(Avengers Tower)
Natasha exits the elevator that leads to the common room. Her dress is as lovely as when she put it on, but her mood is not as good as when the night began. Nobody is present, fortunately, so she heads for the liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of vodka before pouring herself a glass.
Reluctant as she is to admit this, even to herself, she was excited for the date. She tried on every outfit she had in her closet, which was quite a few. She even rehearsed on what she would say if and when things got quiet.
What she did not practice were the questions she asked. They were questions that did come to mind whenever the logistics of how the relationship works came to mind, and she did intend to ask after the date. Maybe the next date or the one after if it got that far, but not near the end. She did not want to be responsible for it ending badly.
She's brought out of her head when Carol, Jessica, and Wanda walk in, but they don't become aware that Natasha is also in the room.
"That was a dumb movie." Carol states, as she strolls to the fridge with Wanda and Jess following.
"It was a horror movie." Jessica says. "There are set rules that they have to follow to make it good."
Carol scoffs and comments, "So for it to be good, the "pretty girl" doesn't bother to finish the killer off when she has the perfect chance?" She tugs open the fridge. "She had the bat, why didn't she bash the guys head in?"
"Cause then the main character wouldn't have all the development," Jessica states taking an offered soda from the blonde heroine.
Natasha just sits in silence as she watches her colleagues chat on. She is hoping they don't notice her because she knows what the next topic of conversation will be. Her date tonight.
Wanda is the one to finally notice the redheaded Russian is also in the room, "Natasha?"
The other two heads swivel in the spy's direction. For a moment, Romanoff considers leaving the room if only to avoid the conversation she knows is coming, but doing so only postpones the inevitable. So she lifts her glass at them as a greeting and says, "Evening."
The other two finally notice her as well and look at her in surprise. They likely were not expecting her to be in the kitchen at this hour, or maybe not even in the building.
Jessica is the first to recover. "Well," She pops the tab on her soda, the hiss loud in the quiet. "A bottle of vodka near midnight can only mean you did not have a good date."
"It could be celebratory," Natasha retorts as she pours herself another glass.
"Then you're an alcoholic."
"In our line of work, who wouldn't be?"
Carol takes a seat beside Jessica and asks, "How was the date?" Romanoff can see something in the woman's eye that is close to concern, but not for her. She can easily surmise as to what though.
Nat lifts the glass and lets the vodka do what it does best. Numb things up. "It was fine," she says, and knows how unconvincing that sounds.
All three women look at her expectedly, waiting for her to elaborate. She refrains from sighing. She knew this was going to happen. Of course people would ask how the date went. She honestly expected Tony to be here waiting for answers. Then again, the man will likely wait until morning. Unlike the ladies before her. Jessica seems like a schoolgirl eager for gossip, Carol seems like she needs answers that only the experience Natasha had tonight can provide. Wanda is more curious, like wanting to solve a puzzle.
"We talked." Romanoff starts, pouring another glass, "We talked a lot.
Again, the three of them stare at her before Carol decides to comment with, "Wow, sounds like every girls dream date."
The redheaded Russian raised a delicate brow at the Kree hybrid. "Were you expecting us to play footsie under the table?"
"Honestly?" Jessica is the one that responds to the question with a shrug, "We didn't know what to expect. Hell, we even thought Tony might be right."
Romanoff's eyes narrow slightly, as she has a very good inkling as to what Tony said, but she still has to ask. "What exactly did Stark say?"
"About what you'd expect from a man with the mentality of a frat boy," Jessica answers her, confirming her suspicions.
Nat will deal with the billionaire genius later, something with her widows bite, but for now she has to deal with this. "Nothing happened. We had dinner, we talked, questions were asked, and we went our separate ways."
When she spoke, there was a slight pitch in her voice when she mentioned that questions were asked. She is hoping the ladies didn't pick up on that.
"What'd you talk about?" Jessica asks.
Natasha shrugs and says, "Nothing big. Just basic first date getting to know you stuff."
"And the questions?" Carol presses, leaning forward against the counter. "What kind of questions?"
The vodka burns less on the third glass. Or maybe that's the fourth. Natasha's enhanced metabolism makes it difficult to get properly drunk, but she can still appreciate the ritual of it, the excuse it provides for the slight loosening of her tongue.
"The kind that needed asking," she says, knowing how evasive it sounds but unable to stop herself from deflecting.
Jessica sets down her soda with a soft clink. "Nat, you look like someone kicked your puppy. What happened?"
"I don't have a puppy."
"You know what she means," Wanda says, seeming to not wanting to play this back and forth thing Nat was doing with Jessica.
Natasha stares into her glass, watching the clear liquid catch the overhead lights. The restaurant had been perfect—discreet, elegant, exactly the kind of place she'd choose for a sensitive meeting. Except this wasn't supposed to be a meeting. It was supposed to be a date.
"I asked about hierarchy," she admits, the words tasting bitter. "About long-term plans. About children."
The silence that follows feels heavy enough to drown in. They look at her like she lost her mind.
"Children?" Jessica's voice rises an octave. "On a first date?"
"It's a valid concern," Natasha says, her spine straightening defensively. "In an arrangement like theirs, these things need to be discussed. More so when they have a history as long as theirs."
"Sure~," Carol agrees slowly, "but maybe not over the appetizers?"
"It was over desert."
The critical looks sting more than Natasha expects. She takes another sip, letting the alcohol provide a buffer between her and the growing discomfort in her chest.
"You sabotaged it," Wanda observes, not unkindly. "Why?"
The question hangs in the air like smoke. Natasha wants to deny it, to explain how she was being practical, logical, responsible. But the words stick in her throat because deep down, beneath all the training and conditioning, she knows Wanda's right.
"I didn't mean to," she says finally, the admission pulled from her like a confession under torture.
The vodka bottle sits between them like a monument to her self-destruction. She reaches for it again, but Carol, of all people, pulls the bottle away from the spy. Nat leaves her hand hanging in the air as she gives the former air pilot a questioning look.
"Tell us what really happened," the blonde heroine all but commands. "From the beginning."
Natasha pulls her hand back. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too bright. She can still smell the restaurant on her dress—expensive perfume and wine and the faint trace of different food they all ordered. All of it, reminding her of the night.
