee a generous per diem and use of his Park Avenue penthouse while she was in town, but she had declined the posh lodgings. If she wanted to know what was really going on it was best to stay street-level, so The Question had hidden in plain sight, subletting a cramped, overpriced loft in Chelsea and finagling a few low-paying gigs in the right places.
The job on the cleaning staff at Avengers Tower had been the hardest to con her way into, which was ironic considering how little information she actually got out of scrubbing the toilets at the Avengers' recently rebuilt command center for eight hours.
She still had her cover with the Bugle staff, though. Back when she was checking on the web-head for Oracle, Renee had posed as the new coffee cart attendant at the paper. Re-engaging her old contacts had been easy enough. Any reporter worth their salt remembered faces. She was surprised back then by how much her time there felt like being back with the GCPD. When she was on the force, the only thing she hated more than superheroes were the crime beat reporters, but that week jocking java for the Bugle bullpen was the first time it didn't seem ironic that Charlie, who'd worked as a journalist for all those years he spent as The Question, would be the one to change her life. She orchestrated a run-in with the Bugle's managing editor, Joe Robertson, which earned her a friendly lunch date. She would have much rather spent that time with Betty Brant or Glory Grant, but apparently neither of them were still working for the paper. So Montoya regaled Robbie with stories about the new husband and baby she'd made up on the spot before he offered her a few shifts in the paper's new office.
The real boon turned out to be the bartending job at Josie's, a known hub of criminal activity in Hell's Kitchen. She was trying to work her way toward a post at the fabled "Bar With No Name," where New York's costumed criminals gathered and blathered, but she still needed to build trust before she could mix cocktails for the super thugs. Two months on and Renee thought she was getting there. The regular punks and skels at Josie's tended to talk to her because she was a friendly face who poured drinks that were a little too strong... an old habit from her own days as a drunk.
The lads and ladies at Josie's told their new favorite bartender about crimes going down all over the city. She heard from Stacy, a street girl with a HYDRA hook-up, that the Kitchen's personal guardian, Daredevil, had stumbled upon the ultimate criminal database and the whole world was gunning for the poor, dumb do-gooder.
A former middle-man for the Owl bragged how he'd brokered a deal between Mister Negative's Chinatown outfit and some guys from Metropolis looking to sell some black market weaponry from Apokolips. Montoya put two and two together and figured it was Intergang.
Those were just some of the good tidbits, and there were lots of them, but they came amidst the dross of stale rumors and folk legends, because the patrons at Josie's told her all the old stories, too. Like how the Man Without Fear used to break the bar's decorative plate window every time he stopped by looking for leads like it was his job. When they were drunk enough, some of them even slurred their own accounts of the sick, sordid shit they got up to that weird, wild night last fall when the whole neighborhood erupted into an orgy for no good goddamn reason. Everybody told her about how they celebrated a week later when they heard Oracle had died. Top shelf drinks on the house. Apparently it had been a hell of a party.
Renee knew the nice ladies who used to work with the late, legendary super-techie, so faking a giggle about free hooch the night Oracle died was a bit of a challenge, but she had a job to do. Besides, Montoya had worked a case with the Birds of Prey shortly before she left Gotham for this New York assignment and had some doubts about how that whole "death of Oracle" deal had actually played out...
Supposedly, eight months ago, the Calculator had blown up a sophisticated combat helicopter with Oracle at the wheel, but as far as Renee knew, the GCPD had never recovered a water-logged corpse. No body, no crime. It wasn't actually the first lesson you learned as a detective, but it was definitely in the top three.
Then again, it was easy for The Question to let her mind wander.
According to her contract with Batman Incorporated, she was really only supposed to be doing reconnaissance. A daily update on the movers and shakers in the New York meta-underground which she transmitted to the WayneTech secure server every morning. She wasn't insured for combat in the field. The Question was not the Dark Knight of Manhattan. But it was hard to hear about a shipment of laser guns at the docks and not do something about it, especially when it came from Intergang. Montoya would never jeopardize her precarious position on the criminal grapevine -- she was Batman's sole source in New York, after all -- but she thought she could get away with disrupting the transaction without blowing her cover. And when you got down to it, she just couldn't resist. Renee had left the force because they left her hands tied. What was the point of being a vigilante now if she was going to follow the rules?
The Question suspected that this Chinatown deal was Intergang trying to get a foothold in the Big Apple and Mister Negative must have figured the same, which is why she wasn't too surprised to find his forces in place when she arrived on the scene, but after three months of nothing but legwork, she was ready to pounce. And just like that, The Question found herself taking on forty guys at once on a spring morning in Red Hook.
After all this time, it was almost nice to be fighting Intergang again. Like coming home. She took down five of them in three seconds flat. Montoya quickly found that dealing with Mister Negative's forces, too, drained all those familiar niceties away. She'd heard all the rumors about these "Inner Demon" thugs, but she'd heard them from crooks and The Question had been made to understand that criminals were a superstitious and cowardly lot. Based on everything she'd seen Intergang conjure up against her, she assumed it was just another twenty guys to deal with. Then she pulled a takedown on one of the dragon-masked punks on Mister Negative's payroll that should have put him in traction for a few months and he shrugged it off like it was nothing.
"Hrm," she murmured. This was weird. Renee really had gotten used to the people she put down staying down. The Inner Demons were powered by something bordering on the supernatural.
The Question tried to re-engage the demon, but he wasn't messing around with her anymore. She suddenly wished she'd brought a gun to this swordfight as he slashed at her with a negatively-charged katana, but given her recently felled attacker's remarkable talent for recovery, she wondered how much good even that might have done.
The guy was just about to take off her head when she heard a muffled voice shout "Voice command: right shooter, impact cartridge," and just like that the Inner Demon was covered in some kind of quick-dry crowd-control foam and she had nothing to worry about... Unless you counted the other thirty-four fighters... and the fact that thick strands of grey goop were bursting from the foam and slithering toward her faster than she could avoid.
Suddenly there was this big white blur heading toward her.
"Goddammit, Reilly," Renee heard the man-shaped blur murmur before tackling her to safety. "What's that impact crap supposed to do?"
She looked up at her tackler to see he was dressed head-to-toe in blazing bright white with stylized jet black trimming. "Okay, miss, I'm going to suggest that you leave now," he said, barely glancing her way through those big black triangle-shaped mask-shades as he yanked her up onto her feet. "I really like your hat and all but this is what we call a 'gangwar' and those tend to get OH MY GOD, YOU DON'T HAVE ANY EYES!"
Based on his mid-quip mini-freakout, Renee was guessing the man in white had finally gotten a good look at her face... or lack thereof. Sometimes she let herself forget how unsettling the featureless countenance of The Question could be, even though that was the whole point of the mask. It's hard to look at a face without eyes, nose, or mouth, and it's even harder to lie to something like that when it's asking you questions... especially when this impossible thing in front of you's still somehow talking... still somehow breathing.
Montoya might have lost it herself when she first met Charlie as The Question if she wasn't a Gotham City cop and half in the bag when he suddenly showed up in her apartment. Instead, she'd taken a couple of shots at the spooky pendejo with the gun on her nightstand. The guy had just wandered into her apartment in the middle of the night after all. While she was entertaining a lady friend, no less!
"So, um, I'm guessing from your, uh, blank expression that you're not just some poor hipster chick from Williamsburg who likes to accessorize with a dainty fedora," Whitey mumbled, composing himself with a little more aplomb than The Question expected as Inner Demons and Intergangsters circled around them with a menacing sense of mutual purpose.
"I'll have you know this hat is vintage," she informed him. "And this isn't a gangwar, it's a gun buy, so no, I didn't just stumble onto this. I wouldn't mind a hand, though..."
"How about some of my fancy footwork instead?" he asked, attacking two Intergang guys with an impressive double-kick. "Though, I know what you mean. My hands are pretty spectacular." He pointed at two Inner Demons and they were suddenly ensconced in a thick sheath of that grey foam with two resounding thwaps.
Sadly, it wasn't until then that she knew who had come to her rescue... "You're Spider-Man!" she realized, disarming a Demon with a hard elbow to the face and seizing his sword.
"Well, duh," he said, confused. "Why wouldn't you think I was... oh god. It's the costume, right? I told Reed this thing makes me look like Anti-Venom, but oh no, try to get Mister frakkin' Fantastic to listen to you about costume design. He just waved me off with his big rubbery hands..."
