Ben Reilly (theotherparker) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-05-10 02:40:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | curious |
Entry tags: | !log, ben reilly / spider-man (616), buffy summers |
Who: Buffy Summers, Ben Reilly
When: back-dated like whoa again - April 29/30th? Late at night!
Where: 3rd floor, yo. Then Buffy’s room.
What: Friendly aftermath! Secrets and wound tending and quips, oh my!
Rating: PG, maybe PG13.
Buffy Summers had to admit: this had been the best day she'd had in a long time. Okay, so people had died, and that was the suck. She could have done without that, but the rest of it? Chasing down vampires, fighting with her fists and scythe? That part was amazing, and for the first time since she'd arrived in this version of New York City, Buffy felt alive, like she had a purpose. A Slayer just wasn't happy unless she had things to, well, slay. Sure, her knee was swelling up something fierce, and walking was slow going as she headed back to her apartment in Potts Tower. She had various cuts and bruises all over, but at least it wasn't anything like what the uber-vamps had done to her in her world. She slung the Slayer scythe over her shoulder as she shuffled in the hall so very late at night with an enormous smile even through the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She fumbled with the keycard for her door, stopping to wince as she twisted her bad knee. Buffy winched as she realized she had a rather large gash on the back of her calf. Well, that was going to be fun to deal with. Neosporin just wasn't going to cut it. Fine. She had some (relatively) old t-shirts she could use. Rubbing alcohol. Between that and her Slayer healing powers, it should be closed up well enough by tomorrow evening. Might leave a scar though. Not anything she hadn't heard before. Still, the grin was still on her lips as she heard a sound behind her and swung around, scythe ready to go. Ok, maybe Ben had been creeping a little bit. But when he saw Buffy coming in, he was curious. He knew she was a good fighter. He had watched some episodes of her show, although not as many as the other shows on his list considering how awkward it felt sometimes. But watching a TV show and seeing the real injuries were a different thing and, ouch, that cut on her leg didn’t look good. Plus the way she was walking. He snuck after her in a quiet way that most probably didn’t think him or Peter were capable of considering the constant bantering. He was closer than he realized when that familiar buzzing laced through his head. Only a second to react and instinct took hold. With her height, her stance, her action, the best option was up. He jumped, his arms and legs bunching backwards to grab onto the ceiling. Yup, that definitely got him out of range of the weapon swipe. But now he was on the ceiling of the very open hallway... When her own senses slapped her awake, she tried to reign the scythe in before it could hit... Open air. Which wasn't entirely true. Her Slayer senses warned her to look up, and when she did, there was Ben Reilly. Perched on the ceiling, like a damn - "Spider! You! You're a spider-man! Or whatever they call a spider-man who sticks to ceilings and goes by Ben Reilly and not Peter Parker...!" Buffy's eyes were wide as she felt the adrenaline of finally figuring something out. This was what it HAD to be. Who else had that power? Aside from that creepy cockroach demon from the moon in her world! "How did you - what - who are you!" Ben cringed. Of course she’d look up. No one else in all of New York ever looked up, but nope. She looked up. And was now talking what seemed very loudly for the very late hours of the night. He put his fingers to his lips to shush her. “Geez, is there anyone else in the tower you’d like to hear that?” he said before scrubbing a hand over his face. “Spider-Man or Scarlet Spider depending, but, hey, so, how about them sparkly vampires? You got a first aid kit? Because you look like you’ve got some doozies there. Even with all the super special Slayer stuff.” Buffy nearly dropped the scythe in her haste to quiet down (as if that had some kind of magical way to shush her). Over her shoulder, she saw no one in the hallway, and a quick glance at her watch confirmed the time. Most people would be asleep. She hoped. She exhaled a hard breath and straightened from her fighting stance to loosen up. It was going to be a long night of not sleeping. It had been a long time. "Depending on what?" she whispered, gesturing wildly for him to get off the ceiling. "If you're a villain or a good guy? If Peter Parker's Spider-man at the time?" Buffy paused with a dull expression before a wave of realization hit her. "Oh my God! You ARE his doppelganger! Or his evil side!" Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the blonde one’s always the evil twin,” he deadpanned. “I really needed to think that over more when picking a hair color.” He studied Buffy’s looser stance and then dropped down in front of her. He ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, yeah, lots of questions, everyone always has lots and lots of questions, but hey, how about doing this in a room with a first aid kit? Unless you really want to see what the cleaning bill is for cleaning up the hallway when it’s not Indy inspired drool related.” He rested one hand lightly on her shoulder as he held his other hand out. “So keycard? Then we can twenty questions it up.” "Picking a hair color? What, do you dye it?" Buffy asked, her usual tone dripping with sarcasm. She snorted a laugh, then turned and slapped her card against the door's key system. There was a click and a tiny beep, and she pushed the door open. Okay, so one of these theories about Ben Reilly were about to be confirmed. Robot. Doppelganger. Yin Yang (or whatever you'd call it). She was about to find out which of those was the real reason he was the spitting image of Peter Parker. Inside the apartment, she dropped the scythe against the wall near the door (for now), and limped over to the kitchen sink. She pulled a large white box out from back behind the pipes and laid it on the counter. Inside, she'd gathered everything she could think of to treat wounds, which, admittedly, wasn't very much. Some band aids, neosporin, hydrogen peroxide. Anything worse than that, she wasn't prepared to deal with on her own. Giles probably had a whole drawer full of stuff. "You want some water? Or juice? I don't have anything more than that around here really. Might have a diet soda or something." Anything to stall from finding out he was a sex robot. “What? You didn’t get the application for hair color at your hospital? I mean, it’s completely the thing to do,” Ben said as he went through the cabinets until he found two glasses. “I had the chance for blue hair and totally blew it. Boo.” Heading towards the sink, he nudged Buffy with his elbow towards the door of the kitchen and nodded towards the living room visible through the pass through. “You. Go sit. I got this. You just get comfy and we’ll get you all patched up while you get to hear the awesome story of Ben Reilly.” Used to being told to plop down somewhere while Willow or Giles or Dawn patched her up, Buffy found her feet automatically moving in the direction of the living room. She frowned, though, curious as to how Ben went into what appeared to be some sort of nursing phase. Maybe that's what he did in his world. A Peter Parker sex robot who did the stitches. Okay. That sounded ridiculous. Even to her. "This a long story, is it?" She asked just before she disappeared into the living room, frantically glancing around to make sure there wasn't anything embarrassing laying around. Like... the bra that was on the seat of her chair. Hey, the apartment was basically her giant bedroom, right? She could do whatever she wanted. Of course, that meant she had to limp quickly to the chair, grab it, and throw it in the direction of the bedroom and hoping she got the distance. As she sat down on the couch, her voice rose. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen... by the way. There's diet soda and water and juice in the fridge. Milk too, but I don't know anyone who drinks milk straight." “You know, you say something like that and I start worrying ‘bout how injured you really are,” Ben called out jokingly. “Because, wow, assuming it’s a long story if it’s going to be told while fixing you up? Not looking good, Buffy.” The tasks helped to keep him from freaking out too much about having to talk about this stuff. It wasn’t that big here, but still... He wasn’t used to it. There was huge difference between joking with Pete and typing it under some filter and saying it to someone in person who would probably have a lot of colorful commentary on the fact. So, instead, focus on the easy, very familiar part. Yeah, he hadn’t done the patching up as much on other people, but you have to deal with getting beat up in secret enough and you learn how to make things work quick. Fill up the glasses with some water. Find some drugs. There was no telling what her tolerance was, but considering the superpowers and fighting and everything, he would bet she normally went over the ‘recommended’ doses. Those were for normal people anyways. Then it was just balancing the two full glasses in one hand, pills in the other, and the supplies he needed under his arm. He placed his glass and the supplies on the coffee table before sitting down next to Buffy and offering her the other glass and twelve pain-killers. “Well, you know someone now. Maybe I’ll even do a demonstration later.” "Actually, I was kind of hoping you'd bore me to death so I'd get some sleep. I'm all hopped up on adrenaline, but I'm betting you know all about that, don't you?" Actually, there were usually three things Buffy liked to do after a good slay. 1. involved sleeping, but that usually came after a while. 2. Involved food, and lots of it. 3. Involved getting sweatier and more tired. Only two of those were, quite frankly, an option at the moment. Buffy held out her hand, staring at the dozen little tablets that fell onto it. Twelve? If this was anything but aspirin, she'd wonder if he was trying to kill her. Probably not, though. Twelve painkillers might make her feel like shit for a while. Quietly, she set six of the tablets on the table, bit her lip, and then took them with one head tilt back. "You actually - bleh - " The powdery shock of the aspirin hit her tongue, and she made a face, complete with one eye closed. "-drink milk by itself?" Ben took a sip of his water before focusing on preparing the medical supplies. “Not sure I’ve got any boring stories, but I can always start spouting off scientific equations if you get really desperate.” He chuckled. “Yeah, because I get it. Either it’s ‘alright! Where’s the next round! Awww, it’s over? Ok let’s get burgers.’ Or ‘hey, that’s great, I’m going to go pass out now and sleep for weeks.’” Ok, less pills needed. That was good to know. He shrugged. “Does a body good! Years of disapproving parental looks do things to you. You think you can stop and then, nope, you know they’d be so sad you aren’t drinking your daily glass of milk.” He pat his thigh before wiggling his fingers at Buffy. “Now come on, let’s see that leg.” Buffy's eyebrows flickered minutely. She'd seen the expression when she'd watched her show, and hadn't even realized she did it until a particularly close angle. Now she was all too aware of it, and flattened her expression as much as she could. "Thank God it's not my thigh," she mumbled barely loud enough for herself to hear. Her trousers were ruined, though, and damn if it didn't feel completely awesome. The last time she'd ripped any of her clothing fighting was when she'd been run through with a sword. As she rolled up the leg, scooting closer, she fought back a hiss. Unfortunately, she remembered that she'd also taken a hard fall on her ass first thing. It was beginning to bruise, and now it was sore. That was just great. There was just no easy way of doing this without contact of his thigh against her leg. With some trepidation, she inched her calf over and then hesitated on letting it actually rest there. "A burger sounds really good right now. Oh, with some sweet potato fries. That's like... the best thing about the last few years. What did we do without sweet potato fries?" Oh, right. Maybe Ben hadn’t thought out that last bit well... It seemed logical at the time, easiest way to get at cleaning the wound with how both of them were sitting and it wasn’t like he really cared about his clothes getting dirty. But now... Ok, take care of the big gash on the leg. That was easy enough to focus on. Pressing his lips together, he carefully looked over the gash before he gingerly started to clean it out. “We wasted away in our ignorance of thinking plain old potato fries were the best thing ever and ketchup the only thing to dip them in.” He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Or if you’re from other places, mayo or vinegar to dip them in. You ever have poutine? That is a meal all by itself. Filling, artery clogging goodness. And this is not helping the hungry thing. Especially as I think ‘sneaking into the bar to cook up a burger and fries’ is on the ‘no no’ list.” "We talking about the Russian president guy? I mean, I GUESS I can imagine how he'd be artery clogging..." Her calf muscle twitched then tightened up, and she found herself hissing. The pain wasn't nearly as bad as she'd been expecting - being run-through with a sword sort of made everything else seem like a scratch - but she was usually the one who handled her own wounds late at night these days. It was more the shock of not controlling the cloth than anything. Maybe sitting like this, sort of angled away from him so he could reach the back of her leg like this, was a factor. She didn't know. Whatever it was didn't matter. It touched her that someone wanted to patch her up. It was nice to feel like she was a part of someone's life, and not just some weird cult status pseudo celebrity. Even if it was because he felt responsible for startling her. Hey, guilt was a great motivator sometimes. She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. "So... Big ball of energy? Robot? Alternative universe Spider-man? Who are you?" Ben’s brow furrowed as he missed the tangent. “Yeltsin? Yeah, I’d say artery clogging around there, but, no, nothing to do with Russia. All about Canada. Fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds. It’s a heart attack on a plate.” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced up from his work. Which wasn’t the best idea considering the angle, but hey, just focus on that nasty looking jumble of hair and woundage on her shoulder. “Big ball of energy? Really? Pretty sure I’d remember being from Star Trek,” he said before focusing back down on his work. He took a deep breath, composing his thoughts before releasing the breath. “Ok. First. I’m Ben Reilly. Have been for the past five-” He wobbled his head back and forth a bit. “-six years. I’m not a robot. Pretty sure about that too because some doctor would have noticed by now if I was and informed me nicely that I don’t need to keep coming in for flu shots. So, not a robot. Not a sexbot either, even if that might’ve been an easier life.” He made a face. “Or not, considering, wow, pretty sure daddy Jackal didn’t swing that way. Um... No AU. Me and Pete are from the same world and, wow, the AU thing would have probably made things a whole lot less awkward in the scheme of things. No splitting of qualities either. Playing with