Most girls knew when to say when. Felicia Hardy has never been one of those girls. Those girls had boundaries. Rules. Little lies they told themselves while they cried at night. Those girls were pathetic
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It figures. The week I decide to focus on the present -- tear myself away from my own memories long enough to appreciate what's in front of me in the here and now -- is the week my past comes back to haunt me in the flesh. Christmas Eve it was Uncle Ben's grave. One day into the new year and it's Felicia Hardy, known to authorities as the Black Cat.
You'd think this'd be a good thing. I mean, she's an old flame turned friend, and I'm short on people I can count on in this place -- that should be a good thing. Unfortunately, though, she's also Trouble -- with a capital T that rhymes with D that stands for I'm so dead. My current situation with Mary Jane is precarious enough as it is without adding someone like Felicia in the mix. 'Cause, see, while I got over her a long time ago, last I checked she couldn't say the same about me.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," I say with a nod, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. I smile, then, unable to not make the obvious bad joke. "Look
( ... )
It's a split second reaction. Thinking is not exactly something that she registers as a good idea. Her hand slides into the slot on her bike and pulls out the stun gun as she hops off and leaves her helmet resting in the snow.
It hits her at just the moment when she's pointing the weapon at him. Eyes widening as it clicks that not only is this the man whose life she was running away from, but he appears to be living comfortably in the realm of normal.
"Spider?" It comes out half as a question and half a statement. Felicia knows that this is just the sort of luck that used to get her into some serious trouble. Only this is a lot less fun. "You're not supposed to be here."
Back home, my spider-sense would've warned me about the weapon, giving me plenty of time to get the heck out of Dodge and throw another quip in the process. Here, though, I'm left waiting until the gun's already drawn before I can make a move, jumping out of the way a split-second later than I would've liked -- just in case she fires.
"That's funny, 'cause I was sorta here first."
This should really be a good thing. She's a friend, for Pete's sake -- a friend who occasionally straddles the line between sanity and Crazy Town, but a friend nonetheless. And if that's true -- and it is -- then why can't I shake the dread I feel just looking at her?
I shove my hands in my pockets, keeping my distance in case she changes her mind about firing. "And we're... gonna need to talk about that."
It is details like that which make her life a lot more complicated than it should be.
Shoving the stun gun back into its holder, not worrying about whether the safety is on or off, she bends down and scoops up her helmet. Dusting it off Felicia is struck by how deeply unfair this day is turning out to be.
Speaking of day, isn't it supposed to be almost over anyways? "Whatever. Where's the wifey? Or did she skip out on you and your medical expenses?"
It's a low blow on a woman whom she only really likes about fifty percent of the time. That's usually the amount of time when they're not in a Cold War over the hero in question. Hooking her helmet onto her bike, she arches an eyebrow. "About what? Because if this is the 'It's not you, it's me' speech you can save it."
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It figures. The week I decide to focus on the present -- tear myself away from my own memories long enough to appreciate what's in front of me in the here and now -- is the week my past comes back to haunt me in the flesh. Christmas Eve it was Uncle Ben's grave. One day into the new year and it's Felicia Hardy, known to authorities as the Black Cat.
You'd think this'd be a good thing. I mean, she's an old flame turned friend, and I'm short on people I can count on in this place -- that should be a good thing. Unfortunately, though, she's also Trouble -- with a capital T that rhymes with D that stands for I'm so dead. My current situation with Mary Jane is precarious enough as it is without adding someone like Felicia in the mix. 'Cause, see, while I got over her a long time ago, last I checked she couldn't say the same about me.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," I say with a nod, lifting my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. I smile, then, unable to not make the obvious bad joke. "Look ( ... )
Reply
It hits her at just the moment when she's pointing the weapon at him. Eyes widening as it clicks that not only is this the man whose life she was running away from, but he appears to be living comfortably in the realm of normal.
"Spider?" It comes out half as a question and half a statement. Felicia knows that this is just the sort of luck that used to get her into some serious trouble. Only this is a lot less fun. "You're not supposed to be here."
Reply
"That's funny, 'cause I was sorta here first."
This should really be a good thing. She's a friend, for Pete's sake -- a friend who occasionally straddles the line between sanity and Crazy Town, but a friend nonetheless. And if that's true -- and it is -- then why can't I shake the dread I feel just looking at her?
I shove my hands in my pockets, keeping my distance in case she changes her mind about firing. "And we're... gonna need to talk about that."
Reply
Shoving the stun gun back into its holder, not worrying about whether the safety is on or off, she bends down and scoops up her helmet. Dusting it off Felicia is struck by how deeply unfair this day is turning out to be.
Speaking of day, isn't it supposed to be almost over anyways? "Whatever. Where's the wifey? Or did she skip out on you and your medical expenses?"
It's a low blow on a woman whom she only really likes about fifty percent of the time. That's usually the amount of time when they're not in a Cold War over the hero in question. Hooking her helmet onto her bike, she arches an eyebrow. "About what? Because if this is the 'It's not you, it's me' speech you can save it."
Reply
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