"The Wisdom to Know the Difference," Chapter 10/11
Another blizzard! I'm getting tired of this. Today wasn't the fun, "snowed in with tea and fic" kind of blizzard either (though it looks like tomorrow might be). Instead, it involved driving in a whiteout with drifts nearly closing the roads and other not-fun things.
Anyway, sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. "The Wisdom to Know the Difference," a Spider-Man/Daredevil/X-Men crossover novella, continued.
[ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Notes ]
"The Wisdom to Know the Difference"
Chapter 10: Sharks and Bears and Frogs! Oh, My!
"So," Matt said a few minutes later, "that's a pool table over there, right? Who's up for it?"
A slow, feral grin spread across Scott's face. "I'd play," he said casually. "Hank? Peter? We could have teams."
Peter looked at Hank, who shrugged. "I'll participate if you'd like to," Hank said.
"Sure, why not?" Peter smiled as he stood up. "How do you want to do this? X-Men versus
New York vigilantes? Shirts versus skins? Or scientists versus sunglasses?"
"I'm not stripping," Matt said. "How about me and Hank against the two of you?"
Peter frowned. He had a feeling Scott was a real pool shark, and while he wasn't great at pool, or anything, at least he could see, and he didn't have paws. He was just opening his mouth to suggest switching when Hank nodded, wearing a funny little smile Peter couldn't quite decipher.
"I think that would be most satisfactory."
While Peter racked the balls, the other guys decided that they'd take turns according to age, which meant he was first. He took a cue from the holder on the wall, put chalk on the tip (he still didn't know why people did that, except that it looked cool), and then leaned down, lining up his shot.
The balls broke with a loud clacking sound, and the solid yellow one rolled toward the far left corner pocket. It hesitated for just a second, wavering, before dropping in.
"All right!" Peter exclaimed. It looked like he could get the purple solid one in, too--it was hanging out in the middle of the table, almost lined up with the center pockets, and the cue ball was at a pretty good angle to push it in.
He went around to the side of the table, lined it up, shot, and watched the purple ball bounce off the edge and roll right back to the middle. "Rats," he muttered.
Scott smiled, then took a swig of his beer. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly.
Across the table, Matt and Hank had their heads together.
"--a grid?" Hank was saying.
"No. Just in rows, starting at the far left."
"Oh. Very well. 12, striped. 14, striped. 6, solid. Next row, below those: 8, solid…" Hank went on naming the balls, and after a second, Peter realized that he was describing the layout of the table to Matt. He wondered, as Matt stepped up to take his turn a minute later, why they'd bothered.
As if sensing his thought, Matt turned to him and Scott. "Okay if I call these?" Without waiting for an answer, he lined up a shot. "13-ball, side pocket." The ball went in. "9-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh. (Or clack, roll, rattle down inside the table. Whatever.) "10-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh.
He sank all but one of the stripes before he missed, and even that was close--the 12-ball bounced between the rails by one of the corner pockets before deciding not to go in.
"Dammit," Matt said as he straightened up, wearing a really smug grin. "I must be out of practice."
Peter was certain his cheeks were burning. Thank God he hadn't doubted Matt's abilities aloud! Hank looked like he was trying to hide a laugh by taking a drink of his beer, which told Peter two things: one, Hank had known--or at least guessed--what his teammate was capable of, and two, that the look on Peter's face was saying a lot.
Scott didn't look too fazed, though. He studied the table for a second, head tilted slightly, before nodding to himself and leaning over. "Okay, we're calling shots, now?" he asked.
Matt grinned. "Go for it."
"Will do," Scott said. "And just to make it a little more interesting… Peter's got the one, so, two-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh. "Three-ball, side pocket." Swoosh. Of course. "Four-ball, corner pocket. Five, side pocket. Six-ball, side pocket. Seven, corner pocket."
Peter was pretty sure his jaw was somewhere around his knees when Scott called--and of course sank--the eight-ball. Then he turned to the rest of them, totally poker-faced. "Want to play again?"
Hank held up his hands, still looking amused. "I'm content to observe, this time, thank you."
"Me too," Peter said.