wizards is Pete’s thing, not mine. Well, you know, real wizards who can actually do something like that as opposed to just all the smoke and mirrors, we’ll make you think all this bad stuff is going on with illusions and blah blah blah, I really need to trust my spider-sense more in those cases. The Star Wars replica theory. Well, I don’t think I’ll go for that much on eBay.” He pressed his lips together. Ok, time to take the plunge. “But, yeah, closest of your guesses, because... um. Yeah. Clone.” He paused in his cleaning long enough to give a small wave. “Hi.” The word hurt more than it had in a long time. Even if it didn’t matter in the long run, he was who he was, he’d gotten used to the idea of being real. That even if someone else had the life that should have been his, it had all been real. That he’d lived it instead of it all just getting downloaded into his head. That he didn’t have to feel nearly as guilty about holding onto memories that weren’t his. But now he had to try and find whatever small bit of peace he’d had before Trainer’s trick and the big reveal that he’d been Osborn’s pawn his entire life. There wasn't a need to see that he was crestfallen. There had been hesitation in the words, and hey, Buffy was no stranger to painful, awkward situations. The fact that he'd always dodged the topic was enough, but there was something in his voice that hit her. She remembered April, the original robot who just wanted to live and love. Buffy waited with her, on the swings, as her battery wound down. She'd thought April was just a disgusting playtoy, but Warren had given her life. Perhaps not sentience, but she had been real, with real emotions and a heart that had been just as broken as Buffy's. What memories had Warren given her? False memories. She assumed that Ben had gone through that, because that's what clones in movies always had. Which one is the real Peter Parker? Which one is the clone, and of course the word had a stigma attached to it. Fake. Fraud. Phony. Unreal. There'd been a week where she thought she'd been in a mental hospital the whole time she was the Slayer, with a head full of pretend memories, inventing a storyline to stay trapped in a make-believe world where everything could be safe, perfect. Mother and father still together, no sister to share their attention or love. She'd tried to kill her friends, kill Dawn because of a demon's poison. And then there was Dawn. Poor Dawnie, who probably knew better than anyone what Ben's existential crisis was like. She'd only been alive for less than a year before Glory tried to turn her into a portal. Buffy thought back to that year and all the terrible things that happened. Shit that just kept piling up and up; it was no wonder she decided to take a dirt nap in the end. But the one thing that kept her going was that even though the monks had literally made Dawn out of her - they'd used her blood, a bit of her personality - and gave them false memories, Buffy needed Dawn. She was just as real as Buffy. Okay, so with her leg over his, it was difficult but not impossible to turn just enough so that she could reach out her hand and cover his, pausing his work. Her fingers wrapped around his and gave his hand a squeeze. Her first reaction, of course, was to make a joke, to lighten the situation. It was hard to judge if that would be appropriate. He was trying to make light of things, which meant he was worried she wasn't going to take him seriously. She decided on a little gravitas. "My sister was once a big ball of energy that some monks shaped with bits of me to make her. You're just as real as he is. Just because you're only six - technically - doesn't mean you're not real." Ben tilted his head as he stared at their hands before he turned his focus up to her face. Well, this was different. Yeah, things were different here. Everyone had face doubles, AU doubles, and that wasn’t including the Skrull and Life Model Decoys and all other doppelgangers and imposters in his world. But all that was more of an acceptance of the fact instead of... this. He smiled gratefully a moment before raising his eyebrows. “So, big ball of energy shaped by monks? Man, I got gipped. That sounds way cooler than test tubes and big metal vats. I want a refund on my purely scientific, boring cloning.” "Damn, should have gone for a joke reply. Maybe a pun. Puns always make things better. Can't go wrong with a pun." Now she was anxious that she'd misjudged that turn in conversation, and with that came the babbling. "Don't worry. I've got plenty of Frankenstein and Brumhilda stories for you, if you ever get bored with mystical balls of energy that open doorways to a hell dimension. I still get weirded out whenever I see Clare Kramer on TV. Her face just gives me the wiggins." And then she realized that she still had his hand. She tried not to just drop it, which of course made it seem like she was lingering over his hand instead. A tight smile was given, and then she patted his hand and let go. "We done with the wound?" Ben shook his head in amusement, his smile becoming more natural and a tension he hadn’t realised was in his shoulders easing out. Man, it was interesting to see someone who wasn’t him or Pete