Disclaimer: Characters She-Hulk, Jennifer Walters, Morris Walters, Children of the Pride, Tony Stark, Reed Richards, Man-Wolf, John Jameson, Ben Grimm, Uatu, the Avengers, and the Fantastic Four are owned by Marvel Comics. So is the Civil War "event." This l'il work of fan-fiction was written for entertainment purposes only. You can put your big green lawyers away now. Thank you!
Oh, and fellow Marvel readers? This fic is based on a spoiler from Civil War #5, though I doubt it'll have much impact on your reading enjoyment of the actual series.
Background: Marvel's Civil War. Love it or hate it, it's come and gone.. And those who have read the story know there was this big battle near the end, a whirlwind of violence to round out the mini-series, leaving the Marvel Universe in shambles and breaking the internet in half. Or something.
I'm not sure which characters, exactly, know about said battle, so the premise for the following situation is based on tenuous speculation. Still, She-Hulk seemed right for this (that, and I don't know any other character half as well), and I don't mind giving her a little extra knowledge for the sake of the piece.
So! If there was to be this big final battle, wouldn't She-Hulk have made one last call to her father before the chaos started? I'd like to think so. And I'd like to think it would go something like this.:
A phone in a bustling west-coast office rings, and a polite but firm voice answers, "L.A. County Sheriff. This is Terry, how may I direct your call?"
"Hi, Terry," replies low, husky voice. It's a woman trying (and failing) to sound cheerfully conversational. "Is Sheriff Walters in?"
"You're in luck. He is. May I ask who's calling?" Terry's smiling now. She's placed the voice, and knows exactly who she's speaking to.
"Jennifer Walters."
"She-Hulk. You know better than to call your dad at work unless it's an emergency," Terry ribs.
"It kind of is, Terry."
It sinks in. Terry's not talking to the Sheriff's little girl; she's talking to a soldier in the middle of a war. "I'll put you right through. Just a moment." There's a beep. Terry puts the woman on hold, then transfers the call. There's a dial tone, then another click.
"Jennifer, what's going on?" demands the gravelly voice of a worried father.
"Dad, hi, I'm glad I caught you."
"Me, too. You got lucky, honey, we're in a bit of a lull. Between LASD helping the LAPD deal with the Children of the Pride, the superhuman war and the usual shenanigans..."
"Yeah, I know, you're really busy. Look, I'll try to make this short, but... Dad?"
"Jenny?"
"Dad. There's... Well, word on high is there's gonna be a battle."
"Word on high? You mean Tony Stark?"
"Right, Tony Stark," she hastily confirms. "And Reed. But, listen, there'll be a battle, a big one, and I will probably be part of it."
"Jen..."
"Dad, I should be okay," she adds, before he can protest. "I mean, I have my own title and a small but devoted fan following, so I should be..."
"Jen, you're not making any sense."
There's a long pause. The Sheriff hears a small sigh.
"Does any of this make sense, Dad?" He can hear her fiercely biting back tears. "The Fantastic Four are broken, so are the Avengers, God alone knows where Bruce is these days... You're it, Dad."
"You have a husband, Jenny."
"Yeah. John." She fidgets uncomfortably, and Morris hears a couch creak in protest. "Long story there. I really don't know where we stand, and there's no time to figure it out now." She laughs, suddenly, avoiding that subject. "God, I don't even know if I'm gonna be fighting on the right side. I know I'm not the only one, but..."
"You wouldn't be fighting for something you didn't fully believe in."
She chuckles. "'Course I would, Dad. I'm a lawyer. It's kind of in the job description."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know what you mean. Seriously, though, it's not like I have a choice. It's like we're all pawns in someone's twisted game."
"So what side are you on?"
"The law and order side, where else?" She rolls her eyes.
"Since when are you ever on that side?" he teases.
"Since I reclaimed my status as an officer of the court."
"So. There you go. You're fighting on the right side."
"It's not that simple, Dad."
"Of course it is, the way your community's been polarizing things. Black or white, Jen, you have to choose."
"Or move to Paris, like Ben."
"Or stay out of it," agrees Morris Walters. "See? Always a third option."
"Yeah, it's just that I don't think I have a third option. There are too many people watching. They're like those picnickers on the sidelines of that one Civil War battle. Bull Run? They know it's going to be bloody, and awful, but...
"Jen."
"...there they are eating Cheetos and watching anyway. They can't help themselves. And afterwards they'll be disgusted with themselves for watching and with us for fighting this stupid..."
"Jennifer!"
"Dad?"
"Jen, you're sounding paranoid. Please just calm down. Who's 'they?'"
"The Press, the Public. Who'd you think I meant?"
"That's who I thought you meant."
"Right. Well, I really don't think there's any good way to get out of this thing, so I figured I ought to call you and let you know, so you're not all shocked by whatever makes the TV news, you know?"
"Like I was by your elopement, you mean?"
"Dad!"
He laughs. "I know, long story. Jen, you take care of yourself, and come visit your old dad after this war is over. And bring my new son-in-law, while you're at it."
"I want to say 'Count on it...'"
"I know."
A few moments pass. The reply comes in a second female voice, higher and softer than the first. Morris isn't talking to a gamma-powered warrior anymore. Just his girl. His little girl, who'd been a soldier since the day her mother -- his wife -- had died. Maybe, deep down, she'd always been a soldier. "I love you, Dad. Give Mom my best, okay?"
"You do that yourself, when you come back and visit for once." There's a bit of silence as the sheriff grasps for the right response. He finds it. "I love you too, Jen. Good luck."
Both fall quiet. Neither father nor daughter really wants to hang up, but there's nothing more to say. Finally, the sheriff gives in, and sets the phone tenderly into its cradle. His receptionist is watching him through the glass of his office. He can tell she has a crisis for him. It's a minor emergency, not urgent enough for Terry to interrupt an important phone call, but it's work, and he'll take it if only to take his mind off his daughter.
Jennifer follows suit, dropping her cordless into its charger and slumping into the cushions of her sofa. She knows the phone is probably tapped, that Tony is listening (or will listen) to the conversation, and she makes a note to call him Big Brother at some point before the battle. Not that it matters. As long as Uatu is doing his thing, she knows better than to expect privacy.
John leans against the doorway and watches his wife brood. Right now, she's the woman he loves. "You coming to bed?" he inquires, with a touch of concern. Jennifer looks up sharply, and sees the man -- the human -- she thinks she used to love. She draws a breath. For a moment she sees her father there. Oh, God, she hadn't... had she?
Does it matter right now? she asks herself. No. No, it really doesn't. Her brown eyes soften. "Yeah. Yeah, John, I'll be right there."