With great power, comes great responsibility.

I’m faster these days. Not as fast as I used to be, of course, that’d be impossible. But I’ve been at these training sessions long enough, now, that I can actually keep up with Captain America. When we get down to the sparring, it’s more of a dance.

A really fast, really dangerous dance.

I live for these sessions. It’s an excuse to step outside of my head and live in my body for a while. I don’t have to think or pretend I’m a person. I just have to make sure I get the hell out of the way when Steve’s battering ram of an arm comes rushing towards my face. I don’t even try to make conversation. Spider-Man’s running commentary has no place here. It’s not about trying to reconnect to some past superhero glory. It’s about making sure Peter Parker can keep his cool in polite society. Sometimes I wonder if he isn’t as much a mask as my more colorful alter-ego.

I probably need serious therapy.

Today, though, today’s different. I’m pushing myself harder than normal, taking risks I don’t usually take. I’m not fighting for the release, I’m fighting for the distraction. I almost miss Cap’s next jab, and I block it long enough to step back, throwing my hands up into a T shape. I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping into my eyes.

“Give me a second.”

There's a not-so-small, paranoid part of me that doesn't want to let Mary Jane out of my sight. Like my eyes are the one thing keeping her from disappearing to New York as quickly as she arrived.

It's ridiculous, of course. Not to mention stupid. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that I don't have much sway over anything here, let alone who gets to leave or stay. But it doesn't matter. There's nothing rational about an irrational response. It's right there in the name. So when I leave MJ to her own devices to go meet up with Cap per plans made earlier in the week, it's with this nagging voice at the back of my head saying, 'She won't be there when you get back.'

Hrm.

Maybe we can cut things short. Heck, the only reason I'm going at all is because if I don't show up, he'll probably come looking anyway, and we're still short one reliable coconut phone service here on sunny Tabula Rasa. Best to just show up, let him know what's up, and then skedaddle back home. Should be easy, right?

So why am I so nervous? This is good news. Complicated news, granted -- the kind that kept me up all night with a cocktail of conflicting emotions, but at the end of the day, it's good. The sort of thing I needed after the past few weeks of hell, with Pepper nearly dead and Tony newly dying. But just like anything that involves me, it's--

Well, complicated. Already covered that.

(I haven't even thought about telling them yet. Don't even know how to broach the subject. I've got my wife back, but to them, she's just a strange version of a friend. Good news for me, maybe not so much for them, and I'm too selfish to consider that maybe they won't want to see her at all.)

He's not at the usual spot when I turn the last corner. Figures. In my haste to get out of here, I show up early. With a frown, I crane my neck to see if he isn't running early, too, but with no one on the immediate horizon, I try to settle in for a wait.

Try being the operative word.

Too twitchy to sit still, I stand up after about thirty seconds of fidgeting, and start to sing under my breath as I pace: "Oh, where, oh, where has that little Cap gone, oh, where, oh, where can he beeee?"

He tells me to meet him in a clearing. It's secluded, far from any dwellings, abandoned or otherwise. Not the kind of place a person's just going to stumble across in the middle of the day, basically. Were it anyone else, I might suspect I was walking into a trap -- and honestly, there's a moment or two, as I cross through some of the denser stretches of jungle, where I entertain the idea, anyway. I've always had a healthy sense of paranoia; it's what's kept me alive this long. But today isn't about relying on dumb luck or good hunches or any number of things I use to supplement actual skill in a fight.

Nope, today's about going to school, so to speak. You never stop learning; if there's one thing I believe in, it's that. There's no experience that can't teach you something, and me, I've got plenty of experience. More than most folks combined. What I don't have a lot of is training; what little I've received over the years from various sources isn't much. Posturing aside, I'm effectively self-taught. Even here, where I've had to condition my mind and body to cope for the loss of my powers, I never bothered going about it in any sort of systematic way. I went by intuition. Trial and error. I used to go out in the middle of the night to fall out of trees when I could've spent those hours in bed with my wife.

There's a saying you hear around hospitals, that no one on their death bed ever wishes they'd spent more time in the office. The problem with my life is, if I hadn't put that time in, I wouldn't have been able to protect her from all the insanity I tend to attract. Maybe it didn't matter in the end, but I have to believe vanishing is better than dying, even if it damn well feels the same.

This isn't about Mary Jane, though. Not really, even if it seems like all roads lead to her, these days, not a single thing about this place that doesn't remind me of her in some way. If the party the other week proved one thing, it's that I do need a distraction, but nothing so frivolous. I need a reason to get out of the mansion that isn't just to make a run to the scrapyard. I need to see people on a regular basis again who aren't just Tony or Pepper. There's no telling what the timeline on this project of mine is going to be; if I don't have something in my life that I can point to and say, 'yes, there's been concrete progress made,' I might very well go insane. And I intend on making progress.

Even so, I can't fight off the fluttering of nerves in the pit of my stomach when I finally come across Steve Rogers -- Captain America himself -- already waiting for me in the middle of the field. He told me to bring just myself, and I listened to the instruction to the letter, opting to leave my web-shooters back at the mansion, and to dress in sweats and a sleeveless t-shirt. Admittedly, it feels weird doing this out of uniform; I find myself wishing for the anonymity of my mask, though the beard would make it pretty uncomfortable. I'm going on my second month, now, without shaving. I just can't be bothered.

But hey, I'm eating again, right? That's something. Of course, I don't know if I'll come to regret having such a big breakfast, but at least I won't have to worry about passing out anytime soon. Well, not from low-blood sugar. There's every chance he'll have to carry me to the clinic by the time we're done here, but that's besides the point. Lifting my hand in greeting, I try to keep the shakiness out of my voice as I call out, "Hi."