The Question was well aware that the wall-crawler had joined the Future Foundation -- Reed Richard's new variation on the Fantastic Four in response to the untimely death of the Human Torch -- but the new FF hadn't been the media darlings they used to be. It was hard to shake the image of them in those bright blue uniforms, and Spider-Man's white and black Future Foundation costume took a bit of getting used to. Honestly, it was almost impossible to keep up with the wall-crawler's wardrobe these days. It seemed like he had a new outfit every other week while keeping the classic red and blue tights in regular rotation.
It was enough to make one question just how many Spider-Men were truly out there. If Batman could go global, maybe Spider-Man had expanded into some kind of limited liability corporation...
"You got a name?" the web-slinger asked as the two of them dug into the battle before them.
"Call me The Question," she replied with a slight wince. Montoya felt a little stupid every time she said something like that, but that's how these secret identity things were done, right?
To the web-head's benefit, he didn't bat an eyelash... she was guessing at least. It was pretty hard to tell with his own mask in place, especially when she was fighting three guys at once, but the way he himself laid into the task at hand without comment spoke to certain nonchalance.
Renee had actually met Spider-Man once years before, back when she was still in uniform. She was one of about a dozen cops who'd shown up when the web-swinger and the Vulture smashed into a mattress store in downtown Gotham.
"Welcome to Gotham, freakshow!" Montoya still remembered shouting to Spider-Man when he stumbled out of Wayne's World o' Beds, weak and dazed. It was clear to her then that he was just some poor, mutie kid in a costume playing superhero dress-up. Ten seconds later, he was leaping over all of their heads and dodging gunfire as he made one of the more daring escapes Montoya had witnessed at the time.
The Question was suddenly glad she was wearing her stupid pseudoderm false-face during this second encounter, because she decided pretty quickly that Spider-Man had gotten a bum rap.
"The power of Christ compels you to pass out!" she heard him shout after he'd knocked an Inner Demon to the floor. Yeah, the jokes were a little obnoxious, but Montoya had been partnered with Harvey Bullock for years. She had a tolerance for obnoxious few could imagine. Hell, against the Bullock Standard, the wall-crawler was downright charming.
The way Huntress told it, the Spider-guy was supposed to be a sloppy fighter or something, but that wasn't what Renee was witnessing. He was tearing through the opposition with grace and poise and remarkable restraint. She certainly didn't remember him seeming so polished back at the mattress store, but it's not like she'd had any hand-to-hand training beyond her police academy courses back then. Hell, The Question was starting to worry that she was the real liability between them, considering the number of hits he ended up taking while taking down some punk she didn't know was about to hit her. It was then she decided that maybe, just maybe, she didn't need to wish so damn hard that it was Spider-Woman bailing her out. Spider-Man wasn't nearly as nice to look at, but he was certainly a good guy to have watching your back.
"Sorry," she said after he took a kick to the face from an Inner Demon while punching an Intergang goon that almost got the drop on her.
"Nobody dies," he murmured before webbing the guy to a crate. That pronouncement seemed a little dramatic, but Montoya let it slide.
It was after he executed a perfect mantis throw on one of the armed Intergang mooks when The Question realized that despite everything she'd ever heard, the web-head had received some serious martial arts instruction...
Spider-Man knew kung fu!
*
Splendid Web Rush was a modified version of Exquisite Speed Release, a Tiger-style takedown that involved a series of feigned strikes that masked intended grabs. The major difference with Spider-Man's variation was that he used web-lines to increase his reach and his tactile spider-powers to anchor his stance.
When Shang-Chi initially taught it to Spidey in the first weeks of his wushu tutelage, it quickly became the web-slinger's favorite move. "Be careful not to become dependent upon any one method," the Master of Kung Fu had warned his student after the wall-crawler used it one time too many during one of their sparring sessions. "Your style cannot center on one technique alone."
"But I like the attacks that don't involve punching and kicking," Spidey explained, blocking a blow. "Frankly, I'm still afraid I'm going to kill somebody with this stuff."
"Focused discipline is the only path of the enlightened warrior," Shang replied, deflecting a cobra strike from his pupil. "You'll never find The Way of the Spider if you seek it through fear," and just to underline his point, Spidey's sensei dodged his new go-to maneuver with a flourish, socking the wall-crawler in the gut with Lightning Monkey Kick and knocking him right on his ass. "Your kung fu needs to be a versatile, living thing that flows and ebbs with the tide of whatever conflict you face," Shang-Chi instructed, helping Spider-Man up. "Your opponent is not a dragon you slay with an enchanted sword or one magic move. Your battle is a duet the two of you sing in concert. Whether you are the one who belts out the final note is determined by which of you understands the music, not who knows the best lyrics."
"Whatever you say, man," Spidey groaned. He was about to make a joke about how he had always been a button-masher the few times he played Street Fighter as a kid, but he'd promised Shang that he was going to take his apprenticeship to the Master of Kung Fu seriously.
Spider-Man didn't always understand Shang-Chi's flowery metaphors but he eventually got the message. By the time his lessons were done, Splendid Web Rush was just what his teacher would probably call "one more instrument in the empty orchestra" or something. It wasn't a move Spider-Man worked toward anymore; it was one that just poured out of him if the time was right, and now it usually surprised him when it did, like bumping into an old friend from middle school.
He wasn't exactly shocked that day on the docks with the lady without a face, however. Back when he played favorites, he'd suspected Splendid Web Rush would be pretty effective against Mister Negative's funky Chinamen from funky Chinatown.
And no, Peter wasn't racist. That was a hilarious 70's soul reference. Google it.
His training with Shang-Chi was all a part of his new approach to superheroics. Peter Parker was determined to be a better Spider-Man and his dedication was paying off. This little scuffle with Mr. Negative's goons and the newbies with the high-tech guns was wrapped up within ten minutes of him swinging into the fray. Once he and The Question were done, Spidey did a quick check to make sure they were all down and dealt with before making his exit.
"You don't want to stick around?" she asked, looking over one of their fallen foes. "Help me search for clues?"
"I'm, um, not the best at the Sherlock-like stuff," Spider-Man murmured, "and I'm kind of late for work..."
"I get it," she muttered. "You're still mad I didn't recognize you in that suit?"
"No, no, that happens all the time," he told her. Spidey got confused for Anti-Venom a lot in that costume. Of course, nowadays, that wasn't such a bad thing. The local media outlets had painted ol' Eddie Brock as the hero of Spider-Island since the strange, curative properties of his nega-symbiote had eradicated the virus... with the help of a couple hundred-thousand octobots and a little direction on Spider-Man's part...
"So the blank-face thing's still wigging you out, right?" The Question asked then.
"I kinda need to hurl," he admitted, "but if you come up with anything you might need my help with, drop me a line."
"That's okay," she replied. "You're not exactly my type, either." He couldn't see it, but Spider-Man sensed a severe eye roll from her tone alone.
"I mean it," he told her, firing a web to a nearby crane. "Just stop by the Baxter Building or Avengers Mansion. Tell 'em Marc Webb sent you. That's the password."
"Whatever."
"It's different now," he assured her. "If you need Spider-Man, he's there... and nobody dies."
Nice little speech, Pete, he thought as he swung off. Just make sure you follow through.
In the last several months, he had been doing everything in his considerable power to up his game, but he didn't always live up to this new goal. There had been one moment during the Serpent's War that was shaping up to be his second greatest shame after everything with Uncle Ben.
The whole world was going to hell. Thor had just taken a terrible beating fighting Nul, Breaker of Worlds, and after he saw the God of Thunder just barely beat the trans-monsterfied Hulk, Spider-Man asked Captain America if he could leave the frontline to track down his aunt. When Rogers said it was fine, Spidey assumed it was because Cap knew, just like he did, that in the face of everything they were up against, there wasn't much a guy with sticky fingers could do worth a damn.
It was a selfish thing to do, but Peter just wanted to see his aunt right then to make sure she was okay. He didn't have a plan beyond that. He just needed to see May Parker alive.
Since this latest nightmare had started, Spider-Man hadn't heard from her. And the whole time he'd been out there, doing what he could to stem the tide of chaos, he'd been worried. He'd been thinking about May while he was beating Vermin and his army of rats back into the sewers, and the whole time, he knew the guy wasn't in league with the Serpent. Vermin was just as scared as everyone else, lashing out. And Spidey couldn't forget that May was out there through all of that madness. Not even as he battled Angrir, Breaker of Souls -- the monster Ben Grimm had become when he touched the hammer that fell on Yancy Street.
The Serpent's forces were tearing New York City apart and she was in the middle of it. After seeing what happened to the God of Thunder, Spider-Man just had to find her... Over the years, Peter had sacrificed so much to keep her safe. He didn't regret any of it. She was still with him and that meant everything as far as he was concerned. The city could burn if it meant Aunt May was safe...