"It was going well," she admits, the words coming slowly. "Better than I expected. Peter was... himself. Earnest and ridiculous and brilliant all at once. Felicia had this edge that reminded me of my early days. Sonja was fascinating—a warrior's soul in a modern world. Silver was surprisingly fun, and even had some interesting stories. Honestly, after the first hour, I can say I wanted to keep going. Maybe another date or two. I can tell Silver seemed to be warming up to the idea."
She looks at the three reactions, seeing that they're surprised but keeping it in check.
"So what changed?" Jessica asks.
Natasha lowers her eyes, remembering the exact moment. The way Peter had looked at Felicia when she'd made a joke, the casual intimacy of Sonja adjusting his crooked tie, the easy rhythm they'd fallen into like a dance she didn't know the steps to. That she'd have trouble learning the steps to. Because try as she might, she is the Black Widow. And nothing can change that.
Except in one instance, it did change.
"Nancy Rushman," she says quietly to herself.
The others look confused, and she realizes she spoke out loud.
"Nancy Rushman?" Jessica questions, and Natasha holds back a grimace as she wants to berate herself for allowing that slip. "Peter mentioned that name and Red Cat when he asked you out earlier."
Once more, Romanoff finds herself at the end of three questioning gazes. She could just walk away, hell, that's what she wants and feels an impulse to do, but these three are her friends and colleagues. As much as she despises emotional confrontation, she knows she needs help.
"When I was captured by Hydra years ago, they tried to break me," she explains, her voice flat, clinical. "The torture was... extensive. When I escaped, my mind created a new identity to cope. Nancy Rushman. A schoolteacher. Simple, kind, pacifist, everything I wasn't."
She can feel their attention sharpening, but she keeps her eyes on the glass.
"Spider-Man found me. Helped me. And Nancy—I—fell for him. Hard. When my memories returned, I tried to convince myself those feelings weren't real. Just a trauma response."
"But they were real," Wanda makes an observation. "Otherwise why would you say yes today?"
Natasha doesn't say anything, she just continues to explain. "Then there was an incident with Baron Mordo. An alternate reality where I was someone called the Red Cat. Half me, half Felicia Hardy. And in that world, I was with Peter too." She gets a look of shame as she recounts that particular event, "It's complicated to explain, but the gist of it is, we had an entire life there. A whole different lifetime experience that happened in the span of a day. Love, adventure, and by the end, betrayal."
She finally looks up, meeting their eyes.
"Both of these had the common element of me and him being together." She gets a hard look, "But it wasn't me either time. Not really. Just two separate people who I had shared an experiences with."
And that is what she tells herself everyday when she catches herself glancing at the arachnid themed hero and wondering if there is a possibility of anything happening between them. They are not compatible, she is a pragmatic spy who sees the world for what it is, he's an idealistic hero who sees the world for what it could be. She would not hesitate to kill for her mission while he would protect and save everyone he can.
They would not work out at all.
"And yet, he somehow makes it work with a notorious thief and a warrior woman from the past." Carol points out, somehow reading her mind.
But what she is saying is true. Natasha is unable to make an argument with her teammate. Everything she learned about both women tells her they should not be compatible with Spider-Man. Yet, observing them tonight showed her that they are. They way they talked, poked fun, flirted, and even looked at one another. It all showed how well together they are. They had a rapport that she wanted and even saw herself being a part of. And when she saw herself in such a scenario, she felt something she rarely feels even during a dangerous mission.
She felt scared.
She saw how open and honest they were. How little they held back from each other. They weren't putting on an act that she's seen so many couples put on to make a relationship work during her off time. She has observed men grimace when eating some vegan food, women put on a smile when their men are saying something stupid or insensitive. But Peter, Felicia, and Sonja? They weren't doing any of that. They were genuinely themselves, and it worked.
"I can't do what they do," Natasha admits, the words scraping her throat raw. "I can't just... be open like that. Every instinct I have, every bit of training, tells me that vulnerability is death."
"You've had relationships before." Carol points out.
"But never with more than one person." Natasha counters, more heatedly than she intended. She quickly composes herself again before she continues, "What they have? It's more. I don't know how it works, but it does. It may have started with Peter, but it's not just about him. Sonja and Felicia have their own connection."
She doesn't look at them but she can feel their eyes on her. She knows they are trying to understand what she is not saying.
"What did you mean earlier?" Wanda inquires, "When you were explaining what Red Cat is, what did you mean there was betrayal?"
Well, she is glad someone picked up on that. She finishes off the rest of her drink and tells them, "I betrayed him and Doctor Strange to Baron Mordo and Hobgoblin. The details are hazy, but the results aren't. They trapped them in the dream realm, and I helped them make it happen."
Natasha has many regrets in her life. She has hurt so many people who did not deserve it, betrayed so many who trusted her, and did so without remorse at the time. And she did all that at once to a man she loved, and she genuinely loved him in that world, without hesitation.
"Why?" Jessica asks.
Refraining from rolling her eyes, Natasha knows what her teammate is asking. "Why did I betray a man that I claimed love? Is it really-?"
"No not that. Why trap them? Why not kill them?" Jessica clarifies, surprising Natasha as she was wrong about what the woman was asking, "I mean, I'm not familiar with either Mordo or Hobgoblin, but I hear enough stories to know that if they had the chance, they would have killed both of them. So why did they trap them?"
Not the question she was expecting but one she can answer easily enough. "Because that was a condition of mine if they wanted my help," she explains, "They couldn't kill either one. No matter what. And before you ask, I don't know why that was a condition I made. I can't remember."
Finishing off her soda, Jessica stands up and says, "Well then maybe you should talk to Strange. He might have answers or at least be able to help you get them."
Natasha looks up at her fellow Avenger and asks, "And what if the answer isn't something that surprises me?"
"You mean you find out you are coldhearted enough to hand over Spider-Man to an enemy of his without any hesitation?" Jessica clarifies for Nat, surprising the spy on how insightful her friend seems to be. "Well, I can't say that I know you well enough to answer that question," Jessica admits with a shrug. "But what I do know is that you're sitting here, drinking vodka at midnight, upset that you sabotaged a date with a man you clearly have feelings for. That doesn't sound like someone who's coldhearted to me."
Natasha stares at the empty glass in her hand, watching the way the overhead lights refract through the residual vodka clinging to the sides. Jessica's words settle over her like a weighted blanket—uncomfortable but somehow grounding.
"She has a point," Carol adds, leaning forward against the counter. "If you really didn't care, you wouldn't be this torn up about it."
"I'm not torn up," Natasha protests, but even to her own ears it sounds hollow.