But Matt was grinning like a cat who'd just discovered a ten-pound turkey in the canary cage. "Oh, you're on."
While they were hashing out what game to play--one that didn't involve knowing what the numbers were--Peter snagged his still-half-full beer and went over to lean against the wall beside Hank. "So," he said, "we cheering, or heckling?"
Hank smiled. "How would one heckle in billiards, I wonder?"
"Like this." Peter nodded at Scott, who was bending over the table, giving them a clear view of the back of his jeans. "Cyclops got a big butt! Cyclops got a big butt!" He waggled his own hips for emphasis.
On the other side of the table, Matt nearly spit out his beer. And now Hank was getting into it, shaking with suppressed laughter. "I suppose I'm cheering, then," he murmured. Then, louder, with gestures, "Scott wields his staff, wooden and thick! Break those balls, Scott, with your stick!"
That did it. Beer was officially coming out of Daredevil's nose. Scott kept trying to line up a shot, but Peter could see the end of his cue quivering. Hank didn't quit.
"Beast has got the muscles, and he's got the brains, but Scott has the enormous stick, and whoo, he'll win the game!"
Scott turned slowly, red-faced. "Beast…"
"Oh, very well, I'll desist."
Actually, once Scott and Matt got down to business, there was nothing funny about it. They both made the professional pool players Peter sometimes saw on TV look silly.
After they'd each won a game, Scott polished off his beer, then glanced at his watch. "Shit," he said, "Jean and Ororo and the kids are supposed to be home pretty soon."
"That reminds me," Peter said, "did all the kids go?" Now that he thought about it, it was really weird for Xavier's to be this quiet.
Scott shook his head. "Most of them--this is the first fun trip they've had in awhile--but a couple of them don't like to leave," he said. "They're making a fort in the attic, I think. But once the other kids get back, after hitting the food court and having movie snacks, it's going to be a zoo."
Matt brushed his fingers over the face of his watch and winced. "I should get back soon, anyway. I'm supposed to call Foggy and figure out when we're meeting tomorrow."
"Okay, well," Peter said, sliding his hands in his back pockets, "I guess we should wrap it up. What do you guys think? Should we do this again?"
"Do you really have to ask?" Scott shook his head in surprise while Matt and Hank nodded their agreement. "All I was wondering was, what should we call this group?"
Hank thought for a minute, then shrugged. "What about S.H.I.E.L.D.? 'Super Heroes Interacting in order to Ease Life's Difficulties?'"
Peter frowned. "That's kind of long, Hank. I was thinking more like, Superheroes Anonymous. 'S.A.'"
"I believe 'S.A.' is already in use," Hank replied.
"Isn't that Smokers Anonymous?" Matt asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm fairly certain it's Sexaholics Anonymous. Besides, is the point of this organization not to cease to be anonymous?"
Peter snorted. "Okay, maybe not."
"Do we really need a name?" Matt asked as he fitted his pool cue back into the rack on the wall. "It's not like we're going to put up recruitment posters."
"That's another thing," Scott said, leaning against the pool table. "Who else are we going to invite? I mean, obviously, Jean and 'Ro…"
"Definitely them," Peter agreed. "And I was thinking, maybe a couple of the older kids? Like that one, Bobby? He seemed--" he broke off, surprised, when both Hank and Scott started shaking their heads.
"No way," Scott said. "At least, not yet."
"I concur. Consider, Peter, what an enormous responsibility the simple act of entering this room bestows upon an individual. Now we are responsible not only for keeping our own identities secret, but the identities of our friends, as well. It is a burden worth bearing, but a burden nonetheless."
Peter nodded. "All right. Then I got nothing."
"Nor do I," Hank said.
"I might know a few people who'd be into this," Matt said slowly. "Finding out would involve coming out, but…I'll think about it. I think one or two of them, in particular, might really welcome the opportunity to hang out like this."
After a moment of everyone standing around looking at each other sort of awkwardly, Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I guess we'd better."
"Actually, Peter," Hank said, "I realize that Matt has other plans this evening, but would you perchance like to stay?"