Spider-Man liked to think that he had a lot of great virtues, but he knew that was this lie he told himself, because at the end of the day, he just wanted to look out for the people he loved. He wasn't like the real heroes. The other Avengers had family and friends they were worried about, too, but they were still fighting the fight, but Peter didn't start out doing what he did to save everybody. He became a crime fighter to do everything he could to make sure he didn't lose anyone else the way he lost Uncle Ben -- least of all Aunt May. In the beginning, he fought criminals because he learned that any one of them could go on to hurt someone he cared about. Eventually, Peter came to realize that everyone gunned down by some random thug was somebody's uncle... somebody's father... and he tried to remember that every time he went out in his spider-themed footy-pajamas, but sometimes his own concerns still won out.
Like he said, it was selfish. He knew that, but it was the only way Peter could live with failing his uncle. Keeping the love of Ben's life alive...
Of course when, despite all the odds, he actually did find the woman who raised him at one of the safety zones set up by the National Guard, May being May was sure to put him in his place. He'd shown up as Spidey, shouting her name with a hoarse throat and this weak excuse that he'd come to find her on Peter's behalf. The first thing she asked was if her nephew was okay, and it wasn't until he swore Peter was fine that she reminded Spider-Man that it was his job to keep everyone safe. That there wasn't any one person he should worry about. Not with all his power. Not with all his responsibility.
For years, Peter had convinced himself that he couldn't tell his aunt he was Spider-Man because she wasn't strong enough to handle the truth, but he knew now how untrue that was. She had known once, and she had flourished in the role of being the web-slinger's mother. After Doctor Strange made her and everyone else forget his identity, he kept her in the dark because it'd be too hard for him. Because then she'd know that he had shameful moments like this. He didn't want it to be that hard for her to be proud of him.
So Spider-Man, worn out as he was, made it back to the battle with the Serpent in time to receive enchanted weaponry Tony Stark had designed for the Avengers with Odin's blessing. He still remembered the surge of power he'd felt with those uru gauntlets on his wrists.
While Thor made war with the Serpent, armed with the Odinsword, the web-head was there when Captain America hefted Mjolnir itself... When Steve Rogers reminded them all he was a soldier willing to lay down his life... a leader without doubt what was the right thing to do... a man clearly worthy of the power of Thor...
Right then and there, Spider-Man saw what he needed to aspire to... He understood what kind of man he wanted to be, remembering all over again how to make May proud and to honor his uncle's memory.
When he was a kid, Ben used to tell Peter bedtime stories about Captain America's World War II exploits. God, he wished the old man could have been there to see his hero save the day...
It wasn't just that last battle that drove Peter now. It was everything Spider-Man had been through all these months. Spencer Smythe, the Spider-Slayer, had waged a campaign to destroy everything J. Jonah Jameson loved... Jonah's family... his friends at the Bugle... It was moments like that which reminded Peter that despite their differences, everybody Jonah cared about were the same people he did. And despite everything Spider-Man had been willing to give up to win the day, including his spider-sense, he'd failed to save Jonah's wife, Marla. The First Lady of New York had died ten feet from him.
Peter wouldn't have the amazing job he had now if Marla hadn't made the effort to treat him like family.
After they laid her to rest, he swore, he'd never watch another person die. He'd find a way. Then the Human Torch was killed anyway. Spidey hadn't been there when it happened, but it still felt like a failure. Peter took Johnny Storm's spot with the Fantastic Four to honor his friend's last wishes. Shortly after that, the whole city was infected with a disease derived from Peter's mutated DNA and he'd just barely found a way to stop it. Then Norman Osborn broke out of prison.
Before any of that, though, Oracle told him he was capable of more than all that he'd done and he wasn't living up to his potential. Now she was gone, too. He had to do better. If not for Ben or Barbara or Marla and all the rest, then for everybody out there he hadn't let down yet.
Even with all that in mind, though, until he perfected time travel, Spider-Man couldn't be in two places at once, could he? He couldn't spend the day busting heads with The Question. He had a job now. One that provided him with the resources to build better crime-fighting tech.
As he made his way to work at the lab, however, it occurred to Peter that, considering all of the high tech assets he now had at his disposal between joining up with the FF and his new place of employment, finding a way to be in two places at once might actually be worth looking into. He knew at least three people who'd had some success with trans-temporal mechanics.
There were many things wrong with his life... As he got older, he suspected that there always would be. But for the time being, there was one thing he could thoroughly enjoy:
Peter Parker loved his job.
*
Barbara Gordon hated her job.
She imagined that for Bruce, part of the appeal of going public about financially backing Batman was giving up the arduous task of covering his paper trail. It wasn't exactly cheap to set up shell companies and dummy corporations so that nobody knew you were buying materials to fabricate a new Batmobile.
It was little wonder that Tony Stark had gone with the flimsy cover that Iron Man was just his hired bodyguard when he first started out as the Armored Avenger. It was completely baffling that he had managed to pull off that lie for so many years, but then again, Stark had always been the better business man.
With this new, cost-cutting sense of transparency at play within Batman Incorporated, it seemed like a logical step to put Barbara on the payroll. Especially since her primary responsibility in her first few months with Batman, Inc. was designing Internet 3.0. It was supposed to be a major crossover project with revenue-sourcing marketability applicable to Wayne Enterprises proper. That said, until all the investors were signed and the deals finalized, if anybody asked Babs about her official responsibilities within WayneTech, Barbara was just one of a few dozen systems administrators. Bruce certainly had a wealth of qualified programmers working for him, but he didn't trust any of them to do any of the initial work on the 3.0 platform any more than she did. Babs wasn't sure what her co-workers did with their days while she was weaving a whole new worldwide web. Probably a mix of busy work, Netflix Instant and online gaming on one of the most sophisticated servers on the planet.
She didn't know and she didn't really care.
For Bruce, Internet 3.0 was just a risky business venture. For Barbara, it was the project of a lifetime.
As Batgirl she had beaten some of the most violent criminal psychopaths in America. As Oracle she had neutralized some of the greatest threats to the world at large from a keyboard with the help of the people she trusted most. There was no denying that she had done some amazing things in her life, but this would probably be her legacy, and it was exciting to think that the biggest thing she'd ever do -- this one grand, world-changing endeavor -- was something she could be credited for as Barbara Gordon. That little Babs, the Commissioner's daughter, could be remembered for something other than being that poor girl who got shot through the spine.
All things considered, it should have been her dream job. And it was... for the most part.
It's sometimes hard to remember that achieving your dreams takes a lot of work. It also takes a lot of luck, too -- and while Barbara had a hard time considering herself all that lucky, she realized she was just kidding herself -- but it takes even more hard work on top of that good fortune.
It wasn't the late nights of coding that got to her. She lived for that stuff. It was the paperwork and... and subordination that her new position required that was making her life hell.
Really, it was Lucius Fox.
Fox had been effectively running Wayne Enterprises for years. He'd started out as the driving force behind Bruce's charitable work with the Wayne Foundation and transitioned over to the Research and Development branch of WayneTech sometime around the time Barbara first became Batgirl. It was in R&D where Fox had truly thrived. The vast majority of tech upgrades Batman had made to his considerable arsenal had roots in some WayneTech project Lucius had spearheaded in some capacity.
So, as you could imagine, Lucius Fox was Bruce Wayne's go-to guy. Barbara was fine with that. He was a good man who did excellent work. Hell, the equipment he had facilitated was probably responsible for her surviving her few years in a cape and cowl. But what she hadn't realized when she'd been filling out her W-2's was that all of this meant that Fox was going to be her boss. That was still taking some getting used to. Barbara had enjoyed unbounded autonomy during all her years running the Birds of Prey. When she thought about it, Babs realized she hadn't had a boss since her days with Task Force X under Amanda Waller. Batman didn't count. Oracle had always considered the Dark Knight more of a client than a manager. Lucius, though, was always checking up on her, charting her progress, monitoring her efficiency and making sure she was... was... filling out paperwork.
Barbara Gordon had a perfect, eidetic memory. Writing things down just for the sake of writing them down was a waste of her time.
Waller certainly never sweat the documentation. All Amanda cared about was that the mission succeeded, which usually meant the Suicide Squad had shutdown some insidious metahuman activity on foreign soil. Hell, with Waller, the less of a paper trail that existed, the better. "I'm sorry, Senator, but those records were destroyed in the explosion," was one of The Wall's favorite excuses during all of those Senate hearings Amanda got dragged to back in the day.