Wanda moves closer, her presence somehow warm despite the tension crackling through the kitchen. "You're sitting here alone in the dark, drinking, after what should have been a pleasant end to an enjoyable evening. That speaks volumes, Natasha."
Nat finds herself without a retort. Wanda's observation is dead on. She did have fun tonight, and it should have ended well. Maybe not something Tony would expect, but they should have at least parted amicably.
She ruined that.
Before she allows herself to feel regret, she stomps it down. She then gets up and looks at her three friends. "I'm not right for him or them." She states, more to herself then them really, "I am the Black Widow. I can't be what he or anyone else would want me to be."
And that's that. She doesn't say anything else because there is nothing else to say. So she walks away. Her heels click louder without the usual noise going on in the building.
But she still can't get rid of that nagging voice in her head. The part of her that is still human. That lets her be an Avenger. And right now, that voice is saying she should fix this mess.
She's annoyed Carol took vodka. She could have drowned that voice.
(New York, Night)
Three blurs are all one would see leaping across the rooftops if anyone was out and about. But right now the last thing on Peter's mind is who sees him with Felicia and Sonja in fancy clothes.
Gwen is awake. The moment his cellphone rang and saw it was Reed's number, he was worried something bad happened to her. But when Reed told him Gwen woke up, shock and fear overtook him briefly before he bolted into an alley, up a building, and is now heading towards the Baxter Building. Fortunately, his girlfriends are able to keep pace with him for the most part.
Despite how frantic he is feeling, he is making sure he doesn't get seen, which is why the girls are able to keep up.
He eventually sees his destination and leaps as high as he can to get to the rooftop. He makes it and scrambles to the elevators. As he waits for it, the ladies who were not dressed for traversing across rooftops, catch up with him and are out of breath.
Felicia, still in her nice dress, puts her hands on her knees, and takes deep breaths, "*Huff* Okay, *Huff* that was a pain."
Sonja, also in her fancy dress, stands straight but is also out of breath, "*Huff* I agree. *Huff*" She says. They both walk towards Peter, who is frantically tapping his foot and Sonja asks, "What happened?"
Peter hesitates for a second before he gets a pained look as he tells them, "Gwen's awake."
He watches as both ladies recoil at this news before Mary Jane's spiritual apparition makes an appearance. He sees she shares the same shocked expression as the other two. But then he sees all three of their expressions change, with Felicia and Sonja sharing a concerned expression. Whereas MJ has one that shows she is afraid.
Like he is.
Of course he is afraid, what else is he supposed to be feeling at this moment. His dead ex is awake and he still has no idea what he is going to say to her. No matter how much thought he's put into it since she came back, he can't think of anything he can say that'll make the situation better. Hell, he can't even think of something to start a conversation with her.
Well, nothing that isn't a bad joke. But this is seriously not the time for bad jokes! Hell, his bad jokes didn't help him on his date. In fact, they likely hurt him.
The emotional whiplash he has been dealing with lately has been extremely exhausting. To go from happy to sad to anxious to a mixed mess of who knows what has been taking its toll on him. He really needs to get some consistency or he will have a mental breakdown.
He doesn't get to dwell on it since the elevator arrives and the three of them enter. While inside, Sonja changes back to Mary Jane, who still carries the fearful look she had in her ghostly form. She is also in a very noce dress too. Guess she was planning on making an appearance on the date tonight. Why she didn't, only she can answer.
They stay quiet, not one of them says a word as the elevator moves down. Peter can feel the girls want to say something, but they clearly don't know what to say. What could they say? What should they say? What should he say? He's said all that he can think of before this happened, and now that it's here, he's completely without words.
He'd find the idea funny if it wasn't for current circumstances. He has been expecting this to happen, and now that it has, he is more scared than he thought he was going to be. His heart is racing and his hands are shaking, even as he gabs them to get them to stop.
Gwen is awake and is likely scared and has a million questions as to what's going on. Peter is hoping that Reed and Sue are doing what they can to keep her calm, and answering what they can. He is also hoping there aren't any incidents with Gwen and whatever abilities she got as a result of being the host of the Enigma Force. God knows the kind of trouble that will bring.
He fights the urge to groan and rub his head. He just came off a date that ended bad, and is now going to be dealing with his revived ex-girlfriend with his three current girlfriends here with him.
When it rains it pours.
'Except in my case, it has to be like Noah's ark.' He mentally remarks. 'God sends a flood that destroys everything.'
He feels guilty to think of Gwen being alive and awake in such a negative way, because he knows it's not. How can it be? Gwen Stacy, the sweetest and most pure hearted woman he has ever known is alive. The world is better and brighter with her in it.
'Except your world.' A negative thought creeps into his head.
He wants to deny it, but he can't. Gwen being alive means his whole world will be turned upside down and inside out, 'Which is saying something considering how my life is.' He doesn't even know how he could have mitigated the impact without outing himself to everyone who needs to know Gwen is alive. Aunt May, who he still needs to talk to, all of their friends, and Gwen's relatives like her cousin Jill. And then what? Say he tells their friends and family, what about the rest of the world? People who die don't come back to life. At least, not normal people. Hawkeye and Captain America were exceptions for the most part.
He's so wrapped up in his head, that he didn't realize he was already standing at the door of the med bay. He stares at the door, his heart hammering and sweat running down his neck. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but his mouth is dry.
He has faced beings who can crumble mountains with a clap of their hands, men who can manipulate the elements around them, madmen who laugh at the destruction they cause. But facing his resurrected girlfriend, dealing with the emotional fallout that he knows will come with it, he doesn't think he has the strength.
"Peter," he hears MJ call his name and he glances back at her. She has this pitying look on her face that's mixed with pain, "We're right here with you."
He stares for a second before turning to Felicia and see she is sporting a pitying but supportive look. She nods her head to the door, telling him to go ahead. He turns his head back forward and takes a deep breath before opening the door to the observation room.
The moment he enters, he looks through the glass and finds Gwen propped against white pillows, talking to Reed with Sue sitting beside the girl. And the moment he sees her, the world around melts away. He can only see her, he can only see Gwen alive and talking. Except its not with her usual enthusiastic attitude that he remembers her having. Instead, she is more distraught and panicky. The wires attached to her head that are connected to multiple monitors show her scans; heart, brain, and bio-electric feedback. The last one he knows to monitor the cosmic energy she now carries.
