cv (ephemeras) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-12-04 20:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *narrative, gwen stacy |
Narrative
Who: Gwen
What: Of webs and panic rooms and little girls
Where: Osborn Estate → Midtown
When: Currentish/Fuzzy timelines
Warnings/Rating: None
The Osborn Estate echoed.
There was a logical explanation for that. Sound waves and empty rooms, and the sound waves bounced off nothing much. The servants were all gone, fired by the Osborn lawyers after the incident with the nanny's interference and CPS. The staff, Gwen had been told, would be replaced once Mr. Osborn returned.
It had taken her a few minutes to realize that Harry was Mr. Osborn now, and that filled her with an uncomfortable form of dread that brought back the memory of long falls from tall places.
She was staying at the Estate, with the permission of Harry's lawyers. She'd been living there before the 'tragedy,' and they saw no reason for her to leave. Additionally, her presence at Oscorp was soothing; she was someone from the family Estate that was still coming to work every morning, and with Harry gone she was the only person from the family Estate coming to work every morning.
She'd readied the panic room in the basement of the Estate, and there was a makeshift lab there with items taken from Chinatown and Oscorp, all the necessities to test Harry's blood if she managed to get her hands on it. None of the DNA she found in the house helped. No roots on the hairs, no blood on the razors, and it was a waiting game now.
But Gwen wasn't good at waiting. Too proactive by half, and she modified webshooters (they weren't trademarked, okay), and spent time figuring out how to actually climb the walls of the panic room. She didn't leave the estate at first. She held onto the hope that Harry might return, and she still remembered the early days when they only had each other. She couldn't let go of that hope, so she didn't stir at first.
Then, the lawyers came back with a CPS update.
Emily was being moved out of state, into a foster home. No longer in temporary care, no longer somewhere close and safe. The inconsistencies in the little girl's adoption papers made adoption unlikely, and Gwen didn't know what to do. She'd given up parental rights; she had no rights. It was as simple as that. She'd signed the little girl away, and only Harry would retain any rights if paternity was divulged. But Harry wasn't a safe option, and she had no idea what to do. She imagined terrible things. She imagined the quiet little girl, scared and alone. She couldn't stand it.
Staying inside became nearly impossible.
Black yoga pants and a white hoodie pulled up, a white ski mask and teal sneakers, and she went out to test the things she'd learned. She had no overwhelming need to save anyone or help with anything. She wanted to be out in the cold night air, and she wanted to conduct a real-world test on the things she'd been testing on the walls of the panic room. Scooping that kid up before he walked into traffic wasn't actually planned. Stopping that mugger wasn't either. And maybe helping the cop by tripping the retreating robber was too visible, but she liked cops; it was just instinct.
Web. Run. Flip, and when she ended up near OSCORPOWER, she stopped. The clock tower was right there. She really hated heights. She really hated this particular building, and this particular height. But fear was better than thinking about how she'd failed Emily and Harry. It was better than thinking about how her blind trust in other people had brought her to this. It was better than focusing on the betrayal she felt whenever she thought about Doctor Banner.
Fear was better. The web (stronger than Peter's, thank you very much) wooshed as it caught the edge of the building. Then, up.