Fox, on the other hand, was meticulous.
Barbara's nightmare started with emails. Initially, she had been programming Internet 3.0 in the blissful peace and quiet of Kord Tower. She noticed all those emails from Fox that started popping up, but she'd ignored them the same way she ignored pleads for financial favors from Nigerian princes and suggestions for Pym particle based penile enhancements. Besides, Bruce had been cc'ed on all of those nonsense emails from his hatchet man, so she figured he would set the guy straight eventually.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
"Miss Gordon, there's a Mr. Fox here to see you," Aleksandr Creote, the ex-Spetsnaz operative she'd more or less hired on as her executive assistant, informed her via intercom two weeks after that first electronic-missive. She was in the middle of testing the haptics for the VR interface when he called her.
"You've got to be shitting me," she muttered.
"I assure you, Miss Gordon, I am not."
"Um, please send him up, Creote," she said. "Direct to the, uh, the work station."
She desperately hoped Aleksandr would understand that she wanted him to stall Fox in the elevator so she had time to prep her command center so she could pretend it was just a typical freelance technician's office instead of the kind of place where she coordinated unsanctioned military incursions and orchestrated hotly contested regime changes. She didn't have to worry Lucius would see the stacks and stacks of sophisticated mainframes on the server floors. Those were in the sub-basements. Babs had no idea how much time she had. It's not like she and Creote actually prepared for something like this. There were thirteen people who were allowed access to her headquarters at the Tower. Lucius Fox was not on that list. How did he even know about this place? Was it possible that Bruce had actually told him? No. If anyone understood somebody's need for secrecy, it was Bruce Wayne...
She was still cleaning things up when the elevator dinged and Fox was in her high-tech henhouse.
It hadn't taken too much for her to clear her screens of anything too revealing -- she had been running a covert op with the Birds in Madripoor, but they'd be fine without her for ten minutes. Her data-crunching on everything she'd compiled about this "Leviathan" operation Batman Incorporated was fighting might be harder to explain, though. Babs figured she could just say it was something she was working for Batman, Inc. that she didn't quite understand, but she hated playing the girl who was just following orders she was too dumb to fully understand.
"Good morning, Miss Gordon," Lucius said with a whistle as he strolled onto the floor, clearly impressed. "You have a very sophisticated set-up here. Is that a Modell Mark IX holographic heads-up array? Wish we had two or three of those puppies over at the Wayne Enterprise Complex..."
Maybe he was too impressed.
"I've done a lot of beta-testing for the manufacturer," she explained. "They said I could keep it. I apologize for the mess. I would have tidied up if I knew I'd have company today."
"Oh, that's fine," Lucius shrugged. "Truly talented people work in their own ways, and I can see now that you're truly talented."
"Um, thank you," Barbara replied. Maybe this little pop-in was going to work out to her benefit after all.
"I'm beginning to understand why Mr. Wayne was so desperate to sign you to the division," he told her then. "Maybe even why he's been so forgiving of your lapses in corporate protocol. If I'm confused by anything now, it's why a young woman such as yourself, with enough resources to build all this, would even bother working for WayneTech in the first place. If you were a competing firm, I'd be shaking in my loafers."
"Well, I believe in what Mr. Wayne's trying to accomplish," she responded. It seemed as though as much honesty as possible was Barbara's best policy. "His plans are just so exciting, aren't they?"
"I suppose they are," he admitted.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Fox?" she asked, as kindly as possible.
"No, I think I've seen enough," he remarked, still glancing at her set-up. "But I'd really appreciate it if you could be sure to forward those daily technical productivity spreadsheets. They help me keep all of our R&D projects on track and under budget."
"Yes, absolutely," Barbara agreed. "I'm sorry if I've been neglectful. I don't know if you know how it gets when you're in a serious coding jag, but it's very easy to lose track of time. You'll definitely get them by the end of the day."
It didn't take much to encourage him to leave after that, but she still didn't like that he'd shown up in the first place. When she accessed her WayneTech email account to contact Bruce about this unbelievable invasion of privacy, she saw that he'd already sent her an email:
FROM: bruce.wayne@wayneenterprises.com
SUBJECT: Where are your daily TPS reports?
Barbara wanted to scream.
The next day, shortly before he went off on a mission in Argentina, the Dark Knight himself stopped by the tower to clarify things.
"It's different now," he explained. "Batman, Inc.'s beholden to the shareholders. I know I can get them on my side, even with all the Leviathan business, but we have to prove that we're still making money. That's why I need you, Barbara, not just Oracle. You. Internet 3.0 is our only chance of justifying the profitability of Batman Incorporated to Wayne Enterprises this entire fiscal quarter."
"I get that, Bruce," she sighed, "I really do, but how does Lucius Fox know where I actually live?" All of Barbara's WayneTech paperwork listed her apartment in East Gotham as her primary residence and while the Batcave might now possibly be on the books, Kord Tower was still hidden in her own ugly, expensive smoke screen of dummy corporations and shell companies.
"I don't know," he admitted eventually and she believed him. It was always unnerving when Batman revealed there was something he didn't understand. "Lucius is a very resourceful person. If you're going to continue working under him for the time being, you should understand that. I'm still not completely sure how much he's figured out about Bruce Wayne's real connection with Batman. I trust him either way, but I'm still not sure if I want to burden him with the whole truth if I don't have to. He's a lot like your father in that respect."
Barbara found this revelation just as troubling. If the world's greatest detective still couldn't read a man, it was best to tread lightly. Especially with that comparison to her dad. When Babs had finally decided to confess to the Commissioner that she had once been Batgirl, his response had been that he'd figured that much out already...
"Fine," she relented, "but there's got to be something you can do to get Fox from dropping in whenever he feels like it."
Batman paused for a moment. She could see his wheels turning. If there was anything more unnerving than him admitting he didn't know something, it was watching the Caped Crusader take more than two seconds to work something out.
"I have an idea," he said finally, "but you're not going to like it..."
And just like that, Barbara found herself reporting to the Wayne Enterprise Complex Monday through Friday from 9 to 5.
She'd been set up in a cubicle with discretionary remote access to her servers at Kord Tower on a separate, encrypted hard-line, but Fox was still stopping by to check up on her at least twice a day. And he kept stopping by even after weeks and weeks of thoroughly completed and promptly submitted technical productivity spreadsheets.
Just to be clear, he was never a jerk about it. Lucius always checked-in with this jovial, avuncular attitude, which just made it worse, really. Barbara didn't even get the pointed pleasure of hating the guy for being a stern, taskmastering bureaucrat. No. He was just doing his job.
And yet, she'd somehow managed to fall into this strange limbo where she had all the responsibilities of being the superhero-hacker supreme coupled with all of the mind-numbing tedium of her old job at the Gotham Public Library.
Well, not all of the tedium. She wasn't still back-logging outstanding overdue fines. And certainly not all of the responsibilities now that the world at large thought Oracle was dead. She and the Birds of Prey had orchestrated an elaborate ruse to make it look like the Calculator's long search for the mythical infojack had finally borne fruit and he had bested his rival in a fiery showdown.
It wasn't that Barbara was done being Oracle. She was still doing work with the Birds and the ever-expanding Bat-family, but now she had the time and space to work on the bigger picture, too. Calculator wasn't coming after her anymore and she wasn't getting calls from any and every crime-fighter who didn't know how to work a Smartphone. Oracle used to get a lot of calls from Booster Gold asking her to check the "Shack Cam" on the Shake Shack webpage so she could tell him how long the line was at their Madison Square Park location.
The cherry on this renewed anonymity sundae was that Barbara had to assume that if a certain wall-crawling one night stand she had recently reconnected with had been looking for her, he'd probably given up the search when he heard the news. At least she certainly hoped so.
Right now, her only real problem was that she was on Fox's radar, and she assumed he wouldn't be an issue once she had the 3.0 beta-test ready, but that had been a disaster. One of the possible investors Bruce had invited turned out to be an agent of Leviathan who smuggled a worm through his avatar. The "thrilling" experience of almost losing their fortunes had actually convinced the others to fund the project after Batman and Barbara sorted everything out, but she spent another month fortifying the anti-malware defenses. Once she was done with that she was willing to let the rest of the code monkeys at WayneTech work out the bugs so she could go back to her nice, private life at Kord Tower.
The morning she finished re-building the firewalls, Bruce was away on Batman business, helping Steph with Batgirl's mission infiltrating St. Hadrian's, Leviathan's evil finishing school for girls in England. That left Lucius in charge and he was suddenly asking her for suggestions to improve the offensive programming for the ro-bats, the combative drones WayneTech had developed for the military. The armed forces had passed, but Bruce had put them back into production for Batman Incorporated.