He comes back and sees Reed is still talking to her. He can't hear them, but the way that Reed is talking and Sue showing calm gestures to an obviously distraught Gwen, he can infer that whatever is being said, Gwen is not taking it well.
Reed then says something to Sue before walking away and entering the observation room. Peter steps back from the glass. His palms are damp, he can smell antiseptic, and the faint metallic tang of recycled air.
"How is she?" His voice comes out thin.
Reed glances to the window, then to the readouts on his screen. "Physically stable, if only slightly disoriented. Which is understandable considering her circumstances. There was concern that her emotional state would trigger an incident, but the cosmic signature only rose slightly when she awoke."
"So does that mean she won't trigger any incidents if she gets upset?" Peter asks his fellow genius with great trepidation.
"Doesn't seem like it no," Reed answers before he looks through the glass at his wife comforting the young woman below. "Though I can't say with complete certainty that it won't eventually happen. I need to run more tests for that."
Peter lets out a sigh of relief. That was a major concern for him when Gwen woke up. He knew she'd be scared, and a whole other mess of emotions, but what he didn't know was if she would unintentionally cause an accident with the cosmic power now inside of her. If that happens, he knows that will bring unwanted attention from all sources. SHIELD, AIM, and the US government to just name a few.
And those are the ones that are the least concerning personally.
"We haven't informed her of the matter." Reed tells him, making that relief leave, "Sue recommended we let you take care of it since you were more directly involved."
Well that is a gut punch. But Peter can't say Sue is wrong for saying that he should be the one to tell Gwen, because she's right. He knows exactly what happened and it was because of him that it happened in the first place. The only issue is, how the hell does he tell her? It's not exactly an easy topic to bring up.
Then again, he hasn't come up with anything to say to her over the last few days since her resurrection. He's thought about it a lot, but nothing seems right to say.
He's brought out of his head when he sees Sue walk away, leaving the depressed young woman behind.
The moment Sue gets into the observation deck, she looks at Peter and the girls, noting their fancy attire, before she says, "Sorry to ruin your night."
Remembering how the date ended, Peter sighs lowers his head, "Don't be. Wasn't exactly ending well anyway."
"Well asking two more women to join you on a date with three other women you're already involved with didn't sound like a good idea in the first place." Sue comments, not cruelly but sure as hell not gently either.
Peter places his hand on his face and groans, "I hate Tony." He says, his voice muffled by his hand.
Sue looks through the glass one last time before walking to her husband and tugging on his arm, "We'll give you three some privacy." She says before leaving with Reed.
The three are left alone. Peter stares at Gwen. His thoughts jumbled, his emotions a mess, and his hands won't stop trembling. Through the glass, Gwen's fingers twist in the hospital sheets, her knuckles white. He should go in there. He should be the one comforting her, explaining everything, making this right somehow.
But his feet remain rooted to the floor, as if concrete blocks are attached to his ankles. The night she died replays in his head, and the voices telling him she'll blame him for everything he already blames himself for echoes inside his mind. His stomach churns. How can he face her when every time he closes his eyes, he sees her falling?
"Peter?" Felicia says his name, her voice in that rare gentle tone he's only heard a few times from her.
He closes his eyes and lowers his head, "I've racked my brain on what I should say." He starts, "I know what I'm supposed to say, what needs to be said, but…" He opens his eyes and looks at Gwen again, "I don't know where to start with her."
Silence follows as he continues to stare at his resurrected first love through the one-way mirror.
"Then let me go in first."
He jerks his head to Mary Jane and looks at her slightly surprised, "MJ-"
"Listen." She stops him gently as she places a hand on his arm, "I'll go in, talk to her and see what's what. You listen in and see what she needs to hear first."
It's a smart idea. One he can't find much of a flaw with. But… "I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not." She tells him, before she looks through the glass with her own forlorn expression, "She was my best friend. I got things that I need to say myself."
For a moment, he feels the urge to argue, but doesn't. He simply sighs before he nods in acquiescence. She nods in gratitude before she goes to the door. She hesitates for a second before MJ takes a breath. She steps up and pushes the button to open the door. The door to the room opens with a hiss, and Mary Jane hesitatingly steps in.
Gwen looks up at her, and Peter can see that for a brief moment, the resurrected girl does not recognize her. But after a moment, her eyes widen, "Mary Jane?" She whispers in shock.
MJ gives the girl a wobbly smile, "Hey girlfriend." She says, trying to keep her voice steady, but Peter can see tears forming in her eyes, "It's been a while."
Gwen stares in shock before her breath hitches and she starts to cry. MJ immediately rushes to her best friend and hugs her, crying her eyes out herself.
"It's okay," she whispers to Gwen as she holds the girl tightly, "It's okay. Let it out."
Peter's heart breaks at the scene of the two reuniting. He knows MJ missed Gwen as much as he or anyone else did. Because Gwen helped shape Mary Jane into the woman she is now. A fact that, while he didn't acknowledge much over the years, he knew to be true.
The two eventually pull back, and MJ still has her wobbly smile, "God, you have no idea how much I've missed you."
Gwen looks like she wants to smile but is too hurt to be able to, "It really has been a long time hasn't it? You look so different."
MJ let's put a wet snort, "I hope not," she says, her voice still cracking, "I'd like to think I still look as amazing as I did in my college years. If not better."
Gwen smiles and lets out a laugh that Mary Jane shares. The two hug again and laugh, while Peter looks on and feels incredibly thankful for Mary Jane at this moment. She managed to bring a little bit of light back into Gwen.
"She's one hell of a girl, huh?" Felicia voices beside him. He glances at her, sporting a look that he's been seeing a lot lately whenever she looks at their redheaded romantic partner.
Peter nods and looks back at the two friends reuniting, "Yeah she is."
He watches as the two pull back again and they wipe the tears from their faces. It's heartening to know that the reunion may not be as bad as he thought it would be. He may actually be able to talk to Gwen.
That's what he thinks until he hears Gwen ask. "Why are you here?"
Peter becomes concerned, and he can see Mary Jane does as well. "What do you mean?"
"I mean why were you told?"
Peter l resists the urge to smack himself as he sees MJ flinch at the question. He forgot how was MJ supposed to go on to explain why she's there and not a next of kin like Jill or someone. Afterall, why would anyone from the Fantastic Four call MJ to come and see Gwen?
"It has something to do with Peter, doesn't it?"
That question makes Peter blood run cold. Why would she ask that?
