When Spidey Met Oracle

What had first drawn her to S.H.I.E.L.D. was the idea that working for the organization could provide her with the proof that she lived in a very strange world and the opportunity to make it better. Even as an accountant.

It was that same sense of duty that had forced her to abandon a great glass of Scotch and a quiet night to herself so she could run across Central Park to Avengers Mansion and get help for that stupid ass, Spider-Man.

Wong, the New Avengers gentleman's gentleman swore when he opened the door and saw her, then he stormed off toward the kitchen. She didn't blame him. Hand didn't like Wong anymore than he liked her, but she didn't like anyone she couldn't legitimately prove even existed. Victoria's world needed to be supported with paper work, and she couldn't find any on him. She certainly couldn't find any proof he was in the country legally. She'd tried to push the issue with Commander Rogers, but he wouldn't budge. Hand didn't have much choice but to let it slide. Booting one unctuous creep wasn't worth the loss of their top mystical asset, and somehow she saw Stephen Strange kicking up a fuss over his former manservant getting deported.

"Anyone here?" Victoria shouted as she entered the mansion. "Um... Avengers Assemble!"

She knew there were people who dreamed of saying those words, but she wasn't one of them. She always found the phrase pompous and smug. It certainly didn't seem to work. Instead of Earth's Mightiest Heroes all she got was the nanny.

"Oh, hello, Ms. Hand," Squirrel Girl said when she saw her. "What brings you by so late?"

"I need the team," she said. "Spider-Man's up to something."

"I'm afraid they're all out at the moment," Squirrel Girl explained. "Mr. Cage is with the Thunderbolts and his wife and Miss Danvers are having a girls' night, so I'm watching the baby."

"What about everyone else?"

"Mr. Barton organized something called a 'pub crawl'," she shrugged.

God damn Hawkeye, Hand internally moaned.

"I'm going out," Wong muttered, brushing past them with two heavy bags in hand.

"Where should I tell everybody you've gone?" Squirrel Girl asked.

"Don't," he replied and just like that, he was out the door.

"I hate this place," Victoria muttered.

"Don't say that, Ms. Hand," she smiled. "Isn't everything that happens in the mansion just so terrible interesting?"

"Everybody here's an asshole."

"I certainly wouldn't put it like that," Squirrel Girl scoffed. "They're all just... colorful."

"Everyone here hates me."

"I'm sure that's not true, Ms. Hand," she beamed. "I don't hate you."

"Give it time," Victoria mumbled.

Hand actually had a lot of respect for Squirrel Girl. Finding Doreen Green's dossier was a rite of passage for a fledgling S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not even twenty-years-old and the woman had faced Victor Von Doom, Fin Fang Foom, and repelled an invasion from Apokolips all on her own -- unless you counted her legion of squirrels. Why she wasn't leading the New Avengers was a testament to everything wrong with the Avengers as a concept.

Doreen Green was amazing.

It was just admiration for a colleague. It wasn't a crush. Victoria Hand was nothing if not a professional.

Sure, Hand found the young woman attractive in an odd way she was in no way comfortable with. The tail was the obvious thing. It should have been a deal breaker, but in her teens, young Vicky Hand had really been into manga...

Doreen was too young for sure. Victoria wasn't so pathetic yet that she needed to go after college girls who might be up for experimentation. Even if there was something adorable about that overbite...

Besides, after her relationship with Isabelle had imploded, Victoria had more or less given up on romance. She had been in love with Izzy and she'd left her because Hand dared to tell the great Nick Fury he was wrong. So much for a partner who'd see you through anything...

"Oh, come on, you gloomy gus," Squirrel Girl said, leading Victoria toward the couch in the living room. "Why don't we just sit down and you can tell me what's wrong..."

"With me or the world?"

"Well, let's start with you and see where that leads us," Doreen suggested.

Where it had led had been a bit of a surprise. Hand had started out explaining about the wall-crawler's drop-by. How that transitioned to them kissing was a bit of a haze. How kissing those hazelnut flavored lips had ended up in fairly dramatic, life-affirming sex, however, was seared into Victoria's mind. She suspected that every intimate detail of that little development would be fueling her masturbatory fantasies for years to come...