Unfortunately, Barbara didn't have a good excuse to skip out just then. There certainly wasn't anybody higher on the office hierarchy to cover her. It didn't help that she hadn't exactly made friends with her co-workers. So she spent an idle Tuesday afternoon looking over the A.I. specs, waiting for Bruce to come back so he could finally tell this guy to back the hell off.
At 4:45 that afternoon, Wayne still hadn't come back to the office but Lucius stopped by.
"What do you think, Miss Gordon?" he asked with a smile. "How do we build a better ro-bat?"
"Uh, well, I don't know," she said, flustered. "I only had a day to examine the designs." That should have been more than enough time, but she hadn't actually thought she'd have to do this.
"You're a smart woman," Fox sighed. "Wayne Enterprises is paying you for your ideas, aren't we? Are you telling me we designed the perfect automated combat droid and there's absolutely no room for improvement?"
And the way he said it... that smarmy sigh of his just set her off. She knew that kind of sigh. It was one of exasperated disappointment. As a lifelong overachiever, Barbara Gordon hated that kind of sigh being directed at her.
"The threat assessment subroutines are crap," she told him flat. "It's better than what most private security firms are using for selective vault access these days, but there are better options, especially considering the integrated facial recognition software you have in place."
"What's wrong with the principle component analysis program we have now?" he asked her, still smiling.
Lucius had the same condescending grin every time he said anything to her. Barbara desperately wanted to wipe it off of his face, just the once. So she went into a long, labored discussion delving into the benefits of biometric algorithms, skin texture analysis and three-dimensional facial mapping with the man.
The problem with Fox was that he knew a thing or two about what she was telling him. Not as much as her at this point, but just enough to argue. So while someone like Dinah or Helena would just take her word for it, with someone like Lucius or Bruce she always had to show her work. A little knowledge was a dangerous thing.
"Horizon Labs in New York just came out with a sophisticated Suspect Identification System that covers all of those bases with access to multiple law enforcement databases for detailed profiles on repeat offenders," she told him, finally. "Something like that, coupled with the offensive programming already in place would make the ro-bats less likely to capture and contain some poor kid who just kind of looks like the Mad Hatter."
"Agreed," Fox nodded. That damn smile never wavered. "As of now, they've only released that software to government-sanctioned police agencies. I'd like you to convince them to license it to Batman Incorporated."
"What?" Barbara was flummoxed. "Why me?"
"I saw all that tech from Horizon in your home computing center," he said. "None of that's actually on the market yet, so I have to assume that you've got an in with Max Modell."
Barbara did have an "in" with Modell. Not just the beta-testing. When she'd first started Clocktower Systems as a front for her work with Black Canary, she'd contracted with his Horizon Lab outfit for computer equipment. She liked Max. You couldn't consider yourself a serious hacker without liking the guy. He was a legend. And she supposed that Modell liked her well enough, considering the number of times he'd offered her a job, but she hadn't actually spoken to him since principle construction had completed at Kord Tower a year ago.
Fox only gave her stunned silence a moment of consideration. "I've already arranged a meeting with him at his office in New York for next week," he told her. "We're flying you out on the corporate jet. Mr. Wayne absolutely insisted on giving you access to his penthouse during your stay... Unless you have some other plans of which I need to be aware?"
Barbara was taken aback by the penthouse offer. The jet was technically Wayne Enterprises property, which Lucius could use as he saw fit, but the place on Park Avenue was one of Bruce's personal properties. That meant he knew about this. So Babs should just play along, right?
"Uh, that should be fine, Mr. Fox," she agreed. "Despite all appearances, I'm nothing if not flexible."
One more week, she told herself. Then I can go home and forget about all of this. One day in Manhattan and it's over.
What was the worst that could happen?
*
As worst-case scenarios go, Peter had to admit this wasn't all that bad.
When he came home after a long day at the office, there was a half-naked blonde girl in his kitchen.
It wasn't the only odd thing that he noted upon stepping into his apartment. The fact that this semi-nude nymph was hovering over his checkered kitchen tiles didn't completely escape him. Nor did the sweltering heat on what had been an atypically cool night in June...
That said, the breath-taking vision of this earthbound angel illuminated by the light of the open refrigerator had his complete, astonished attention for the time being as she plucked his half-gallon carton of 1% milk from the top shelf. She teased the spout open with slender fingers before lifting it to her mouth, hygienically conscientious enough not to mush her pouty pink lips directly to the container. She hefted it a few scant inches away as she poured Peter's milk into her open maw. The haphazard tangles of her long hair dipped down as she leaned her head back. Her raised arm forced her pert, tiny tits to pop forward as she drank. Panting as she slaked her obvious thirst, her slight breasts rose with every heavy breath and dropped with every gulp in this mesmerizing rhythm. A few errant drops spilled from her mouth, down her chin and her neck before splashing against her chest. One persistent ivory stream slid between her apple-sized breasts, down her toned tanned torso before stopping at the hem of a pair of bright red bikini briefs which just barely covered her hips and the juncture between those long, weightless legs of hers. The only stitch of clothing on her perfect body.
Peter felt like he'd had this dream a few times before...
"Gwen?" he just barely whispered from the doorway.
The impossible girl jerked her head his way, hearing his soft utterance like a gun had gone off.
"Eep!" she squeaked, blushing furiously. Her baby blue eyes went wide when she spied him, and then she was just... gone, like Peter had merely imagined her. The only evidence left of her was that open carton of milk that seemed to hover in place for a brief moment before the regular laws of physics realized what was what and decided to reassert a little bit of normalcy to these outrageous proceedings.
The milk tumbled toward the floor but didn't quite get a chance to splatter the linoleum as the girl abruptly appeared once again in time to catch it. She quickly righted herself with the carton in hand, almost exactly where she had once floated. She was dressed now, but she was still blushing and her hair was still a tussled, golden muss. Based on where Peter's eyes naturally drifted, the red and yellow shield-bound "S" emblazoned across her chest was practically the first thing he noticed.
"Supergirl?" Peter murmured, confused as she placed his milk back on its shelf before closing the fridge.
"You, um, have a very nice place, sir," she sheepishly beamed with this dazzling smile before disappearing all over again. A stiff breeze suddenly clapped his skylight shut.
This had all transpired over maybe twenty seconds. Peter opened the front door and there she was, then she wasn't, then she was again and gone...
Somebody else entirely suddenly burst from his bedroom.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the Human Torch blurted as he tumble forward, just barely clad in a robe. "I thought you were busy building digitized widgets at the Imaginarium of Post-Graduate Parker."
"It's 8 o'clock, Johnny," Peter said, still just as perplexed as he'd been since he came home.
"A.M. or P.M.?" Johnny asked.
"Post meridian, moron," he replied, closing the front door.
"Huh. Guess we lost track of time...."
Just five weeks ago, Peter thought the Human Torch was dead. When Johnny returned a month back, Peter had been overjoyed. After this last couple of weeks, though, there were times Peter easily forgot how much he had missed the jerk. "What are you doing here?"
"I was entertaining," Johnny sighed, equally as exasperated as he flopped onto the living room couch.
"Was that who I thought it was?"
"That was Kara," he replied with this dreamy smile on his face. "She's a nice girl, don't you think?"
"That was Supergirl?"
"Yeah, she's pretty super alright..."
"How old is she?!" Peter asked.
"Old enough, Parker..."
"What does that mean?"
"Don't be crass."
"How am I the crass one in this scenario?!"
"Asking a lady's age," the Human Torch scoffed. "It's unseemly."
"Johnny..."
"Technically, she's older than the two of us combined if you count suspended animation during space flight from Argo City..."
"Johnny!"
"She's enrolled at Stanhope University, so she's fair game," he shrugged. "She's undeclared, of course, but she's thinking about hospital administration or photojournalism or something like that. Man, I wish I'd finished college. Hot teenage girls as far as the eye can see, and they're all excited to explore their newfound independence. But no, I dropped out so I could focus on all my fantastic adventures instead. It's so hard being me, Pete..."
"I can see that," Peter muttered. "Try to keep the robe closed..."
"Thank god Kryptonian girls go wild, too."
On some level, Peter knew he shouldn't have been surprised by any of this. It was exactly the kind of thing he'd been walking into since he'd inadvertently agreed to let Johnny live with him... but Johnny didn't live there anymore. After three horrific weeks, Peter finally pulled the plug on their little roommate experiment.