Mary Jane looks at her friend with concern over what she will say next, "Why would you think that?"
Gwen looks down with a despondent look on her face, "That night, up on the bridge, I wasn't completely unconscious." She tells her friend, who becomes shocked and frightened by what she'll say next, "I was awake enough to hear Goblin taunt Spider-Man. And I heard him shout Peter's last name."
While MJ recoils in shock, it's nothing compared to what Peter is feeling. At that moment, the whole world stops for him. He just stares through the glass at Gwen in horror. She knows. She died knowing his biggest secret. She died hating…
He bolts out of the room. He feels like he can't breathe. He needs fresh air. He ignores Felicia shouting his name as he heads out.
When he gets outside, he still feels like he's choking. He is hyperventilating as he walks to the edge of the roof. He tears off his tie and even undoes the top of his shirt, showing his Spider-Man suit underneath, but even that does not help him breathe any better.
He gets the railing of the roof and dry heaves.
She knows. She found out at the very end who he was, and worse still, she died hating him. Because until the end, she believed he killed her father.
He finally gets his breathing under control. But his emotions are once again, all over the place. Shock, fear, and anguish to just name a few.
"Hey," Felicia calls out as she quickly walks up behind him. She places a hand on his back and he can see the concern etched all over her face, "Easy, handsome. Breathe." Her palm moves in slow circles between his shoulders, heat through his dress shirt, perfume like clean rain and cut orange peel. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. You're not alone up here."
He wants to tell her he knows that. He wants to tell her he can't shake the taste in his mouth, copper and old ghosts. Air scrapes in anyway. He stares at the dark smear of the river beyond the skyline and counts lamplights because numbers are simpler than memory.
"She heard him," he says, and the words rasp. "She heard him say my name. She knew. At the end. That's what she took with her."
Felicia nods once, a small movement he feels more than sees. "Goblin weaponized everything he could. He doesn't get to own what you were to her."
"She died thinking I—" The rest clogs his throat. He presses his forearms to the railing until his wrists complain. He deserves that pain. He deserves worse. "MJ's in there taking the hit for me. Again."
Felicia's voice softens in a way that always trips something in his chest. "Red can take care of herself. She wanted to go first."
"I know," he says, and he does, and that's part of why the guilt bends him sideways. He glances at the door, sees only his own reflection brief and pale in the glass. "But she's about to get asked why she knew when Gwen didn't. That's—" He shakes his head. "She's going to need you."
Felicia studies his face like she's looking for cracks he doesn't want to show. Her hand slides down his arm, fingers catching briefly at his wrist before she lets go. "You sure?"
"No," he admits. "But go anyway."
Felicia doesn't move for a heartbeat. He feels that hesitation in the way her fingers tense on his sleeve. Then she nods once, kisses his jaw, quick and sure, and leans in and bumps her forehead gently to his temple. "You call me if you can't breathe again."
"I'll—yeah."
She goes. Her heels, ones that she was able to run in somehow, clicking on the concrete of the landing zone of the Baxter Building. He turns back around, braces his elbows on the rail, and lowers his head. It's been a long night, the date and now this, and it's still not over yet.
A soft shift in the air—temperature without wind, brightness without filament—brushes the skin along his arms. It's the peculiar sensation he's learned to recognize: not a body moving, but reality adjusting to make room.
He turns. White and gold without a source, light that doesn't throw shadows. The shape of Jean stands at the roof's edge as if she has always been there, hair like a comet's tail braided back and tamed. No bird on his shoulder this time. Just him, and the night, and whatever she's become.
"I sensed your plight," she tells him, no emotion in her voice.
He lets out a tired breath and says, "Gwen just woke up."
"I know."
He softly scoffs. Of course she knew. He wouldn't be surprised if she knew-
His mind stops as he comes to a realization.
He looks at the woman he once considered a friend and asks, "Did you know?"
Jean remains silent for a moment, staring at him blankly, before she answers simply with, "I did."
He didn't even need to elaborate on what he was asking. He clenches his fist in anger, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"She is coming to terms with being dead for more than a decade, she has yet to be told of her new role as host to the Enigma Force, and her mind is still processing memories of the afterlife. Which is not as simple as most believe. In the grand scheme, her knowing your secret-"
"Stop." Peter interrupts her through grit teeth, barely controlling his anger at the woman. "Stop right there." He turns around to glare at her, "You know what Jean? I was told that decisions I made in my personal life affected the whole world. Yet here you are, telling me that these little things aren't that important!"
Jean tries to speak, "Peter…"
"The world almost caught on fire because of a decision I made! Because of something I did in my personal life!" He blows up at her. "I erased my marriage to save Aunt May's life. I thought it was just about me and MJ. Just our happiness sacrificed for her life. But it wasn't, was it? It changed everything. It changed the timeline. It changed who I became."
Jean opens her mouth, but he cuts her off with a sharp gesture.
"So don't tell me Gwen knowing my secret identity doesn't matter in the grand scheme. Don't tell me it's not important compared to her cosmic destiny or processing the afterlife or whatever other universal truth you're dealing with up there." He points at the sky, his finger shaking. "Because in my experience, the small things are always the big things. The personal is always universal. That's the lesson I keep learning over and over again, and apparently I'm the only one who gets it!"
Jean's lips part slightly, and for a moment—just a flash—he sees something human cross her face. Regret, maybe. Guilt. Something that looks like the Jean Grey who used to be his friend instead of this detached cosmic entity wearing her face.
"Peter—"
"She died knowing," he cuts her off, and his voice breaks on the word. "She died knowing I was Spider-Man. She died thinking I killed her father. She spent her last moments believing the boy she loved was responsible for destroying her family. And you knew that. You knew that, and you didn't think I had a right to know before I walked into that room?"
Jean's composure finally cracks. It's subtle—a tremor in her fingers, a tightening of her jaw, the way her eyes briefly close as if his words physically hurt. When she opens them again, something has shifted. The cosmic distance has narrowed, just a fraction.
"You're right," she says, and the admission seems to cost her something. "I should have told you. I thought—I believed that sparing you that knowledge until you were face to face with her would be... kinder. But I was wrong. I'm sorry."
The apology hangs between them, and Peter wants to accept it, wants to let go of the anger burning in his chest. But he can't. Not yet. The wound is too fresh, the betrayal too sharp.
He shakes his head and turns his back to her, "Just go."