"Um." Peter frowned as he thought it over. He would, but--
"Why don't you?" said Scott. "I can give Matt a ride back to the city, no problem. And it'd be good--Warren's coming back late tonight from a business trip in Boston. We could ask him to join."
He could feel himself waffling. "But I shouldn't--"
"I can patrol outside the Kitchen tonight so you can take the night off, if that's what you're worried about," Matt offered. "Consider it payback for lunch, and everything. Or just do the same for me sometime."
Peter's face felt like it was going to crack from the effort he was putting into not grinning as much as he wanted to. Starting this group was the best idea ever. "That'd be awesome," he said. Then he turned to Hank and shrugged. "I guess I'm staying."
Hank's smile was as broad as the one Peter had been trying to suppress.
----
He and Hank had walked Matt and Scott to the door, where they'd all stood there awkwardly again, and Peter had wondered if the 'to hug, or not to hug?' question was on everyone's mind. They'd ended up shaking hands instead, which was good, he guessed. Manly. After that, Hank had led the way upstairs to his room.
"Well," Hank said as sat on the edge of his bed. It was new, Peter noticed, and big. The antique, wooden twin-sized beds that used to be in this room were nowhere to be seen. "That went incredibly well, I think."
"I know!" Peter exclaimed. "I mean, I was a little worried at first, but man. That was awesome."
Hank looked up at him. "If I may ask, though…you were not entirely thorough when giving your reasons for starting the group, were you."
It wasn't really a question, but, after hesitating a second, Peter shook his head anyway, looking more at the floor than at Hank. "Not exactly. Is that okay? I mean, I don't want you to be offended, or anything, but I thought--I just sort of wanted to do someth--"
"Peter." When he shut up and looked up, he found that Hank had stood up and was right in front of him. And smiling. Without another word, Hank reached out and wrapped him in a very big, very tight bear hug. And it was really like being hugged by a bear, what with the fur and all.
Peter hugged back without hesitation and fought a crazy urge to say 'I love you.' Even if--though?--he did, a lot, he wasn't sure if that was the sort of thing you said when your face was smooshed into your best friend's shoulder. Naked shoulder, at that, even if it was furry.
After Hank let him go, they both went to sit on the bed--Hank sideways, cross-legged, and Peter with his sneakers toed off and his back against the wall.
"You have yet to give me an answer about the teaching assistantship," Hank said. "I hate to rush your decision, but--"
Peter groaned and scrubbed a hand over his hair. "I'm going to hate it if I do it," he said flatly. "I really was serious about not wanting to do this whole double life thing anymore."
Hank was quiet a minute. Then, "Would you like to hear my opinion on the matter?"
"Sure," Peter said, shrugging. "I guess."
"I don't believe it is a decision you're truly prepared to make," Hank said. Then he sighed. "Trust me, my friend. While I do think a sense of relief will come in time, at the moment, I am consumed with regret. Regret that I did not use my time more wisely, that I did not do more, that I did not take advantage of the opportunities available to me when I could pass as a normal man."
He shook his head. "Peter, I didn't have a choice, but you do. Should you choose to reveal yourself to the public, please remember that the decision can be made precisely one time. There is no going back."
The worst part about it was, Peter had a sneaking suspicion Hank was right. He sighed and let his head clunk back against the wall. "Dammit. I just don't know."
"If it makes you feel any better," Hank said quietly, tracing a seam on his quilt with one thick fingertip, "I am not entirely out of the closet, myself. I have been weighing the pros and cons of continuing to publish as Dr. Henry McCoy, human, formerly of Columbia University, and letting it be known that, due to a debilitating or disfiguring accident, I will not again appear in public."
"Jeez," Peter said, "that'd suck. What about conferences and stuff?"
"What about them?" Hank snorted. "Considering the topic of my research, do you think anyone would take me as seriously? 'Mutant scientist studies mutations! Obviously he has an agenda.'"
Peter frowned. "I don't know, Hank. I mean, I had a women's studies class my freshman year, and it was taught by a female professor. I took her seriously."
"The general public doesn't think having two X chromosomes is a disease that ought to be cured. The X-gene, on the other hand…"
Peter remembered suggesting just that to Jean, about Hank, and winced. "You're never going to try to change yourself back, are you," he said. "For just that reason."