try and babble back-track that much. Reaching up, he captured her hand again to give it a reassuring squeeze. “It was perfect, Buffy. Really. Thanks.” Letting go of her hand, he ruffled up his hair as he shrugged. “Just, you know, don’t really talk ‘bout it, mostly just with Pete and then it’s all ‘dude, how can you have my genes with that taste level’ banter and reminiscing and coming up with new ways to rib each other, like, hey, I’m the only six year old around that can ride all the amusement park rides, go me! So, yeah, thanks. You did good.” He looked between the wound and the supplies. “You know, I wouldn’t mind hearing all the stories. Because that sounds nicer and a whole lot less creepy than watching that non-existent TV show that isn’t about you that I don’t know a thing about anyways.” He tilted his head to the other side. “You know, you really don’t have bandaids big ‘nough for this.” His eyes lit up and a wide grin spread across his face as he pushed his sleeve down enough to show off the webshooter. “You know, it’s not the full Spider-Nurse experience without web-bandages. You game?” Okay, she really liked Ben Reilly. He was seriously one of the nicest guys she'd ever met, and clearly someone who needed a friend. Funny, ever since being called, Buffy had always felt alone underneath it all, and never more than after her death a few years ago. Being pulled out of heaven really tugged her down, and even now, now that she was mostly fine with being alive again, there was still something missing. "You have a whole bunch of Spider-things? Spider-ice cubes. Spider-sheets. Spider-soap." Buffy bit back a snort, failed, and laughed under her breath. She glanced down at her leg, wondering if it would heal (mostly) by morning on its own. The gash was pretty wide; it probably need something to hold it together so it didn't scar as badly. Her shoulders rolled as she said, "Why not! Always willing to try something new." Ben laughed as he shook his head. “Nah, our marketing department isn’t that good. Plus good ol’ J Jonah would start campaigns ‘bout how our Spider-soap was tested on poor unsuspecting spiders and turns your skin purple. There was a Spider-mobile at one point though. Worst idea ever. Really.” Man, he really hoped she didn’t have some secret arachnophobia and would freak out at this. Pretty sure that people jumping up and shrieking was number one on the doctor health tips list. But from the sounds of it and the little he’d watched of her show, she’d been through about as much crazy stuff as Peter had and she said she was willing, so... “Now that’s the attitude we like!” he said before flicking his wrist and spraying a solid coating of webbing over the gash. “I’d do this all the time back home. Holds the wound together enough and keeps it covered long ‘nough for the super-healing to kick in and fix it up.” He wrinkled his nose. “Usually. Get in a bit of trouble if it’s the massive kind that’s still gruesome when the webs start to dissolve. But, hey, dissolving bandages! Don’t have to worry about that nasty ripping the bandaid off part. So, complete win.” Spiders were nothing compared to the things Buffy had seen, and a lot of the curiosity came from the fact that she knew there was a mechanism behind the webs. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it was kind of soothing, the webbing. It wasn't like a band-aid at all, it moved with her and there was a slight cooling where the air sunk in. The corner of her mouth curled upward. "That's pretty handy." Buffy flexed her leg, then swung her leg onto the ground. "Hey, it really does feel better. You're pretty good with the webslingers, you know?" The throb of the bruise on her ass, however, wasn't pleasant, and she grabbed another two aspirin from the table and downed them with a glass of water. After the brief pause, her eyebrows rose as she looked at him. "Did the Spider-mobile have eight legs and hundreds of windows?" "Pfft, this is nothing. You haven't even seen web animals. Got any sprains? This method works great for braces too." Ben laughed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Oh geez, it would have been cooler if it did. It was pretty boring. It had a spider signal and could shoot webs." He made a face. "Not so great with the floating. Really, I don't know who thought giving us a car was a good idea. We didn't even know how to drive." Buffy opened her mouth, intent on asking Don't you mean Spider-animals?, but driving had suddenly become a topic. She was an expert on this topic. Her eyes widened with certain knowledge. "Oh, oh! I know this one." Buffy cleared her throat and mocked Willow's voice as best she could, right down to the inflection. "Don't let her get behind the wheel, she'll kill us all!" “Possibility of mass murder was thrown around before ‘lessons’ were forced on us,” Ben said, raising his hands for the air quotes. “Really, I don’t know what his problem was. Doesn’t everyone drive in the wrong lane and on the sidewalk? I mean, if the car can actually get up there then it must be ok, right? So, this naysaying? Before or after the lessons? Or were options not even an option for you?” "That's what I always said, but did anyone listen to me? Noo, it