He can feel her eyes on him. She likely wants to say soemthing, but he ehars nothing from her. A few moments pass before a bright light shines again, and he feels her presence vanish.
He stares out into the city. His thoughts are in a whirlwind.
He doesn't know what to do.
Meanwhile, back inside the room, MJ is reeling by this revelation. Gwen knew in the end who Peter was. Which means she died believing that the man she loved was responsible for her fathers death.
"Gwen, you knew?" Mary Jane whispered, her voice barely audible over the mechanical hum of the medical equipment.
Gwen nodded, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. She looked smaller than MJ remembered, thinner. "I heard everything," she said, her voice brittle as glass. "The Goblin shouting, Spider-Man—Peter—his voice. I was still conscious when he got there. I could hear the terror in his voice. I just couldn't…" The words broke off; Gwen's mouth moved, searching for a phrase that wouldn't come. Finally: "I couldn't make it make sense."
MJ's hand hovered, then settled on Gwen's wrist. She remembered when Gwen would always joke about her own wrists, how they were "spaghetti" compared to MJ's toned forearms from dance practice. Now, they looked even more fragile, as if a strong enough question might shatter them.
"I'm so sorry," MJ said, meaning it in a way that reached down through every layer of guilt she had ever accumulated—her own and Peter's. It didn't solve anything, but it was the only honest thing she had.
"I don't understand," Gwen continued, her voice growing stronger. "Why didn't he tell me? We were together for so long, and he never trusted me with this?"
"It wasn't about trust," MJ said softly, reaching for Gwen's hand. "It was about protection. He was terrified of what might happen if his enemies ever found out who he cared about."
MJ thought of her own years with Peter—how many times she'd come close, how many times she'd almost demanded the truth, only to pull back for his sake, for hers. How many times had she, too, been a party to the deception? She'd let Gwen believe they were just friends, let herself believe that Peter could be everything to everyone, especially to the ghosts of his own past. If Gwen hated him now—if she hated both of them—then MJ couldn't blame her.
Gwen furrows her eyebrows. "Like what happened to my father?"
The question hung in the air between them, sharp as broken glass. MJ felt her chest tighten. This was the crux of it all—the terrible knot of grief and guilt that had nearly destroyed Peter.
"Did you hate him?" The question slipped out before MJ could stop herself, her voice barely audible. But it was an important question that needed to be asked, for Peter's sake.
Gwen's eyes close, fresh tears welling up. "I don't know what I felt in those last moments. Everything was chaotic. I was falling, and then..." She shuddered. "And then there was light. So much light."
Mary Jane remembers there was mention that Gwen would have trouble processing the afterlife. That anyone would. Because apparently the afterlife isn't as simple as parents describe to their children. It's otherworldly. Peter mentioned Jean saying that what Gwen was going through while she was unconscious, is like an old computer trying to process information like a quantum computer. It's too much for her brain to fully understand, especially after being revived. Hence the coma.
Now that her old best friend is awake, Mary Jane can see the girl is still struggling to make sense of what she experienced.
"Don't strain yourself," Mary Jane cautions Gwen, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "What you've been through, will take time to cope."
The redheaded supermodel can see the formerly dead girl relax under her touch. Like a form of familiarity brings her some solace in the insanity she is going through. And while Mary Jane is happy to help, even if it's only minutely, she wishes she can do more. She wishes she can do it say something, anything, that'll make this situation easier for Gwen.
The blonde girl looks at MJ pleadingly, "Mary Jane," she starts, her voice sounding desperate, "How am I here?"
Mary Jane furrows her brows in concern, "They didn't tell you?" She asks.
Gwen shakes her head no, "Dr. Richards and his wife said that it's complicated. It had something to do with Pete- with Spider-Man."
The resurrected girl looks to MJ for an explanation, but MJ bites her lips as she hesitates to say anything. She doesn't think she should be the one to explain, mostly because Peter would be better suited since he knows more. He did his best to explain, but most of it went over MJ's head. She's still new to being an actual superhero as opposed to being the superhero's supporter.
Turns out, firsthand superhero experiences are a lot crazier than hearing the stories. If only because of how much Peter downplayed it.
"I don't know what to tell you, Gwen," MJ says.
"Start with how long have you known?" Gwen asked, her voice fragile but steady. "That Peter is Spider-Man?"
MJ swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "Since before you... before the bridge. Before I even met Peter." The admission felt like betrayal, though she wasn't sure to whom.
Gwen's fingers tightened around the thin hospital blanket. "And you never told me."
It wasn't a question, but MJ answered anyway. "It wasn't my secret to tell." The excuse sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "He didn't even know that I knew all that time."
Gwen tries to hide it but Mary Jane can see that her friend is not happy with her response. She likely feels betrayed by this.
"There were so many times I wanted to tell you." Mj tries to defend herself, "Every time he flaked or seemed distracted or did something that you got upset over, I wanted to tell you why he did what he did."
"But you didn't." Gwen practically accuses her friend.
MJ grimaces and tries to defend herself, "I always thought Peter would eventually tell you everything eventually. And when he and I were together after…" She stops, believing it to be wrong to bring up the topic, "He always said he had every intention of telling you. He just couldn't find the right time."
Which was a repeated pattern with him. There was never really a right time for anything when it came to Peter. Never a right time. Never a right moment. That is the curse—the signature—that Peter Parker drags with him like a ball and chain from one year to the next, no matter how hard he worked or how much he wanted something, fate and the universe and just pure dumb luck always conspired to twist things sideways or take things from him before he could even try. Beneath all the super-science and gods and world-ending disasters, that was the pattern. Peter has never been allowed the luxury of the right time.
And Gwen now knows why. She now knows why Peter was always late, always left when something crazy was happening, why he was never there when she needed him there. MJ knows she thought what everyone else did, that Peter was a flake. He cared more about his bugle job and himself than anything or anyone else. But that could not be further from the truth.
But knowing the truth and accepting it are two very different things. Mary Jane knows that from experience. So now that Gwen knows, can she accept it? That is the real question.
"You could have been with him." Gwen brings up, not looking at Mary Jane and instead staring down at her legs, "I know you wanted him. I always saw the way you looked at him." Gwen now looks at the redhead, "You could have been with him because you would have been more understanding than me."
Mary Jane recognizes the question in that statement. Why didn't she take advantage of her knowledge to be with Peter? It's easy enough to answer. "I regretted never telling you this, but you were my best friend." She says, keeping her voice steady as she says the things she wanted to say for years. "You saw past the party girl facade that I put on. The one I used to shield myself from getting close to anyone. You pulled me aside and told me we were going to be best friends." She reaches out to grab Gwen's hand, "And we were."