The last straw was when he'd walked in on Johnny's new pet, the six-foot tall insectoid, Annihilus, former despot of the Negative Zone, on the crapper... a sight that continued to haunt the web-slinger's dreams.
"Have you ever had sex on fire, Pete?" Johnny asked then, apropos of nothing.
"What do you think, flamebrain?" he murmured.
"Well let me tell you, it's awesome!" Johnny informed him. "It's... it's primal. It's raw. It's... It's right, you know? But there are only so many ladies on earth who can survive something like that..."
"How many times have you done this?!"
"Pete, come on, I'm a gentlemen," Johnny admonished. "I don't fuck and tell."
"That right there..." Peter sighed. "That thing you just said makes you the opposite of a gentleman."
"Agree to disagree."
"No, no," Peter sputtered. "You have to understand that much, at least... And I wasn't asking how many times you've violated Superman's barely legal cousin. I want to know how many times you've used my apartment for your little trysts and whether you always wear my robe afterwards."
"Almost never with the robe thing, but I heard people freaking out!" Johnny answered. "I didn't want to waste time slippin' on the ol' unstable molecular stretch-pants if it was the cops."
It was about then that Peter realized why he and the Human Torch had been friends for so long. Johnny Storm was the super-powered version of Harry Osborn. Well, the super-powered version of Harry that was a little less likely to lob pumpkin bombs at him. Given that realization, Peter knew just what tack to take with Johnny: surrender.
"Just... just get dressed," Peter begged. "Then get out. You can just burn that robe, by the way. Torch the bed, too, while you're at it."
"We didn't do it in the bed," Johnny sighed, getting up off the couch and strolling toward the bedroom. "Kara can hover. We did it over your bed."
*
The Human Torch knew how worried everyone was about him.
The rest of the Fantastic Four or the Future Foundation or whatever they were calling themselves now... They thought he'd died fighting Annihilus and his army in the Negative Zone, but then he was back two months later. Or so it seemed. The truth was Johnny had died. Then Annihilus brought him back to life so he could fight gladiator games for the bug king's amusement. When Johnny died in those stupid contests, Annihilus brought him back again and again so he could keep fighting, and the Torch kept playing over and over until he led a rebellion to take Annihilus down so he could come home to his family.
Supposedly.
It'd been this knock-down, drag-out fight to win the Cosmic Control Rod so the Torch could take Annihilus' throne, so Johnny couldn't say it had all been too easy, but it still seemed too good to be true.
He'd been in hell. Now he was back. He still wasn't completely convinced it all had been real.
During all those years with the Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm had encountered his fair share of alternate timelines and false realities and elaborate virtual simulations. He'd been in countless scenarios that just felt so real only for Reed to ultimately reveal it was fake, and Johnny didn't see how he could be sure that his death and return wasn't one of them. Johnny had died. He'd felt it. He'd given his consciousness over to that terrible rollercoaster in the dark.
Maybe Annihilus had brought him back, sure, but maybe everything since that moment was this crazy hallucination he'd made up in the nano-seconds before his neurons stopped firing. Maybe the after-life was an infinite stream of happy thoughts before oblivion truly took hold... an intricate brain death fantasy in which the Human Torch rallied the warriors of a thousand worlds to revolution, avenged himself against his murderer, then stole the monster's kingdom and came home.
Everything since he'd "returned" to his life was wonderful. Even the massive four-way invasion of earth the Human Torch found himself in the middle of when he emerged from the portal to the Negative Zone. I mean, they won, didn't they?
And Reed had finally changed the team out of those boring old blue uniforms into something a little more hip that made Johnny's eyes pop. And Spidey was finally on the team. The last time Johnny had seen him, Pete was on the verge of homelessness and utter poverty, but now Parker suddenly had an amazing job at some high-tech think tank and a sweet place in Tribeca.
Sure maybe all that could happen in the months he'd been gone, but what about this thing with Supergirl?
Johnny had never met Kara Zor-El before his little ill-fated trip to the Negative Zone. People thought all the superheroes just knew each other, but that wasn't really the case. There were so many social circles in their little community that never interacted. Hell, he probably never would have met Kara if he hadn't gone out of his way to venture outside his comfort zone.
Upon his return, Johnny decided to make a point of tracking down his old foes to let them know they weren't going to get away with the same crap now that he was back and in command of the Annihilation Wave, and that included the Wizard and the Red Ghost. Tracking down the Wingless Wiz and the former Soviet Spy with the super-powered monkeys took him to Metropolis, where those losers and the rest of the Intelligencia -- a bunch of geeks like M.O.D.O.K. and the Mad Thinker and everyone else deluded enough to think they were smarter than Reed -- were trying to steal Phantom Zone research from S.T.A.R. Labs.
When Supergirl showed up to help out, that was just icing on the cake.
Johnny knew he had a habit of hitting on the superhotties, but the sad fact was, most of them weren't all that into him for some unfathomable reason. Supergirl was different, though.
"So, you up for a little dancing sometime?" the Torch asked after the Nerd Herd had teleported to god knows where empty-handed.
"Maybe," she shrugged. "If you think you're man enough, Hot-Stuff."
Johnny practically fell in love right then and there. It was a pleasant surprise and an obvious challenge. He'd always heard that girls of a certain level of hotness almost never get approached because guys are intimated. He'd always had a hard time buying that, though, because it sounded stupid. Now he had to wonder. Maybe lesser men than he did feel that way. Especially when it came to a girl who just happened to have an "older brother" type with x-ray heat vision and the strength to juggle planets.
The Torch decided to take her to a club in Manhattan, just to be safe.
"I used to love this place back in the day," Kara said as she led the way to the dance floor.
"You've been here before?"
"I practically lived here when I was in New York," she answered as she started to dance. "It was kind of a weird time for me. Kal didn't approve."
"He's not going to kill me for this, is he?"
"Of course not, silly," Kara giggled. Supergirl was a hell of a dancer. "Superman has a code against that kind of thing. I won't say he wouldn't have a few choice words, though." She was now bumping and grinding that tight little ass of hers into his junk. "He's always been very respectful of my privacy, but just in case, I'll try to make it worth the risk, Hot-Stuff."
What red-blooded American male wouldn't take her up on an offer like that? Okay, probably not Reed. Or Parker, either. Friggin' nerds.
It was a strange world Johnny Storm had come back to. Really, it was all too good to be true. Kara Zor-El was too fucking hot to be real.
Honestly, if he was right and this was all in his head as he lay dying in the Negative Zone, Johnny didn't want to know. If this was his last dream, he was just fine letting it play out. At the same time, he couldn't help but push things. Especially with Pete. That whole roommate thing had been about seeing how far he could poke the bear of this new so-called reality before it broke, and by some miracle, it was all still intact.
Maybe it was all true. Maybe he really was lucky enough to be alive and life was just beautiful now.
At Parker's behest, Johnny had retreated to the geek's bedroom to dress. When he bent down to snag his pants where they'd been so hurriedly discarded, he was surprised to find a bit of frilly crimson lace tucked into the waist.
Close examination revealed it to be just what he suspected: Supergirl's panties.
The Torch figured Kara must have left them behind in her supersonic rush to get dressed and skedaddle when Parker came home, but wait, that wasn't right. She'd tugged these on right before she'd stepped out of the room to get a drink. If they were still here, then she'd taken them off and left them on purpose.
Somewhere out in the world, The Girl of Steel was flying around, her skirt fluttering over those freshly fucked bare-naked nethers. It was a lovely thought.
Johnny held her scarlet undergarment to his face, inhaling the fragrant scent of peaches and girl-cream. There was this faint, singed undertone of charcoal, too.
"Sex on fire," the Human Torch mused aloud.
Despite what Parker suspected, this had been the first time they'd fucked in his apartment. They'd really only hung out a few times, and while things had started with Kara back when Johnny was living with Pete, they'd always found other options. She said her roommate was always at the dorm, but Superman was a different story, so he took a Pogo Plane to the North Pole and met her at the Fortress of Solitude, where they'd gotten down in a vacant cell of The Man of Tomorrow's alien animal sanctuary, making the beast with two backs while species from a thousand worlds watched. And while the Baxter Building was in the midst of a pretty major remodel after the top couple of floors had been teleported to Latveria, if she minded that lazy Sunday in the burnt out wreck of his old bedroom, Kara certainly hadn't said anything.
Unless "Johnny! Oh oh Johnny!" counted...
He would have avoided Parker's place all together if she hadn't asked him for something special. "Let's just pretend that we're normal people," Supergirl suggested. "Like if we just met at a coffee shop or something and hit it off, then just had to have each other. Do you have a place like that?"