Hand couldn't explain why she'd done it. Maybe it had just been too long. Too long since the exquisite delight of a pair of soft, cone-shaped breasts gently grazed the length of her tummy while a pretty girl kissed her way down from her tits to her warm, waiting wet pussy -- complete with the rare but pleasing shock of a nipple making brief but sweet contact with her hard clit shortly before her lover engaged in some world-class cunnilingus.

And that thing Squirrel Girl had done with her furry tail when Victoria had been spooning behind her... God damn that thing she'd done with that tail!

"There now," Doreen said after they finished. Victoria was surprised by the roughness of her hands as she fastened the front of Hand's bra into place. So much of Doreen was soft, but her hands had a sandpaper-like texture.

If the younger woman was freaking out over their encounter, she certainly wasn't showing it. Everything in her file said Squirrel Girl was unflappable, but even after this?

"All better, Ms. Hand?" she asked.

"Um, maybe..." she giggled nervously. Fuck. Victoria was giggling. But it was just so damn cute. Doreen had tossed her salad, but she was still calling Hand "Miss" like a schoolgirl.

Then Victoria's skirt on the floor started vibrating in two-second bursts and all infectious cheerfulness drained right out of her. She frantically fished her phone from her pile of clothes. It was a Priority Three transmission from S.H.I.E.L.D. Command.

"Hello, Commander Rogers," she answered.

"I received your message about Spider-Man shortly after one of our freelance technical operatives reported his involvement with a Class 3 event in Manhattan, Agent Hand," he told her. "I thought you'd like to know that the situation's been handled."

"Um... really?" Victoria said as Squirrel Girl helped her button her shirt. "That quickly?"

"Spider-Man's more capable than you think," Rogers told her. "Now, I know that you're off-duty, but I've dispatched a clean-up crew to 405 Lexington Avenue to dismantle a reputedly nasty bit of Osborn-tech. Given your familiarity with his methods, I think they'd value your input."

"I... I can be there in twenty, sir." Squirrel Girl handed Hand her panties.

"Five might be better," he said.

"On my way, Commander." Victoria thought she was finally starting to get a feel for the new boss... Old-school, idealistic taskmaster. She could work with that.

"As always, I appreciate your diligence in your duties," he said then. "I know you haven't enjoyed the warmest welcome from the team, but give it time. They'll come around. We did with Hawkeye and the Vision."

"All due respect, sir, but I was never a supervillain."

"I know," he told her. "Neither were they. And if I may offer a little bit of unwanted, less than professional advice: don't be afraid to let your hair down, Victoria. Based on my years with them, the Avengers are nothing if not indulgent to those who let it all hang out."

"I'm... beginning to see that, sir..." she said as Doreen lightly nibbled her neck with those prominent teeth while she zipped up her skirt.

"Excellent," he said. "Rogers out."

And just like that, the man was a mystery all over again.

"Cheer up, Ms. Hand," Squirrel Girl said, walking Victoria to the door. "Isn't the world such a strange, wonderful place?"

*

Having bagged up the remains of poor little Os-bot, the S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians were now carefully taking apart Osborn's failed experiment in terror while a medic checked on the Black Cat. Felicia said she'd been drugged and Spider-Man knew better than to take any risks. Even a robot Norman was likely to have mixed something nasty into whatever chemical cocktail he'd injected her with. Spidey insisted she let someone look her over and she eventually agreed. The fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. medical agent Trevor Cahill was a good-looking dude probably didn't hurt. Ironically, the wall-crawler waved off the dashing young doctor when he came at him with med-probes and bandages. The web-slinger's sense of caution didn't extend to his own person, of course...

He'd be fine.

Don't get him wrong. Spider-Man had learned there was a time and place to let himself heal. He spent so much of his time swinging around the city or fighting for his life and that usually meant pushing past the hurt and doubt and fear and getting the job done. But after that happened, once the battle was won, the evil plot thwarted and lives saved, he knew enough to make his way home, collapse in his bed and let his body knit itself back together so he could do it all over again the next day.

Some fights were different, though. Some battles were a little more taxing, and sometimes, before the long trip home from whatever smoking crater where he'd scraped his narrow victory, the spectacular Spider-Man just had to give himself a moment to lean against a wall, catch his breath, and feel his pain. He tried not to involve trained professionals for these tiny respites in case they were trying to identify him by D.N.A. -- a definite possibility this time around with Victoria Hand flitting about, supervising the clean-up and taking statements. While she was grilling the Huntress about her "unauthorized incursion into New York airspace," Spidey slipped out a window for a little peace and quiet on one of the Chrysler Building's iconic gargoyles.

