George goes on a whole frustrated face journey, the kind that happens when a person can't find the words for all the complicated thoughts running through their head and none of them are pleasant. He's not had much time to think about the revelation of Spider-Woman's identity, not really. Not since standing there across from her, never quite able to bring himself to lower the gun.

There's a part of him that really thought he knew his daughter, well enough to look at what happened in that auditorium and realise that it had to be more complicated than it seemed. A part of him that does love her. But three years of his life have been about fixing what happened to Peter Parker, about turning Spider-Woman into a villain, and shaking that is harder than it should be.

"She ran from the scene," comes out after too long, for how weak a reasoning it is. "I saw her, I saw her and Peter— they were barely into high school. He was just a kid."

That doesn't make anything he's saying better either. She was just a kid, too.

"All I've ever tried to do was make that right. She knew that."