"For all your indecision, I notice that you see your choices thus: to be Spider-Man exclusively, or to be Spider-Man, whose alter ego is Peter Parker," Hank replied. "Not once have you mentioned the third option: to live only as Peter Parker, either with your abilities, or without them, if they could be removed."
"I don't think I know how to just be Peter Parker anymore," Peter admitted quietly. "I don't know who I am, Hank. That's the problem."
Downstairs, kids were chattering excitedly as they got home from their trip. A couple sets of footsteps thundered upstairs. After a minute, he looked at Hank. Saw him extend one hand, fingers flexed, and stare at the back of it for a moment before his chest expanded with a deep breath.
"Would it surprise you to know, Peter, that I don't, either?" Then Hank turned his hand palm-up and met Peter's gaze. Smiled a little. "'I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too?'"
Despite himself, Peter huffed a laugh. "What's that from? Dr. Seuss?"
Hank closed his eyes and shook his head, seeming somewhere between amused and horrified. "Emily Dickinson. Though, come to think of it, I suppose Dr. Seuss could provide us with some interesting and relevant questions. 'Would you unmask in the rain? On a boat, or on a train?'"
Peter grinned. "In a car, or in a bar?"
"With your friends; in front of foes? Only with costumed heroes?" Hank chuckled as he bounced off the bed, twisted a little, and landed on his feet, facing Peter. "And do you want to eat nachos?"
"Are you serious, or just rhyming?"
"As serious as one can be, when writing a Seuss-parody. And so, dear friend, what will it be? Pizza or nachos--or both!--for thee?" Hank wiggled his eyebrows, looking pleased with himself.
"Okay, better question--are you going to do this all night?"
Hank gave him a long, considering look over the top of his glasses. "Nope."
"Just wondering," Peter said, trying hard not to laugh. "And I think pizza and nachos, definitely. And oh, hey!" he exclaimed as he followed Hank out, still just in sock-feet. "Want to finish The Secret of the Ooze?"
Note: The full text of the Emily Dickinson poem Hank quotes is as follows:
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
And Hank and Peter are, of course, parodying Dr. Seuss' "Green Eggs and Ham."
[Chapter 11 is here.]
Anyway, sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. "The Wisdom to Know the Difference," a Spider-Man/Daredevil/X-Men crossover novella, continued.
[ Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Notes ]
"The Wisdom to Know the Difference"
Chapter 10: Sharks and Bears and Frogs! Oh, My!
"So," Matt said a few minutes later, "that's a pool table over there, right? Who's up for it?"
A slow, feral grin spread across Scott's face. "I'd play," he said casually. "Hank? Peter? We could have teams."
Peter looked at Hank, who shrugged. "I'll participate if you'd like to," Hank said.
"Sure, why not?" Peter smiled as he stood up. "How do you want to do this? X-Men versus
New York vigilantes? Shirts versus skins? Or scientists versus sunglasses?"
"I'm not stripping," Matt said. "How about me and Hank against the two of you?"
Peter frowned. He had a feeling Scott was a real pool shark, and while he wasn't great at pool, or anything, at least he could see, and he didn't have paws. He was just opening his mouth to suggest switching when Hank nodded, wearing a funny little smile Peter couldn't quite decipher.
"I think that would be most satisfactory."
The balls broke with a loud clacking sound, and the solid yellow one rolled toward the far left corner pocket. It hesitated for just a second, wavering, before dropping in.
"All right!" Peter exclaimed. It looked like he could get the purple solid one in, too--it was hanging out in the middle of the table, almost lined up with the center pockets, and the cue ball was at a pretty good angle to push it in.
He went around to the side of the table, lined it up, shot, and watched the purple ball bounce off the edge and roll right back to the middle. "Rats," he muttered.
Scott smiled, then took a swig of his beer. "Don't worry about it," he said quietly.
Across the table, Matt and Hank had their heads together.
"--a grid?" Hank was saying.
"No. Just in rows, starting at the far left."
