Mark Of The Spider-Man

Chapter 24 - If-Then-Else

Of course that Doc Ock character had kneecaps to shoot, and of course Reese was disappointed that he missed his opportunity to do so. The guy had simply been too fast for him to catch, thanks in no small part to those giant tentacular appendages he wore on his back.

Reese almost wanted to get himself one of those, but they looked like dangerous prototypes at best. Almost as dangerous as that mini-rocket launcher which Peter was wearing strapped to his hip like it was a service pistol. Who authorized him to carry something so powerful? Rhetorical question, of course. The clear answer was Root.

He'd need to have a talk with their resident hacker. Root had no authority over Spider-Man, so he had no reason to listen to her. Unless her recklessness was spreading to him? She was like a walking computer virus sometimes, except the computers she infected were living, breathing humans. Not that it was such a good idea to think of humans in such technological terms, but people like Root - and Finch, though Reese hated to admit it - operated on such a weird plane of existence that they probably did so by default.

"I'm very tempted," Reese commented as he finally stepped up to Peter while he was finishing up the webbing of Doc Ock, "to run you in for that illegal weapon."

"Should've concealed it better, shouldn't I?" Peter snarked back. "Too bad this suit of mine doesn't allow for concealment."

Reese could've sworn he heard someone's voice on his earbud say "No shit, baby butt." Might've been Root, or MJ, or perhaps Deadpool. Whoever it was, they were far enough away from the receiving mike on the other end that he couldn't tell. But if he had to guess - and with Fusco somewhere just behind him, he could be influenced into briefly taking on the role of a betting man - he would guess Deadpool.

Seconds later, Sherlock emerged from the door of the building from which Peter had jumped. The building which Doc Ock had been climbing seconds earlier. "Just wait until the real cops come this way," Sherlock said as he surveyed the scene, then peered down the street as if expecting said "real cops" to be barreling down, sirens blaring.

Fusco opened his mouth, but Reese held up his hand to silence him. "Let them make their little joke," he said. "After all, this guy's not a real cop either. Just a consultant."

"That's what I'm gonna start calling you, 'Detective Riley,'" Fusco snarked.

"Not as colorful as the nicknames you've come up with in your time," Reese retorted. "Are you sure you're not losing your touch, Lionel?"

Fusco pretended to dig some ear wax out. (Or, maybe more accurately, he probably was doing so for real.) "That tone in your voice...Cocoa Puffs, did you learn to possess my man here?"

"Root? Possess a man?" Shaw scoffed. "Perish the thought. We all know there's only one person she's really got eyes for."

"Please tell me it's not me," Peter said.

"Nope," Shaw said. "Though I have to admit, that butt of yours even gets me going."

Reese revised his opinion on who must've said "baby butt" earlier. With that filed and saved away, he reached for Doc Ock's legs - his biological legs, that is - and lifted him up at one end, with Fusco quick to step in and grab one of the legs and spare him a little exertion. At the other end, Peter and Sherlock followed suit, each grabbing an arm and carrying Ock to the car.

"Almost like bearing a pall," Peter said. "At my uncle's funeral, they almost didn't want me doing it at the time. They thought I wasn't strong enough." Reese turned around, looking kitty-corner across Ock's motionless form, to see the renewed bulge of biceps under Peter's skintight suit. "Then, uh, Gwen's funeral happened and no one in her immediate family could do it, so they had me do it then too." Ock's left arm, the one Peter was holding, wobbled.