was always, 'you just ran over a lawn gnome, Buffy. That could have been a kid.' Uh, did they ever stop to think I ran over the lawn gnome because it was a lawn gnome?" Slight exaggeration. It was usually because she wasn't thinking about driving; she was talking. Usually about demons, and usually because she was rushing to stop demons from killing people. "I took my driver's test more than a few times, let's just say. I think my mom paid them off to pass me the last time." Out of the corner of her eye, she grinned at him. "Stop signs are totally a suggestion, right?" “You have to watch out for those lawn gnomes. You never know what they’re planning with their weird hats and everything. Just saying. You probably foiled a nefarious plan with that gnome injury.” He shook his head as he threw his hand up. “Now why didn’t I think of the bribe thing? And here I just gave up and got a motorcycle. Because I’m a rebel like that. And don’t worry. The ones with white around the edges are always optional.” It was time to clean up the shoulder. Buffy pulled her hair over and inspected the wound as best she could. There was a strange grinding feeling whenever she moved her shoulder that experience had taught her was "glass buried in the wound." She poured a bit of peroxide on her fingers before plucking at the wound to find it. It had to be a small one. "Wait," she answered as she glanced up from her work. "You had a motorcycle? Why am I failing to picture this?" Ben recognized the action. Which probably said a bit too much about how often he hit the pavement or went through windows. Or just fought people who left behind souvenirs. Oh God the sand. Cleaning off his fingers, he scooted closer and batted Buffy's hand away. "Because it's too awesome for words," Ben said as he carefully inspected the wound to try and find what she was looking for. "Are you saying I'm not cool enough for a motorcycle? And I do mean real motorcycle, not like the putt putt on step up from a dirt bike sort of thing. Best way to travel. Better than bus." "Too awesome for words. I'll be the judge of that, I think," Buffy grinned, then sighed. She was used to having to do most of her wound tending to herself. It felt strange to hand it over to someone else. The shoulder of her shirt was pulled just slightly down and her hair swept over the other shoulder. This wasn't going to be fun, she was sure. "So where's your costume?" "When I buy one, I'll give you a showing of it. Until then, you’ll have to use your very inactive imagination.” The tip of his tongue stuck out slightly as Ben tried to very carefully and gently find and extract the piece of... glass was it? Ouch. Ok. Distraction. Keep talking because this had to hurt. “You know, I’m don’t think I’m ever going to get used to people asking that. Like just all out in the open and all. Because someone asks me that and all that runs through my head is ‘costume? what costume? it’s not Halloween. I’m not in a play. What costume are you talking about?’. But then everyone seems to know the whole Petey is Spider-Man thing on the networks and poof, there goes any chance of secrecy. So. Yeah. Costume. Um...” He cleared his throat. “Actually have it on right now... You weren’t the only one getting some action tonight.” "Ugh, you're telling me. My senior year of high school, at the prom, they had this - class protector award. Everyone in my town was so good at pretending people had skin disorders and were on PCP that I never thought anyone knew what was happening. But they did. Weirdest month ever." It came in handy at graduation. A lot less death for the senior class of '99. "And then here where everyone knows not only what you are, but what you've done, who you've wronged. At least you don't have fan sites and a wikipedia." The glass shard scraped her shoulder blade. Buffy winced, jerked her shoulder away from his hand, then mumbled an apology. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging deeply into her palms. "As soon as this is done, I'm gonna have to see it, you know. So that shirt of yours is coming off." She realized what that statement implied and stuttered. "I mean, not the costume shirt. Just the over-shirt, because... then I can see the costume. You know. Not... anything else. Else." Ben held his hands up with a puffed out ‘sorry’. What he really needed was... He looked through the supplies before finding a pair of tweezers. He apologized again before gingerly wiggling the piece of glass out. “I’m really not sure which is worse. The fan sites and wikipedia and everyone knowing all about everything or being stuck in weird past alternate universe-ville... Both have their levels of suck.” He chuckled as he dropped the piece of glass on the table triumphantly before cleaning the wound. “Yeah, yeah, I get you. Hard to see the costume if I take it all off. Unless you’re looking to try it on too, but, boy, that might be unpleasant right now as it probably needs washing.” Finishing up the cleaning, he flicked his wrist to web up the shoulder wound. He wiped his hands clean, using the opportunity to hesitate as long as possible before he pulled his shirt up. Well, here goes nothing. At least there was no way she’d have some