"Oh. Very well. 12, striped. 14, striped. 6, solid. Next row, below those: 8, solid…" Hank went on naming the balls, and after a second, Peter realized that he was describing the layout of the table to Matt. He wondered, as Matt stepped up to take his turn a minute later, why they'd bothered.
As if sensing his thought, Matt turned to him and Scott. "Okay if I call these?" Without waiting for an answer, he lined up a shot. "13-ball, side pocket." The ball went in. "9-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh. (Or clack, roll, rattle down inside the table. Whatever.) "10-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh.
He sank all but one of the stripes before he missed, and even that was close--the 12-ball bounced between the rails by one of the corner pockets before deciding not to go in.
"Dammit," Matt said as he straightened up, wearing a really smug grin. "I must be out of practice."
Peter was certain his cheeks were burning. Thank God he hadn't doubted Matt's abilities aloud! Hank looked like he was trying to hide a laugh by taking a drink of his beer, which told Peter two things: one, Hank had known--or at least guessed--what his teammate was capable of, and two, that the look on Peter's face was saying a lot.
Scott didn't look too fazed, though. He studied the table for a second, head tilted slightly, before nodding to himself and leaning over. "Okay, we're calling shots, now?" he asked.
Matt grinned. "Go for it."
"Will do," Scott said. "And just to make it a little more interesting… Peter's got the one, so, two-ball, corner pocket." Swoosh. "Three-ball, side pocket." Swoosh. Of course. "Four-ball, corner pocket. Five, side pocket. Six-ball, side pocket. Seven, corner pocket."
Peter was pretty sure his jaw was somewhere around his knees when Scott called--and of course sank--the eight-ball. Then he turned to the rest of them, totally poker-faced. "Want to play again?"
Hank held up his hands, still looking amused. "I'm content to observe, this time, thank you."
"Me too," Peter said.
But Matt was grinning like a cat who'd just discovered a ten-pound turkey in the canary cage. "Oh, you're on."
While they were hashing out what game to play--one that didn't involve knowing what the numbers were--Peter snagged his still-half-full beer and went over to lean against the wall beside Hank. "So," he said, "we cheering, or heckling?"
Hank smiled. "How would one heckle in billiards, I wonder?"
"Like this." Peter nodded at Scott, who was bending over the table, giving them a clear view of the back of his jeans. "Cyclops got a big butt! Cyclops got a big butt!" He waggled his own hips for emphasis.
On the other side of the table, Matt nearly spit out his beer. And now Hank was getting into it, shaking with suppressed laughter. "I suppose I'm cheering, then," he murmured. Then, louder, with gestures, "Scott wields his staff, wooden and thick! Break those balls, Scott, with your stick!"
That did it. Beer was officially coming out of Daredevil's nose. Scott kept trying to line up a shot, but Peter could see the end of his cue quivering. Hank didn't quit.
"Beast has got the muscles, and he's got the brains, but Scott has the enormous stick, and whoo, he'll win the game!"
Scott turned slowly, red-faced. "Beast…"
"Oh, very well, I'll desist."
Actually, once Scott and Matt got down to business, there was nothing funny about it. They both made the professional pool players Peter sometimes saw on TV look silly.
After they'd each won a game, Scott polished off his beer, then glanced at his watch. "Shit," he said, "Jean and Ororo and the kids are supposed to be home pretty soon."
"That reminds me," Peter said, "did all the kids go?" Now that he thought about it, it was really weird for Xavier's to be this quiet.
Scott shook his head. "Most of them--this is the first fun trip they've had in awhile--but a couple of them don't like to leave," he said. "They're making a fort in the attic, I think. But once the other kids get back, after hitting the food court and having movie snacks, it's going to be a zoo."
Matt brushed his fingers over the face of his watch and winced. "I should get back soon, anyway. I'm supposed to call Foggy and figure out when we're meeting tomorrow."
"Okay, well," Peter said, sliding his hands in his back pockets, "I guess we should wrap it up. What do you guys think? Should we do this again?"
"Do you really have to ask?" Scott shook his head in surprise while Matt and Hank nodded their agreement. "All I was wondering was, what should we call this group?"