She sees Gwen stare at her hand over her own, and MJ wonders what she is thinking. She is hoping that Gwen's thoughts aren't on the fact she kept Peter's secret. She hopes that she can get past that small betrayal.
The doors to the room hiss open behind, and MJ turns to see Felicia standing there, somewhat awkwardly. As if she wasn't expecting the door to open. The thief looks at the supermodel, as if asking if it's alright for her to come in.
But before Mary Jane can give the woman a sign, Gwen stares at her in confusion and asks, "Who are you?"
"This is Felicia," MJ tells her, before she fumbles the next part, "She's a friend."
She can feel the eyes of Felicia, but her focus is on Gwen. MJ doesn't want to overwhelm her with any more information that can send her for a loop. She doesn't think dropping more bombshells on thin ice is the best option right now.
She watches as she stares at Felicia, looking her up and down, before turning her sights to Mary Jane, and doing the same.
Gwen looks at the redhead curiously and inquires, "Were you on a date with her?"
MJ flinches as she realizes that her and Felicia's fancy attire points to that obvious conclusion. Only problem being is that it's more complicated than that. It wasn't just a date with the two of them.
"We were," Felicia chimes in, making the supermodel worry she'll spill the beans, "But we came rushing as soon as we got the call."
Gwen stares at the newcomer with bewilderment before she looks at Mary Jane, staring at her as if she was an alien. "I didn't know you were…" She doesn't finish the sentence as she shifts her eyes between her and Felicia.
MJ can see Felicia raising a brow at the girl in the bed as she explains, "I wasn't then. But over the years, I've tried some new things."
Gwen continues to shift her eyes between the two, trying to puzzle it out. The resurrected girls lips part, close, part again. "So… You and her? Together? Like, as a couple?" She says the word 'couple' as if testing it for poison. Her blue eyes flick from Felicia to MJ and back. "I mean, I honestly thought that you and Peter would be together.
MJ grimaces, "Things aren't simple with Peter," she states, not wanting to lie to her friend, 'What we have is complicated' is definitely not the best way to go in telling her about the current relationship between them.
"Okay? But still. Is this…" she points to the two nicely dressed ladies, "how it is now? I mean, not that I'm judging or anything, but I thought that sort of thing was… Well, just a phase that girls sometimes get over in college, or, uh, something that the right guy can fix."
Seems the girl is fixated on MJ being with a woman. Under normal circumstances, this would be very irritating and very closed minded. But one has to remember that Gwen has been dead for over a decade and things were very different back then. Hell, television only had a few channels to watch, cellphones weren't a thing, and minimum wage was a dollar. Nowadays, there are thousands of channels, homeless people have cellphones, and minimum wage is a little over seven dollars.
Being gay, or just having an open mind, was very rare back then. But MJ knows Gwen is not one to judge on such things. The girl never had a problem with anyone that was different. Be they black, mutant, or even had a different belief that was looked down on back then.
So with all that in mind, MJ holds back her tongue and simply says, "Gwen. Things have changed a lot since you've been gone."
Gwen is silent for a few heartbeats, her knuckles whitening where she grips the blanket. She's scared—so scared of the answer that her voice cracks when she asks, "How long has it been?"
Mary Jane's stomach tightens. This was one of the questions that she dreaded to answer. But one she knows she has to. So she takes a breath and says, "A little over ten years."
Gwen was staring at MJ with new intensity, as if she is studying her, before she says, "I want to deny that this is real. Dr. Richards told me it's been years, but... everything feels so strange. Like I just closed my eyes for a moment."
Mary Jane wants to reach out, wants to touch her, remind her that she's alive, that she's real, but the gap between them feels as wide as the years themselves. She tries to imagine what it would feel like: waking up in a room that isn't hers, with muscles that don't remember how to move, listening to the distant hum of machines and voices that don't recognize you back.
She knows how it is to lose time. But this is different. This is worse.
She wishes she could take the edge off, maybe with a joke or something irreverent, but there's nothing in her arsenal for this. Humor is a dead currency in the face of grief measured in years.
"Gwen, I know it's a lot," MJ says. "And I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, but—"
"No," Gwen interrupts, eyes lowering to the blanket again. "You're better than nothing."
Mary Jane feels her throat tighten. She almost laughs at that, but Gwen isn't being cruel—just honest. Maybe that's what they all needed more of, all along.
"I need a minute," Gwen says quietly, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.
MJ nods. "Take all the time you need." She stands, hesitates, and then touches Gwen's knee—the most she allows herself. "I'll be close by if you need me."
She means it. She means it so much it hurts.
Mary Jane stands, smoothing the front of her dress as if it's a protective layer, and walks to the door. Felicia is waiting there, uncomfortable in her fancy dress and slightly more uncomfortable in this emotional wasteland. When the door slides shut behind them, the soft hiss is almost a relief.
They leave Gwen alone with her silence, and the distant sound of the world moving on without her. The girl on the bed stares at nothing for a long time, before quietly letting herself cry, her sobs muffled by the thin blanket and the white noise of the machines.
Back outside with Peter, the young man is still coming to terms with everything he's learned. His mind putting him through the worst outcomes with Gwen knowing who he is. At best, she'll never want anything to do with him. At worst, she'll expose him and demand for him to be arrested.
He doesn't want to assume the worst, but emotions make people do things that rational thought would tell them is a bad idea. And there is no doubt in his mind, Gwen is very emotional right now. What she is feeling he can't possibly figure out.
…unless he goes in to talk to her.
God the thought is enough to freak him out. He takes deep breaths and controls his breathing. He doesn't want to have another panic attack. But it isn't easy when he has to go back inside and confront a ghost that has haunted him for years.
The opening of the doors behind him make think that either of the girls came out or both, but when he looks back, he is surprised to see Laura exiting the building. The clone daughter of his friend, because Logan is a friend despite his claims otherwise, walks up to him without a sound or any indication on what she wants.
"Something wrong?" He asks, maybe a little more harshly than he intended.
If Laura is bothered then she doesn't show it. She simply states. "You do not seem happy."
An odd way to start a conversation, but he huffs a bitter laugh. "Is that your professional evaluation or…?"
She ignores the quip, lets it hang. "You do not seem happy the girl in there is alive. I was told she was important to you."