Johnny didn't anymore, but he certainly knew a guy who did. And that guy was almost never there since Parker had been spending all his time at the lab, prepping for this oncoming fight with the Sinister Six he kept going on and on about.
Johnny thought he'd been pretty sweet through this little role-play thing of hers. Kara wanted to know what normal life was like, so he'd done his best to accommodate. He'd made her a nice lunch in Pete's kitchen. Rosemary roasted potatoes with a fennel, prosciutto and pomegranate salad. He'd taken a cooking class in his college days and it was one of the few he hadn't slept through, so he had some idea what he was doing.
"I would have gone all out with a four-course meal, but I'm not sure how much time we'll actually have here," he told her when they were done eating.
"Well, I'm sure we've got time for dessert," she whispered, leading Johnny toward Pete's bedroom.
They were barely inside when she kneeled before him, yanking down his pants and briefs in one super-swoop. She leaned forward then, kissing the tip of his cock. Kara gently licked around the spongy head of his crown as he got harder and harder, this fantastic sensation that briefly distracted him while she grabbed his waist and hoisted him up off the ground as she straightened up on her knees.
"I thought we were pretending to be normal people," he said.
"That was a game, silly," she said in that innocent schoolgirl voice of hers she used sometimes that just drove him crazy. Especially when she used it around a mouthful of cock. "When I fuck, I fuck for real."
"Wooorks for me," Johnny groaned as she started to blow him in earnest.
Honestly, her grip on his hips was a little too tight for comfort, but he could ignore it with the way she was lavishing his prick with her tongue. He was just glad that the ceiling was high enough he didn't bump his head as she rose to her feet, still fellating him. Johnny leaned over her head, stroking her hair and shoulders as she worked her magic.
"You're not selfish, are you, Hot-Stuff?" she asked after a while. Johnny wasn't sure how long she'd been sucking his dick in this impossible way, but it took him right out of it.
"Of course not," he insisted. "But... uh, what do you mean?"
She quickly flipped him over, still holding him at his hips with his dick in her mouth, but now he was eye-level with that sexy little blue skirt of hers.
"Make me feel good," Kara begged between cock kisses. "Don't make me do this alone."
Even with all the blood rushing to his actual head, Johnny knew what he needed to do. He unfastened that thick yellow belt around her skinny waist before tugging Supergirl's skirt down. It kind of felt like pulling it up from that perspective, but gravity carried it away and he still got the idea. He slid those red panties to her knees and planted his tongue on her smooth, hairless pussy
"Lick my clits," she begged before taking him between those soft young lips all over again. He loved it when she said that. That first time at the Fortress, when she had whimpered those words, he assumed he'd heard wrong. Then he took one look at her wet glistening cunt, hesitating in awe for only a moment before granting her all too unique request.
That afternoon in Peter's bedroom, despite her pleas that they should cum together, she came before he did, nearly dropping him as she cried out in bliss, just barely catching his ankles before his head smacked into the hardwood floor. Johnny scrambled into a sitting position while Kara sank onto her wobbly knees, panting "Rao" over and over again.
Why Johnny hadn't cum yet was beyond him. Maybe his blood was having too much trouble going the right way. Maybe he was distracted by how much he had to work with. Maybe he'd just been too good at this side of their upright 69. Toward the end, she'd spent more time moaning around his dick than really sucking it... Although that alone was still pretty fantastic.
"You're awesome," Kara smiled once her orgasm had faded. Then Johnny was suddenly pinned against the wall while she kissed him. Sex at super-speed was a rush in more ways than one. "You know what I want now," she said, lifting her arms up so Johnny could work her top up over her head, unveiling those bra-less, sprightly teenage tits.
He leaned forward to kiss them while she worked her panties down the rest of her legs. Johnny was always surprised by the softness of her flesh. Bullets couldn't pierce the skin, but his lips melted into the plump pliancy of her breasts. He would have sucked on those rubbery pink nipples of her for hours if she hadn't grabbed his face with those tiny, powerful hands of hers and pulled him up and away.
"Nuh-no more teasing, H-Hot-Stuff," she stammered as he grabbed her ass with both hands and squeezed. "You know what... what I neeeeeeeeed..."
And he did. She dragged out that last syllable because he'd been pushing his cock into her molten core as she pleaded.
It was always the same with Kara. Johnny hated to make it sound like they'd fallen into the kind of staid routine he imagined Reed and his sister "enjoyed", because he couldn't believe this was anything like that. The cues with Kara might have followed a certain pattern, but they never felt the same.
That first time, he hadn't really known what to expect. He'd heard that fucking a superhuman would probably kill a normal human, but Johnny hadn't considered himself normal since he was sixteen, but according to all the popular frat-boy theories he used to debate about Wonder Woman in his scant college days, there was much speculation that a girl like Kara could grind his dick into paste.
"Wonder Woman can probably crush coal into diamond in her coochie," Johnny remembered his roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot saying once at the dorm. "It wouldn't be worth it." It didn't really get to Johnny until he was lying naked over Kara in Superman's crystal palace...
"Don't worry, Hot-Stuff," she cooed, seemingly reading his mind after he'd rubbed the tip of his cock just between her wet lips maybe a little too long. "I have amazing muscle control," she assured him as she thrust her hips up toward him while taking his manhood in hand. "You're not just gonna survive," she promised as he fed him into her snatch. "You're gonna love it."
And she wasn't wrong. Supergirl's pussy was just as tight as he dreamed, but just as yielding as he needed.
"Fuh!" she whimpered as he started to feel out a rhythm inside her. "Fuh fluh flah!"
"Fuck you?" he grunted, finishing her thought and picking up the pace. "No problem, girl."
"Noooo," she moaned, rocking into his increasingly frantic thrusts. "Fuh flah-flame on," she whimpered. Johnny almost pulled out right there, but her legs wrapped around him, reeling him back into the heaven between her velvet walls. "Flame on," she begged again.
He wasn't crazy. In all these years since cosmic rays had rendered him optionally flammable, Johnny never considered flaming on in the throes of passion. In the end, with Kara, he couldn't help it. It just happened. He certainly hadn't meant to ignite, but then those powerful thighs were squeezing tighter around him, almost crushing his pelvis. It was practically a defense mechanism. When Johnny felt serious pain, he would light up. He was ablaze and she was writhing beneath him, screaming.
The Torch panicked, of course, but Kara was into it. "Oh, Rao, yeeesssss!!" she squealed. He thought she was hissing until he realized that was just the sound of her cum meeting his flaming cock.
"Oh shit!" he howled, that realization lighting his fire in a whole different way, setting him off.
"Oh Raaaaao!" she wailed as their cum boiled within her.
"Ah fuck!" he cried as the creamy wet mess between them burned off.
After that, sex on fire was all Johnny wanted, and god bless Supergirl for being so willing to oblige him.
It was a casual arrangement. She was busy with school and he was busy re-adjusting to a life he could barely believe. Sue had taken to doting on him like she used to do back when they were kids. And Franklin and Val, his nephew and niece, were having trouble letting him out of their sight, even while dealing with the fact that future versions of the both of them were still hanging around after saving the world from the Mad Celestials.
Like Johnny said, everything was insane now.
Despite their busy schedules, or hell, maybe because of them, about once a week, Johnny and Kara set aside a little time to get incredibly hot and heavy. It just happened that this time, they picked Pete's place. Parker could understand that, right? This was the guy who'd been running around with the Black Cat for fucksake!
Once Johnny was dressed, he found Parker in the kitchen, making a sandwich. "Ooh! Turkey and Swiss on a Portuguese roll with all the fixings," Johnny noted. "But come on, Pete, that really ought to be toasted for maximum flavor. Please, allow me."
"You washed your hands, right?" Parker asked.
"Of course," Johnny lied with a nod.
"Fine," Pete grumbled, handing it over.
A few seconds in his hot hands was all it took. He could smell the difference as the cheese started to melt over all that sizzling meat. "Oh my god, that's good," Johnny said, taking a big bite. "You should make one for yourself, bro. This is delicious. That blend of mustard and horseradish really ties it all together."
"That was the last of the horseradish, asshole," Parker sighed as he started pulling together another culinary masterpiece. "Are you really so dense you don't get that I'm mad at you right now?"
"What for?"
"She was naked," Parker practically blubbered. "I saw Supergirl naked in my kitchen."
"Oh man, I'm just... I'm so sorry you had to see that, Pete," Johnny consoled, putting a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Be honest with me: Are you going to be okay?"