Hank thought for a minute, then shrugged. "What about S.H.I.E.L.D.? 'Super Heroes Interacting in order to Ease Life's Difficulties?'"
Peter frowned. "That's kind of long, Hank. I was thinking more like, Superheroes Anonymous. 'S.A.'"
"I believe 'S.A.' is already in use," Hank replied.
"Isn't that Smokers Anonymous?" Matt asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm fairly certain it's Sexaholics Anonymous. Besides, is the point of this organization not to cease to be anonymous?"
Peter snorted. "Okay, maybe not."
"Do we really need a name?" Matt asked as he fitted his pool cue back into the rack on the wall. "It's not like we're going to put up recruitment posters."
"That's another thing," Scott said, leaning against the pool table. "Who else are we going to invite? I mean, obviously, Jean and 'Ro…"
"Definitely them," Peter agreed. "And I was thinking, maybe a couple of the older kids? Like that one, Bobby? He seemed--" he broke off, surprised, when both Hank and Scott started shaking their heads.
"No way," Scott said. "At least, not yet."
"I concur. Consider, Peter, what an enormous responsibility the simple act of entering this room bestows upon an individual. Now we are responsible not only for keeping our own identities secret, but the identities of our friends, as well. It is a burden worth bearing, but a burden nonetheless."
Peter nodded. "All right. Then I got nothing."
"Nor do I," Hank said.
"I might know a few people who'd be into this," Matt said slowly. "Finding out would involve coming out, but…I'll think about it. I think one or two of them, in particular, might really welcome the opportunity to hang out like this."
After a moment of everyone standing around looking at each other sort of awkwardly, Peter cleared his throat. "Well, I guess we'd better."
"Actually, Peter," Hank said, "I realize that Matt has other plans this evening, but would you perchance like to stay?"
"Um." Peter frowned as he thought it over. He would, but--
"Why don't you?" said Scott. "I can give Matt a ride back to the city, no problem. And it'd be good--Warren's coming back late tonight from a business trip in Boston. We could ask him to join."
He could feel himself waffling. "But I shouldn't--"
"I can patrol outside the Kitchen tonight so you can take the night off, if that's what you're worried about," Matt offered. "Consider it payback for lunch, and everything. Or just do the same for me sometime."
Peter's face felt like it was going to crack from the effort he was putting into not grinning as much as he wanted to. Starting this group was the best idea ever. "That'd be awesome," he said. Then he turned to Hank and shrugged. "I guess I'm staying."
Hank's smile was as broad as the one Peter had been trying to suppress.
----
He and Hank had walked Matt and Scott to the door, where they'd all stood there awkwardly again, and Peter had wondered if the 'to hug, or not to hug?' question was on everyone's mind. They'd ended up shaking hands instead, which was good, he guessed. Manly. After that, Hank had led the way upstairs to his room.
"Well," Hank said as sat on the edge of his bed. It was new, Peter noticed, and big. The antique, wooden twin-sized beds that used to be in this room were nowhere to be seen. "That went incredibly well, I think."
"I know!" Peter exclaimed. "I mean, I was a little worried at first, but man. That was awesome."
Hank looked up at him. "If I may ask, though…you were not entirely thorough when giving your reasons for starting the group, were you."
It wasn't really a question, but, after hesitating a second, Peter shook his head anyway, looking more at the floor than at Hank. "Not exactly. Is that okay? I mean, I don't want you to be offended, or anything, but I thought--I just sort of wanted to do someth--"
"Peter." When he shut up and looked up, he found that Hank had stood up and was right in front of him. And smiling. Without another word, Hank reached out and wrapped him in a very big, very tight bear hug. And it was really like being hugged by a bear, what with the fur and all.
Peter hugged back without hesitation and fought a crazy urge to say 'I love you.' Even if--though?--he did, a lot, he wasn't sure if that was the sort of thing you said when your face was smooshed into your best friend's shoulder. Naked shoulder, at that, even if it was furry.
After Hank let him go, they both went to sit on the bed--Hank sideways, cross-legged, and Peter with his sneakers toed off and his back against the wall.
