Spider-Girl Meets Doctor Octopus
What I think Dr. Octavius would be like 20 years later . . .
"Great. Just great . . . shut up, will you? I'm trying to think. Yes, I know, Peter's kid is a mutate too. Good for her! . . . No. The sins of the father are the sins of the father. Imagine if my father's sins were mine! . . . No, I do not want to talk about it . . . congratulate him? He's probably not happy about it, it's hardly a congrad–yes, you're right, it would irritate him . . . but what's the point?"
I sighed and shook my head. Ever since Peter lost a leg, my children have been obedient, thank God. Thus, I have kept myself fairly sane. But they will get ideas, and there's really not much I can do about it–they're just as stubborn as I am, if not worse.
"This is fun," the girl was saying to herself. "All alone against the stars, no one else around."
I snorted. "Don't be so sure of that, Miss Parker."
"Who are you? And how do you know my name?"
I smiled. "I knew your father. He could be an annoying little bug, and I hated his jokes, but . . . well, he was one of very few constants in my life. Once he got hurt, I found that I had liked him after all. Sent him a get well card as soon as I heard. Probably the weirdest get well card anybody ever got."
"You're a super-villain, then?"
"Used to be." I shrugged. "Not sure what I am now."
"Sounds like my dad."
"Yeah. I wish I had a kid, but I don't. Never dared, after what my father was like. He died when I was little. I was the only one there–Mother had left him long since–and I didn't understand what had happened. He was a drunk and a brute, and Mother was an overprotective fool. Useless, both of them . . . No, I don't believe in that old 'sins of the fathers' stuff. The only mark left by my dad's sin is in my own mind–and that's bad enough, believe me!"
"Ah. Why do people always come up and confess things to me? I never ask them to."
I laughed. "Funny old thing, life."
"Funny ha-ha, or funny weird?"
I shrugged. "Either. Both. Whatever."
And we left.