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[for Wolverine] book ends
Used to be that if I was in a bar on a Friday night, it was to rough up some mook into giving me enough information so I could figure out who the mook I caught earlier in the night was really working for. There was a natural order to things. A purpose.
Not so much, anymore. This is the second time this month that I've found myself at the Catscratch Club, though this time -- fortunately -- Tony is nowhere to be seen. Good. For a number of reasons, really, though somewhere on the less important spectrum of things is the fact that I didn't come here to see him, anyway.
I spot Wolverine sitting on what I'm guessing must be his usual stool and I am, suddenly, acutely aware that I left Mary Jane's company to come to talk to him. I am similarly aware that she's the reason I'm here in the first place, through absolutely no fault of her own.
I drop down beside him, holding on tight to the edge of the bar so I can lean back, my arms stretched out in front of me.
"We have got to stop meeting like this."
Not so much, anymore. This is the second time this month that I've found myself at the Catscratch Club, though this time -- fortunately -- Tony is nowhere to be seen. Good. For a number of reasons, really, though somewhere on the less important spectrum of things is the fact that I didn't come here to see him, anyway.
I spot Wolverine sitting on what I'm guessing must be his usual stool and I am, suddenly, acutely aware that I left Mary Jane's company to come to talk to him. I am similarly aware that she's the reason I'm here in the first place, through absolutely no fault of her own.
I drop down beside him, holding on tight to the edge of the bar so I can lean back, my arms stretched out in front of me.
"We have got to stop meeting like this."
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Not the kind of emergencies that ever involve love and marriage, though. Some of the time I manage to convince myself I prefer it that way. When it comes to the second half, that's easier.
Heck, when I look at Parker's situation, I don't know that I'd want to be in his shoes.
"It's the Mary Jane you're married to, back home? Or... were married to."
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"She's from some point between where I left and where Cap left. We haven't started warring civilly yet, but the New Unpaid Avengers are already assembled."
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Not entirely as delicate as it could be, I guess -- although I' not trying to land any points here, that's for sure -- but I'm not exactly a delicate guy. Look at where we are. They didn't give me claws to do surgery with.
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Disbelief overpowers my defensiveness when I add, "She... understood."
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Hell of a woman, really.
"You'd rather she didn't?"
It's possible, on some level. Us hero types can be masochists.
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Which is maybe the real issue at hand. Just barely resisting the urge to bang my head against the edge of the bar, I hunch over regardless.
"I just... Don't know how we get over this. How I make it up to her. It's like... I should've known, you know?"
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"...well, you've seen my luck."
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"Just that seemingly implausible things kinda crop up a lot when I'm around. Maybe I couldn't have seen all the details, but it's not like I haven't been through stranger."
Slumping forward, I finally let my forehead fall so that it's pressed against the bar. It's far from comfortable, but then, that's been the theme for the past couple days. Even when I have every right to be happy, circumstance gets in the way.
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"Don't talk to me about Tony," I reply with a grimace, rubbing my hand over my face as I sit back up. I didn't call that one, either.
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I wouldn't go so far as to wish this place had crime, but lemme tell ya: the best therapy I ever had was just talking through my problems while I dealt with whatever mook of the day happened to cross my path while on patrol. This is about the closest I can get to that without throwing a couple punches. It's almost sad.
"I'll tell her you say hi."