Chapter 5
Otto’s jaw makes a sharp click, machine-like in his ears, as if he could make himself any more so. His arms draw up behind him, shielding his back from sight, but it is too late. The two children- he almost chokes at the locution, because these are kids Octavius, these are a bunch of fucking kids- stare at him through the barrier which he must keep reminding himself is not glass, nothing he can smash out of or break through. His temper rises to the surface. Flares up like a bonfire fed a spade full of coal, and he wants to shout at the two of them to look somewhere else. Go stare at Connors. But he refrains, whether from reluctance or his own exhaustion.
Otto, he’s a kid. Let up on him a little.
I’m not being hard on the boy, he’s too smart to waste it.
I know he’s smart, okay? Corralling him won’t help.
Smart but lazy Rosie, he’s got potential. I just want him to take responsibility for it.
It’s like he’s your son we never had.
…Not laughing.
Rosie had wanted kids. In their youth, she had told him she was sterile, which at the time had not bothered her to Otto’s surprise. She had told him, “Don’t have to worry about any happy accidents, at least.” The arms crackled and fuzzed her words in his memory, trying to guard him from the sorrow her presence drug in. Their youth had been happy with no little ones running around, and he pitied the parents his age who had to stay up late at night for their newborns. Rosie certainly hadn’t envied it.
But age came, and slowly their tide began to shift. Otto pointed out nice color schemes for a theoretical nursery, Rosie sneaking mentions of her coworker’s daughter into conversation. It was stupid, neither of them was being subtle. But both had also been far too scared to face the music about the topic.
You should find someone else if you want one so bad.
Rosie, I do not think that. You know better than to assume I would ever think that.
…I know. I love you.
I love you too.
I think if I ever had a girl, I’d name her Amelia.
“That’s a good name.”
His words fell onto unwanted ears, Max giving him a confused glance before returning to being bored. It had been a good name, hadn’t it? What was it?
“Hey Octopus!”
He whipped his head around, glasses almost flying off his nose. “What?!” He shouted back, mustering up all his irritation. The kid, which he now recognized as the tall girl, shouted back to him. “What’re you talking about?!” The first reaction he has is to lash out, and he’s still only a word or two away from doing so, but it doesn’t come. “None of your concern.”
She huffs, her eyebrows twitching upwards in a careless and yet immensely surly manner, and Octavius almost wants to laugh at her attitude. It reminds him of someone. It’s not Rosie.
“Well, keep it quiet, me and Ned still have to find the rest of the variants.” She turns but doesn’t make it very far. “And how do you expect to find them?” “None of your concern.” She replies. This time, he does laugh, but only to himself. A single ‘ha.’
“Where’s your Spider-Man?” He prods against his own judgement. She’s still walking away, a hunch to her shoulders. “Kicking the rest of you guy’s ass, wherever they are.”