The singe across his chest from Os-bot's heat vision was little worse than a sunburn, but those contact burns from Electro would need some home treatment. The cut from Catman's knife wasn't too deep and he was pretty sure Doc Ock hasn't cracked his ribs. That gut punch from Huntress didn't helped any, but he could assume he deserved it.

What really got him, though, was adding all this post-coital exhaustion into the mix of tentacle bruises and flesh wounds. That was new. When he got tuned up like this, sex was rarely a factor. Not even with the Black Cat. Grievous bodily harm was one of the few things that didn't turn Felicia on. And when he lived with Mary Jane, getting smacked around this much usually led to a fight about why he was so desperate to throw his life away and the glorious makeup sex didn't usually happen until well after he'd healed...

He had to wonder about any lingering mental damage from whatever psychic hoo-doo Oracle had pulled, but the jokester in him brazenly brushed that off. It's not like he could actually get any crazier...

Regardless, the web-head decided he didn't need to swing by the Night Nurse's clinic for professional care, which left him free to decide what excuse Peter Parker was going to give his friends and family this time... Tripped down the stairs running for a subway? Winged by some crazy cabbie? Knocked down by a bike messenger? God, sometimes he wondered if MJ left him because everyone they knew was secretly convinced she was abusing him and she just couldn't stand the unwarranted dirty looks any longer.

Spidey chuckled at that thought and his ribs exploded with pain. "Maybe not cracked, but totally bruised," he groaned.

"You should have let Agent Cahill check you out," Oracle told him and he actually jumped, a move that only made him feel worse. Spider-Man forgot he was still wearing the communicator. He hadn't been muttering to himself this whole time, had he? He did that sometimes. "I think we can agree that you've done your fair share for the day," she said. Her voice wasn't all distorted now. "You don't always have to be a hero, Peter..." She sounded like her. He could hear Barbara.

"I'm fine," he lied. "I've survived worse," he then added truthfully. "And I wouldn't want anyone else over the channel thinking I'm a big wuss anyway."

"You can speak freely," she said. "It's just the two of us on this line and I know you're a wuss."

"You let a girl beat you up once and she never forgets it," Spider-Man sighed. "So I take it the Warrior Queen of the Sucker Punch doesn't know who I really am..."

"Pretty sure she knows you're a wuss, too..."

"You know what I mean," he smiled.

"Of course she doesn't," she assured him.

"But she seems to know certain things about me... and you. Us."

Oracle didn't say anything for a bit. "You never tell that story?"

"I'm not that kind of guy, remember?" Spider-Man said. "And in all of these years, I've only really had two people who know me well enough to hear that story. The Human Torch is a great guy, but not all that discreet, you know? And I doubt the other one would enjoy hearing about you all that much..."

"Because she's Skrull-Jessica Drew?"

"Something like that."

"Well, you can rest assured that names were changed to protect the less-than-innocent," she told him. "I know how to keep a secret, Peter."

"I'll say," he murmured. "I still can't believe it was you... this whole time. You know, you haven't always been nice to me today, 'Oracle'..."

"I was maintaining my cover," she insisted.

"Why wouldn't you just tell me, Barbara?"

"It's complicated," she said. "Me and you... Us? That was all a long time ago..."

"Funny," he smiled. "I remember it like it was maybe an hour ago..."

"Could we maybe not talk about that?" Oracle asked quietly. He could practically hear her blush.

"I used to wonder about you," he told her. "Maybe once or twice a year, when my life wasn't absolutely insane, I'd hit the AP wire at the Bugle for any mentions of Batgirl. All those blurbs where you and Bats busted up a gun-smuggling ring, or when you took down the Mad Hatter. Never saw any pictures of you in action, though. Don't any of those Gotham rags have any decent photographers?"

"I thought about shooting some pics myself and selling them to the papers, but that sounded dishonest somehow..."

"Mock all you want, Miss Know-It-All, but Spidey gots to get paid, yo."

"No matter the consequences, Mr. Parkergate?"

"Am I really taking crap from the Great and Mighty Oracle about moral grey areas today?" he asked. "You put me up against Doc Ock as a fake out, then ditched me!"