"You have yet to give me an answer about the teaching assistantship," Hank said. "I hate to rush your decision, but--"
Peter groaned and scrubbed a hand over his hair. "I'm going to hate it if I do it," he said flatly. "I really was serious about not wanting to do this whole double life thing anymore."
Hank was quiet a minute. Then, "Would you like to hear my opinion on the matter?"
"Sure," Peter said, shrugging. "I guess."
"I don't believe it is a decision you're truly prepared to make," Hank said. Then he sighed. "Trust me, my friend. While I do think a sense of relief will come in time, at the moment, I am consumed with regret. Regret that I did not use my time more wisely, that I did not do more, that I did not take advantage of the opportunities available to me when I could pass as a normal man."
He shook his head. "Peter, I didn't have a choice, but you do. Should you choose to reveal yourself to the public, please remember that the decision can be made precisely one time. There is no going back."
The worst part about it was, Peter had a sneaking suspicion Hank was right. He sighed and let his head clunk back against the wall. "Dammit. I just don't know."
"If it makes you feel any better," Hank said quietly, tracing a seam on his quilt with one thick fingertip, "I am not entirely out of the closet, myself. I have been weighing the pros and cons of continuing to publish as Dr. Henry McCoy, human, formerly of Columbia University, and letting it be known that, due to a debilitating or disfiguring accident, I will not again appear in public."
"Jeez," Peter said, "that'd suck. What about conferences and stuff?"
"What about them?" Hank snorted. "Considering the topic of my research, do you think anyone would take me as seriously? 'Mutant scientist studies mutations! Obviously he has an agenda.'"
Peter frowned. "I don't know, Hank. I mean, I had a women's studies class my freshman year, and it was taught by a female professor. I took her seriously."
"The general public doesn't think having two X chromosomes is a disease that ought to be cured. The X-gene, on the other hand…"
Peter remembered suggesting just that to Jean, about Hank, and winced. "You're never going to try to change yourself back, are you," he said. "For just that reason."
"For all your indecision, I notice that you see your choices thus: to be Spider-Man exclusively, or to be Spider-Man, whose alter ego is Peter Parker," Hank replied. "Not once have you mentioned the third option: to live only as Peter Parker, either with your abilities, or without them, if they could be removed."
"I don't think I know how to just be Peter Parker anymore," Peter admitted quietly. "I don't know who I am, Hank. That's the problem."
Downstairs, kids were chattering excitedly as they got home from their trip. A couple sets of footsteps thundered upstairs. After a minute, he looked at Hank. Saw him extend one hand, fingers flexed, and stare at the back of it for a moment before his chest expanded with a deep breath.
"Would it surprise you to know, Peter, that I don't, either?" Then Hank turned his hand palm-up and met Peter's gaze. Smiled a little. "'I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too?'"
Despite himself, Peter huffed a laugh. "What's that from? Dr. Seuss?"
Hank closed his eyes and shook his head, seeming somewhere between amused and horrified. "Emily Dickinson. Though, come to think of it, I suppose Dr. Seuss could provide us with some interesting and relevant questions. 'Would you unmask in the rain? On a boat, or on a train?'"
Peter grinned. "In a car, or in a bar?"
"With your friends; in front of foes? Only with costumed heroes?" Hank chuckled as he bounced off the bed, twisted a little, and landed on his feet, facing Peter. "And do you want to eat nachos?"
"Are you serious, or just rhyming?"
"As serious as one can be, when writing a Seuss-parody. And so, dear friend, what will it be? Pizza or nachos--or both!--for thee?" Hank wiggled his eyebrows, looking pleased with himself.
"Okay, better question--are you going to do this all night?"
Hank gave him a long, considering look over the top of his glasses. "Nope."
"Just wondering," Peter said, trying hard not to laugh. "And I think pizza and nachos, definitely. And oh, hey!" he exclaimed as he followed Hank out, still just in sock-feet. "Want to finish The Secret of the Ooze?"
Note: The full text of the Emily Dickinson poem Hank quotes is as follows:
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
And Hank and Peter are, of course, parodying Dr. Seuss' "Green Eggs and Ham."
[Chapter 11 is here.]