'Likely from the FF,' he thinks, 'God knows I told them enough.' He lets the silence stretch out for a second, long enough for his own throat to close up again, then he forces himself to answer. "She was. Is. She was everything to me at one point."
Laura continues to stare at him blankly as she asks, "Are you avoiding going in there talking to her because of your current polygamous relationship with three women?"
"...You don't mince words do you?" He asks, a bit lightheartedly but also perturbed. Laura shakes her head no, and he sighs, "Honestly I wish that was the least of my concerns. It's one of them, but it's not the biggest."
Again, Laura just stares at him. Likely waiting for him to elaborate. He debates how much to say. The old instinct, deep and ingrained by years of his paranoia. He can't trust people because they can get hurt or worse, use what they know to hurt him.
But Laura is not most people. The girl is not exactly a social butterfly, and not a villain who will use his identity against him.
"I'm not afraid she'll hate me for moving on. With MJ, Felicia, and Sonja." He glances sideways, catching the glint of building's lights on Laura's hair. "She'll be confused and weirded out, but it's not my biggest concern. I'm afraid she'll hate me for the secrets. The lies. She died thinking I was Spider-Man…and worse, thinking I killed her father. That I destroyed her family."
His hand tightens on the cold metal of the railing. "And the truth is, she's not wrong. If she hadn't known me, if she hadn't been with me, she wouldn't have been on that bridge. She'd still be alive."
He falls silent again, letting the city swallow the rest of his words. The guilt hangs in the air, thick and oily, impossible to clean from his tongue.
She blinks. "You do not want to hurt her," she points out, almost clinically. "But you believe that telling her the truth will do exactly that. So you do nothing. And that makes you hate yourself even more."
He lets out something halfway between a laugh and a groan. Couldn't have said it better himself.
"Yeah," he mutters, "that's pretty much the whole ballgame."
"Keeping things from her did not help before," Laura adds, shifting her weight, dress rustling. "It is unlikely to help now."
He wants to explain further, to list out the times people have figured out his secret and it ended in someone getting hurt, or dead, or lost to the void. But his mouth tastes sour with guilt and old ghosts, and the words stick.
"Peter."
"BAH!" Peter leaps to his feet in fright and Laura unsheathes her claws as he turns around to see none other than Elektra Natchios kneeling on the railing he was leaning against.
"Elektra?" Peter says as he relaxes, "What are you-?"
"I need your help." She answers coolly before he finishes.
He raises a brow at her before he remembers that he isn't alone on the roof. He looks at Laura and sees the young girl has yet to put her claws away as she continues to have a stare down with the deadly assassin. Elektra herself merely stares back at the mutant clone without a hint of concern.
"You can ease up now, Laura," he says, "She's friendly. Ish."
His minor quip prompts a raised brow from the Greek woman.
"What? You're not exactly a girl scout that sells cookies."
"As I said, I need your help." She reiterates.
Right, she did say that. He sighs and scratches his head, "Look now is not the best time, Elektra. I've got…" He gestures vaguely at the windows, at nothing, at everything, "Also, kind of emotionally compromised at the moment, so if you're here to add another disaster to my evening, can I convince you to come back in, I don't know, six to eight years?" He tries for a joke, but it comes out brittle."
But Elektra doesn't take the bait. "The matter cannot wait," she replies. "It concerns the whole city."
Of course it does. "Can't you ask someone else?"
She shakes her head. "No one else will do." It's not flattery. There's nothing in her tone but determination. Like she's explaining a fact, not making a request.
"What about D? Isn't he your usual go to guy?" He inquires.
That question makes the woman's face tighten a fraction before she looks away. "Mathew is… preoccupied."
"With what?" He asks, completely flabbergasted by what Matt could be doing that he'd be unavailable at a time like this.
"Doreen Green."
The cold tone from Elektra's voice when she says the name makes Peter freeze. Squirrel Girl. Of course. He'd completely forgotten that development he discovered before he went on his last minute vacation with the girls. And he remembers his last conversation with Elektra, which probably would have been the perfect time to tell her about that situation.
"Right~." He says. He scratches his cheek, "That's a thing now. I forgot about it."
"Mathew's personal life is not my business or concern." She states, but he can see she is forcing herself to say that. "Who he is romantically involved with, is his decision."
"It clearly does bother you, though," Laura retorts, prompting a frightened look from Peter and a cold one from Elektra, "Otherwise, why wouldn't you ask for his help?"
Peter knows his friend's clone daughter is likely not wrong, but she is poking a bear by saying this. He glances at Elektra and sees that look he got plenty of times back on the island when he kept pushing her buttons. It's the one she used whenever she triggered his spider sense.
Granted, she was training him, but still.
"Anyway," he puts himself between the two and faces the curvy Greek assassin, "Why do you need me?"
She tears her eyes off the clone mutant and sets them on him as she explains, "There is a developing situation that I need your unique abilites."
"You mean my spider sense."
"Among others." She confirms.
He takes a breath. When it rains, it is Noah ark. He glances back at the rooftop entrance of the Baxter Building. He knows he needs to talk to Gwen. But maybe, just maybe, he also needs to put his mind somewhere else just to get some clarity. As messed up as it is, he knows he thinks better after some crime fighting.
"Fine." He says to the woman before before he starts to slip of his clothes to reveal his Spider-Man suit underneath. As he takes off his nice clothes he looks at Laura, "Tell the girls that I needed to help a friend. I'll be right back."
"I'm coming too." Laura states.
Peter pauses taking off his pants and looks to the young girl. "You don't have to. We're-"
"You are emotionally compromised," she states, her voice flat as ever, eyes locked on him with a sharpness like scalpels. "Your mind is here. Your thoughts will be here. And I doubt she will be watching your back."
Not sure where this protectiveness is coming from, but he can't argue with her. Because she isn't wrong. His thought will definitely be here.
He sighs as he slips of his pants and webs his clothes to the floor, "Okay. But no stabbing people. Either of you."
Laura nods but Elektra doesn't even twitch at the exchange. She already turned around, red sash whipping in the wind, eyes colder than liquid nitrogen and twice as lethal. "If you two are quite finished…" The assassin launches herself off the ledge without so much as a glance back.
The two follow suit, with Peter firing a web line and grabbing Laura on the way down. Following the deadly assassin into the night to whatever destination she is leading him to.
But also running from his problems. If only for just a short while.