"You're a dick," Parker complained, batting his hand away.
"I think I've found my calling."
"Being a dick?" Peter replied. "Yeah, I think you nailed it."
"I know what I should be doing for this big super-science concern Reed started up in my honor!" Johnny said.
"The Future Foundation?" Peter rolled his eyes. "This ought to be good..."
"I'm going to catalogue the sexuality of aliens."
"Of course you are."
"You'd be surprised by the subtle differences between human girls and girls that just look human."
"I probably would be," Parker agreed.
"Did you know that despite the many physiological similarities between Kryptonians and humans, Krytonian girls don't grow any hair around their pubic region?" Johnny asked with a smile.
"Please, don't make me an accomplice to anything the two of you did," Peter said. "I don't want details."
"And they've got three clitorises... clitori... Is it clitorises or clitori?"
"It's 'clitorises' in English, but in Latin, it's 'clitorides'," the nerd verified.
"One of them's exactly where you'd expect it to be, and the second is on the opposite end of the vaginal opening, just at the edge of her taint," Johnny continued. He knew that no matter what Pete had said, the guy was just dying to know. "The third one? The third, my friend? It's internal. Like, just inside the va-jay-jay on the lower side... if she's not reverse cowgirling. Man, I wish I had a chalkboard or something so I could draw you a diagram..."
"I am so glad that you don't," Parker sighed. "Pretty sure I begged you not to give me details."
"Don't you get it? This could be my thing!" Johnny told him. "I could be the sex science guy for the FF!"
"Oh right," Peter laughed. "You're going to be the cosmic-powered Alfred Kinsey."
"What's so funny about that?" Johnny asked.
"Do you even know who Kinsey was?"
"I know who Kinsey was," Johnny snorted.
"Really?"
"He pioneered the field of sexology," he answered.
"I guess you do know who Kinsey was," Parker conceded.
"I saw that flick with Qui-Gon Jinn," Johnny explained. "I was kinda dating this film studies major at Metro College when it came out and she dragged me to it."

"A girl was involved?" Peter gasped. "I'm just so surprised..."
"Whatever," Johnny shrugged. "Are you telling me that there's absolutely no need for that type of research within the Future Foundation?"
It wasn't a question as much as an accusation. The more Pete paused to think about it, the more he obviously felt his response was due some consideration. "Maybe," Parker admitted. "If it was done the right way..."
"That's what I thought," Johnny smirked. "Just make sure you tell Reed and Sue that."
"Kinsey didn't start all that research just to have sex with his subjects," Peter muttered. "Not at first, at least. And that certainly doesn't mean I want my apartment used as Sex Lab One. I took the spare key back for a reason."
"Yeah, well, if you don't want people flying into your place, don't leave the skylight unlatched, genius," Johnny replied. "And come on, somebody should be getting some in a great place like this."
"I only broke up with Carlie three months ago," Pete said. "Let me get over it... Not that my sex life is any of your business."
"It could be," Johnny insisted. "Especially once I start my sextra-terrestrial case studies. Everybody knows about you and Spider Skrull Lady..."
"I'm not talking to you about this anymore."
"Hey, give me a break, man. I think I've been pretty cool about you breaking the bro code when you started dating Cooper..."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me, buster bug boy," Johnny fumed. "I had dibs on Carlie."
"What the... How do you... WHAT?!"
"She was my date to Aunt May's wedding," Johnny reminded him. "You were there when I asked her, remember? It was after I beat Doctor Octopus when he took mental control of the city's machinery."
"After you beat Doc Ock?" Parker scoffed. Sure, maybe Spidey had done a lot of the boring part, matching wits with Octavius, but the Human Torch had been the one who burnt up all those stupid rob-octopi.
"I did all the work on Carlie, and you just swooped in and reaped the benefits," Johnny insisted. "Over my dead body, no less!"
"I started dating Carlie before you went missing," Peter corrected.
"See? You're just digging yourself in deeper, dude."
"You stole my date to that wedding!"
"And yet you showed up with the hot Latina roommate anyway," Johnny recalled. "Michele, right?"
"This is what I don't understand about you," Peter mumbled. "You can't remember to load the dishwasher, but you never forget a woman's name..."
"Whatever happened to her?"
"She moved back to Chicago," Pete sighed.
"So you broke that poor chica's heart, too, when you snaked Cooper right out from under me."
"The only thing I broke of Michele's was the lease on that apartment," Parker asserted.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, you heartless, heartless scoundrel."
"You know what, Storm, I give up," Pete shrugged. "If you want Carlie's number so you two can resume your star-crossed romance, I completely understand and won't get in your way."
"Well, I'm not like you," Johnny assured him, seriously suspecting the sincerity of Parker's apology. "That's your ex-girlfriend and I wouldn't do that to you, pal. I respect the code."
"Sure you do."
"If that same policy applies to Mary Jane, though..."
"I will kill you," Peter said flatly. "I will end your life."
"Kidding, man, jeez," Johnny laughed. "You're all tense and frustrated over nothing. I wonder why that is... Maybe somebody needs to get laid?"
"Sex isn't the solution to everything, Johnny," Pete said. "It's rarely the solution to anything."
"How are we friends?!" Johnny asked.
"I ask myself the same question," he replied. "Constantly."
"It's time for you to get out there again."
"I don't want to talk about this," Parker whined. "At all."
"You can cut the whole 'I'm just prudish, perfect Peter' routine with me, webs," the Torch sighed. "We both know it's just a matter of time before the old Parker luck drums up a whole new unbelievably hot chick that's way too good for you, you lucky so-and-so."
"You're the only person who thinks it works that way."
"Because I've seen it in action!" Johnny insisted. "Me, I've got to work for it. Charm them. Granted, it's not that hard because I've got so much to work with, but you? You just bumble around with your mopey, geek-ass, Scientific American-loving, bookworm routine and the hotties just can't help themselves."
"Yeah," Peter sighed. "That's exactly how that works."
"Sue keeps telling me that the Symkarian Consulate's been pestering the Future Foundation with invitations addressed to Spider-Man for a state dinner in his honor," Johnny remarked. "Ben says they've got the same problem at Avengers Mansion."
"What's your point?"
"Silver Sable really wants to see you..."
"I'm busy," Peter said, carefully placing a pickle.
"Too busy for a fancy meal?"
"Silver probably just wants to butter me up for one of her shady merc jobs."
"Or maybe she just wants to butter that cock, stud," Johnny suggested.
"Nobody talks like you in real life," Peter groaned. "Nobody."
"You should go for it," Johnny insisted. "She's Eastern European. Eastern European chicks don't have nearly as many sexual hang-ups, Pete. The number of Latverian girls I could tell you about... Whew! Ms. Sablinova's gonna open your eyes."
"Stop it."
"I'm talking next-level kink. Bondage maybe. Bring dem web-shootahs fo' sho, playa!"
"Johnny."
"You're going to need some real toys, too," Johnny informed him. "You have a cock ring, right? If not, I got a guy..."
"I am begging you to stop."
"Peter Parker, you are wasting your awesome years!"
"I think I'll live."
"Fine! I give up!" Johnny relented. "But before I leave you to another action-packed night here all by your lonesome, tell me true, Pete, for my own piece of mind: What is the man who could have everything waiting for?"
"You're going to have to explain that one..."
"The one thing I always liked about you was that you've always been as big of a screw-up as me," Johnny told him. "Even after I learned you were this big brainiac like Reed, your life was still just this huge mess. It made me feel like I wasn't just wasting my potential, because if a guy like you hadn't figured it all out, maybe it wasn't so bad that I hadn't either. But you're on the right track now. You've got the big job at Horizon. You've got money in your pocket. You're getting it done, son. So what's stopping you from getting some tail? Are you telling me that pulling my life together means I have to live like a monk? Because I won't do it!"
Parker didn't say anything for a while. He just quietly finished cutting a slice of tomato to top his sandwich. When he was done, he held it out toward Johnny. "If you warm this up for me and don't eat it, we can hang out tonight," he offered. "I just got Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid from Netflix."
"Blu-ray?"
"Like you said, I'm getting it done, son."
It wasn't an invitation as much as a challenge. The more Johnny considered it, the more he realized his response was due some thought.
"Yeah, all right," he eventually agreed, graciously deciding to drop his whole completely valid argument.
Maybe it was finally time to just accept life as he knew it now. After all, if anybody could go to hell and come back unscathed, it was Johnny Storm, but even the Human Torch could only push things so far...
NEXT: Getting Down to Business
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When Spidey Met Oracle