vendetta against him. That he knew of. After letting out a sigh of relief, she tugged the sleeve of her shirt back up over her shoulder. Much better than before. Portals and past universes were familiar, particularly in this last year. Unfortunately, Buffy didn't like to be reminded of that failure. She really should have let those shadow men give her more power. Sharing her power with the potentials might have given them all the power they needed and then some. They may not have lost as many as they had. Cracking her neck, Buffy stretched and turned toward him. It was one thing to hear that someone was Spider-man or a clone of him; a whole completely different ball of yarn to see the uniform. It was entrancing really. She ducked her head to get a better look, leaning in. Her hand inched forward to to touch the fabric, to see if it fit her imagination. Nope. It was somehow stretchier and stronger. It was thin enough to see the definition of muscles underneath (and she verified that it wasn't some trick of light by running her hand against the fabric), but somehow thicker than what she was wearing in terms of durability. "This is amazing. What's it made out of? What can it withstand?" Ben wished that he actually had his mask on for a moment. As, yup, his cheeks were definitely heating up. Which was understandable though considering the inspection. Costume inspection not something that happened often. Sure, Jan had to do a bit, but she was a designer and all, so even if there were weird moments it was different than this. “Unstable molecules. Reed came up with ‘em ‘cause, y’know, he’s all weird and stretchy, plus then there’s Johnny and, oh boy, talk about bad general PR if one of your team members keep giving everyone the full frontal because clothing and fire don’t mix. General PR too because I’m sure there’s a line around the block that’d be petitioning for getting rid of his costume or something. Aaaaaaaanyways, right, unstable molecules, so tougher than normal fabric, which is great for me considering patch jobs take a lot of time when the costume keeps tearing. And it does a whole lot better of keeping me warm and cool, which another added bonus because webslinging in the snow? Not fun. Especially when you end up passing out in a snow bank for awhile. I thought I’d never get warm again after that. Or jumping in that lake... In winter... Really, it’s a big surprise that I’m not sick all the time.” "Superhero genes?" Buffy glanced up to punctuate the question. She grinned though and finished her once over. If she wasn't gross, sweaty, and dirty from fighting, she'd have asked to test drive it. Or at least try it on. Even if she knew she'd feel ridiculous in it, but how many people could really say they got to try on Spider-man's costume? The real Spider-man, not someone who bought a Wal-mart costume for Halloween. The babbling was new, though, and she realized exactly why: she was still, essentially, feeling him up. She jerked her hand back suddenly, her own face turn pink. "Sorry, it's just... superheroes. There were only two in my world... till we made a whole bunch just before I left. So it's new. Seeing other people doing the saving and all. Hey, it looks a little different than Peter's, right? Or am I crazy?" “Stop me from getting sick? Maybe a little, but geez, if that’s what they’re supposed to do all the time, I want a refund, because, yeah, almost dying from influenza definitely means that wasn’t working right.” Ben relaxed a bit when she pulled her hand away and gave her a reassuring smile. “Hey, no, that’s alright. I mean, you can’t spit in our world and not hit a superhero, but people still go a bit crazy. Usually not in the ‘hey, let me check out your costume’ kinda way, but, yeah, this is nothing. And can’t say much about the sanity, but, yup, you got a good eye.” He tilted his head to the side as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Do you like mine better? Tell me you like mine better. Because that would be serious bragging points and massive scores on jealousy if I can tell Pete that Buffy the Vampire Slayer likes my costume better.” "Almost dying from influenza is the worst! Did you have a demon killing kids around too? Ugh, he had eyestalks. Nothing good can come from eyestalks." Or having to kill a demon with your thumbs. Or ripping a demon's tongue out. Or... the list really did go on and on. Buffy wondered what some of Ben's stories were. Even if now probably wasn't the best time to ask. Buffy grinned brightly in return. "Hey, I'm not the most fashionable Slayer for nothing. I've got an eye for these things. But... you can tell Peter that I like your costume better. You let me touch it." “Oh God, no, just normal influenza after a really bad week of traveling in the rain in the wilds of Vermont.” Which wasn’t something Ben wanted to think about right now. Just joke about the really dark time (that had the nerve of getting darker, gee thanks again Osborn) and move on. Same old, same old. He pushed the thoughts down before they could fully form and smiled widely at Buffy. “I’ll take that. But I’m leaving out the touching part. Now, come on, let’s make sure you don’t have any other festering wounds lingering about.” |