To say it took a lot of alcohol in a short amount of time to get Jen drunk was an understatement. Of course, when she was just mousy Jennifer Walters, it didn’t take much at all, but as She-Hulk, it took a lot. She didn’t always manage to achieve the proper level of drunk she wanted, but when she did, well… Maybe it was good she couldn’t do this often.
“-and another thing,” she said into the phone, “just cause you get to go up in space and fly and shit, doesn’t mean you’re any better than us, us earth bound folk. And your, your dad? Asshole. I’m glad, real, real, real glad, he didn’t invite us to Christmas. He’s. He’s an ass. Hole. And I don’t give a shit who knows.”
Jen was currently standing in the middle of the dance floor talking to John’s voicemail. Because she’d thought it was a brilliant idea to call him to see if he wanted to hang out. They were friends (mostly), but all of a sudden, she needed to explain, in explicit detail, everything that was wrong with their marriage.
“And the fucking toothbrush! It was just a fucking toothbrush, who cares, who fucking cares? You- you were the one who, um, you wanted those drapes. They were ugly. Real ugly. And Jan. Jan agreed with me. I burned them. On purpose. You get that? On purpose. And-”
The phone beeped at her, indicating the message time had ended. Jen glared at it a moment, swaying a little, and then hit redial. Everyone was giving her a large berth, still trying to dance around her, but not wanting to mess with a six-foot-seven green goddess. Fucking good. She didn’t want to deal with them either.
As she started in on her fourth (fifth? sixth? Who the fuck cared?) message, she saw, making his way through the crowd, the current man of her heart. All golden hair and warm eyes and a body that you could cook an egg on (but not literally, because she had dated someone like that before once), he was gorgeous, and, “Steve is sooooo much better than you, John. In bed, he does this, this, uh, tongue thing, like, fucking hell, it feels so good. And he’s just, so much, much hotter than you ever were. A fucking American Icon. Captain Fucking America. Not some. Some guy who. Who… Like you. But a real guy. Like. Fuck. I’m gonna ream his ass tonight. Then ride him ‘til that… thing, sun, the sun comes up. And you. You don’t compare. So bye. Bye, John. I hope you are happy by yourself. Bye. And the toothbrush, not my fault.”
She hung up, satisfied. She really did like John, though it could be awkward sometimes. But she felt good to have gotten all that out in the open. Moving forward and all that cock and b… baloney. Yeah. That was it.
Steve reached her just as Jen slid the phone into her pocket. “Hey there, sexy,” Jen said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They were broad for a normal guy, but to Jen, they were just so cute and tiny and perfect for her to rest her arms on.
She pulled him in and let her head fall on top of his. Steve was perfect sized for her, her little cuddle boat.
“I think we should get home,” he was saying, and he sounded a bit drunk, too. Not like Jen, maybe, but there was a slur in his voice.
“Sounds good, lover boy.”
Steve snorted and then that turned into a laugh. They left with their arms around each other, and somewhere half way home, he decided singing an old dirty war tune would be fun. So he was drunker than Jen had thought. Good. She giggled and joined as best she can, making up a few of her own lyrics. Steve heartily approved.
When they got home, she fingered him as she rode him into the bed, and it was fucking great.
Jen woke up to a lovely little note on Steve’s pillow.
Had a meeting with T’Challa this morning, so I’ll see you later. Knock them dead in court today, beautiful.
Jen smiled to herself and tucked the note away. He was so sweet.
It was only after she got out of the shower that she heard her phone beeping away. She checked her messages and saw that she’d gotten a text from John. Oh. That was right. She had called him last night. Whoops.
Not one of her finer moments, she was willing to admit.
She remembered most of what she said (fuck, she’d admitted to the drapes, hadn’t she?) and there was definitely an apology already forming in her mind.
Jen, you do know Steve and I hooked up while I worked for him, right?
What? Jen stared. She reread the message. It didn’t change.
Steve and John had what?
“It’s not fair,” Jen said, head in her hands. “Our community is too small!”
Jan’s delicate hand patted her bicep. “Look, hon,” Jan said gently, “it happens. Take it from me. Me and Tony stopped comparing a while back. Got too creepy, you know? Just don’t worry about it.”
Jen finished off the last bite of her third burger before going on. “But you can’t sleep with someone without having slept with several other of your own friends removed by one!”
“Six degrees,” Jan agreed sagely. “If that.”
Jennifer looked at Jan for a moment, eyes narrowed. “How far are we removed?”
Janet titled her head in thought. “Well… One, but a couple different ones.”
Jen groaned. Great. Just great. “Okay, so there’s Herc, right?” Jan nodded. “And…”
Jan looked apologetic as she said, “And Steve. But only that one time.”
That was it. If she and Steve (okay, when, because Jen was a realist and knew this wasn’t her fairy tale ending) broke up, she was swearing off dating heroes. It was regular civilians from here on out. It would be nice, for once, to have someone who only had fucked her. None of her friends as well. Just her. That was all she was asking here.
“You know what?” Jan said, brightening up, “how about I show you what I’m working on? I’ve got some dresses that will absolutely look stunning with your skin.”
Jen forced a smile. “In my size?”
“Of course! Who do you take me for?”
Jen’s smile turned genuine. Janet Van Dyne originals were always amazing. “Let’s go then.”
Of course, the next time Jen got drunk, she decided it would be a good idea to actually play six degrees of fucking. In the end, Jan was right. Six degrees was far too generous.