"As I recall, you thought I was Doctor Octopus," she said.

"That's not the insult it used to be," he assured her. "Otto's really slimmed down lately. Dying almost agrees with him."

She actually laughed at that. This light little guffaw tinged with sunny warmth. It was a nice laugh.

"So, whatever happened to the Dominoed Daredoll?" he asked her. "You just disappeared. I figured you gave it up after a few years. Maybe got married, had a kid... You always seemed smart enough to eventually trade all this insanity for real life or something someday..."

"I'm not married," she said. "Close once or twice but..." She stopped. "I'm not married."

"Things happen, right?" Spider-Man said. "Guess you're not all that smart after all..."

"Why would you assume I got married?" she asked. "Why not just assume I died?"

"Wishful thinking I guess," he told her. "Besides, you always hear about that kind of thing, right? Even if nobody's there to see it..."

"Seems like it at least."

"I almost asked Batman about you," he admitted. "We've met up a couple times, but he didn't seem too up for a chat about mutual friends during that mess with Carnage and the Joker."

"He's not the greatest conversationalist," she said, "but he seems to be changing."

"What about this new Batwoman I've heard about?" he asked. "She's supposed to be a redhead..."

"That's not me," she said in that same quiet, sad tone. "Being Batgirl... it stopping being an option."

"Guess it's good I didn't try checking her out -- er -- looking her up," Spider-Man replied. "Not like I ever would have had the time..."

"Probably best that you didn't," Barbara said. "I don't really know her, but from what I understand she's not really your type..."

"You don't have to be jealous," he joked. "I'm not looking to trade up or anything. Trust issues aside, I thought we made a pretty good team."

"You did good work today, Spider-Man," Oracle said, clearing her throat. "When things went... off-kilter you helped me through it. I appreciate that."

"I'm just glad you managed to reach me," he told her. "You did a hell of a job on my head... Wait. I didn't mean it like that..."

"Was it really that bad?" Barbara asked with this delicious hint of mischief.

"You totally blew my mind," Spidey grinned under his mask. "I just hope I didn't screw with your memory too badly."

Oracle groaned at the puns. She swore, he was worse than a certain former Boy Wonder. "How many more of these do you have?" she asked.

"Just a few more," he assured her.

"Are you sure we can't get off this topic?"

"Nice one," he chuckled, softer this time. His ribs barely rattled.

"What can I say?" she asked. "You bring out the worst in me."

"I think I can live with that."

"You have to know that you should be doing more with your life, Peter," Oracle said to him then. "I know more than a little about you... The man you are and the man you could be. You're better than what you've been."

"I know," Spider-Man sighed. "I suck. I kind of get that a lot after my team-ups..."

"I'm not saying this to be mean," she explained. "I'm saying this because I know what it's like to reinvent yourself. How hard it can be. How rewarding, too."

"Why did you give up the whole cape and cowl thing?" Spider-Man asked.

"That's... not important," she said. "We're talking about you."

"Right," he said to himself. "I know I need to figure some things out, but there's never time you know? Life just... It doesn't stop, does it?"

"No," she replied. "Life doesn't stop. Sometimes not even when you think it has..."

There was that mournfulness again. It was even more obvious when she was unfiltered.

"So where's the victory party?" Spider-Man asked, trying to change the mood. He wanted her happy. He loved the idea of her happy. "Do you still live in Gotham? I could swing by the great suckhole of the Northeast with an authentic New York pie. Pepperoni and onions. I wouldn't literally be swinging, mind you, but I might have enough money to hop a train."

"You have $5.61 in your checking account and no savings to speak of," Barbara told him. "You need to get a job, my friend."

There was just a bit of cheerfulness in her voice now and his heart actually thumped.

"Then I guess I'll just hop the train," Spidey said. "They almost never notice and I can hunch down to clear most of the tunnels. Or better yet, I could catch a flight. I haven't seen the old Vulture in a while, so I figure he'll pop up any day now..."

"You're a good man, Peter Parker," she told him. "But you could be great."

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that," he replied, "but, um, thanks?"

There was a pause, like she was about to say something but thought better of it.

"Barb?" he said.

"This is Oracle signing off."

"Huh?"

The only response was a high shrieking tweet from the comm that came with a low-level spike from his spider-sense. Spider-Man just managed to reach up into his mask and pull out the ear piece before it started sparking.