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Chapter Text

(Symkarian Embassy)

Spider-Man waits patiently in the regal office of the foreign embassy. He had arrived on the rooftop and was immediately surrounded by armed men. He of course told them he was there to see Sable and was escorted inside after they radioed in to her and she gave him the all clear. They even gave him some coffee.

It pays to know the boss.

Now he sits in a leather chair, his leg bouncing nervously as he waits. The coffee on the desk before him has gone untouched, steam no longer rising from the porcelain cup. He's been rehearsing what to say for the past twenty minutes, and each iteration sounds worse than the last.

"What am I doing?" he mutters to himself, adjusting his mask for the fifth time. "This is insane."

Yesterday's conversation with MJ and Felicia replays in his mind. How casually they'd suggested this course of action, as if asking two deadly, beautiful women to join their already complicated relationship was as simple as ordering takeout.

"'Just ask them out she said'," He mutters again, "Easy for her to say. She's not the one here with sweaty palms, waiting to ask an international mercenary out on a date. While also planning to ask out another dangerous woman later."

Honestly, he is having a hard time figuring out who is more dangerous (I.E. who he's more afraid of) between the two.

His spider-sense tingles faintly—not out of danger, just awareness—as the sound of purposeful footsteps approaches from the hallway. He straightens, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

The large doors swing open with by her servants. Silver Sable enters, her silver hair catching the light streaming through the tall windows. She's dressed in her signature silver-white tactical gear, pistols holstered at her hips.

"Spider-Man," she greets him, her accent more pronounced than usual as the servants close the doors behind her. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

He's suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this must look—him in his tattered costume, fidgeting like a teenager. "Silver," he manages, his voice coming out higher than intended. He clears his throat. "Good to see you."

She moves to her desk with measured steps, gesturing for him to sit again. "Likewise. You are always welcome here. Though I must admit, your timing is curious. The diplomatic channels have been... tense since the Mt. Rushmore incident."

"Yeah, I can imagine," he says, lowering himself back into the chair. "I'm guessing there are some people asking why you were there."

Silver nods, "Yes. Many of your politicians are even going so far as to accuse me of being behind the bombing with you."

Spider-Man grimaces in sympathy, "Sorry about that. Being associated with me tends to bring trouble."

Silver waves off his apology, "It's alright. The Avengers and SHIELD have already established that it was Norman Osborn who was responsible for the bombing and death of all those people."

Spider-Man feels a pang of guilt in his heart at the thought of the death of the Order of the Shield. If he had been faster or done something different when he confronted Osborn, he could have prevented all that needless carnage.

"Still," Spider-Man says, his voice softening, "I'm sorry you got caught up in it."

Silver studies him, her piercing gray eyes searching for something beyond his mask. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you didn't come here to apologize for American politicians, did you, Spider-Man?" It's not a question but a statement of fact, delivered with the precision that marks everything she does.

"You're right. That's not why I'm here," he admits, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee. "I wanted to talk about something else. Something more personal."

Silver raises an elegant eyebrow, her expression revealing nothing. "Personal?"

"Yeah. About us." He winces beneath his mask. "I mean, not that there is an 'us' exactly, but..."

He trails off, cursing himself silently as he has a quick flashback to when they talked back at the mansion. Maybe that wasn't that bad, but it wasn't stellar either. Silver remains perfectly still, waiting for him to continue with a patience that somehow makes him even more nervous.

He really should have rehearsed this more.

He takes a breath to calm his nerves and steels himself, "Let me start over," he says, reaching up to pull his mask off entirely, revealing his flushed face. "I need to do this properly."

Silver's eyebrows go up slightly at the sight of his unmasked face—the first crack in her composed facade. She's seen him without the mask before, when he revealed his identity to his team, but this feels different. More intimate.

"Silver," he starts before he hesitates again. He swallows and steels his nerves, "Do you want to go on a date?"

Silver blinks in surprise, "I beg your pardon." She says. Whatever she expected, it was not that.

"A date," he repeats, his voice gaining strength now that the words are out there. "But not just with me. With me and my girlfriends."

The silence that follows is deafening. Silver stares at him with an expression he can't quite read—surprise, certainly, but something else lurking beneath the surface. Peter feels sweat beading on his forehead as he waits for her response. He hopes she isn't angry, upset, or disgusted. If anything, he kind of hopes she is flattered, but he knows that is completely unlikely.

She finally breaks the silence when she clears her throat. "Peter," she says finally, "I am not a woman who indulges in fantasies. My life, my responsibilities—they require focus, clarity. Not... complications."

"I get that," he quickly says, and he does, "Believe me I know what it's like to put your responsibilities over everything else." Flashes of missed events like homecoming, job interviews, his wedding go through his mind. Every time his duties as Spider-Man got in the way of living his life. But that doesn't stop him from trying to live a full life, and he doesn't want that to stop Silver either. "I'm not asking you to give anything up. I'm asking if you'd be willing to explore this. With all of us. MJ, Felicia, Sonja, and I... we have something that works for us. It's unconventional, sure, but it's real. And they think—we think—that maybe you and Natasha might fit into that."

"Natasha?" Silver's eyebrows rise. "You're planning to have this conversation with her as well?"

Peter nods in confirmation as he nervously scratches his neck, "Yep. Though in that case, she'll feel like it came out of nowhere since she and I haven't interacted lately."

That isn't to say it is the case for him, because he does have his reasons for asking Natasha out. It has mostly to do with events where he and she had intimate moments, some that he recently remembers thanks to the Phoenix. But that means she likely doesn't remember them, which does complicate things.

"I see," Silver says, leans back on her chair and thinks about this some more, "And if I were to agree to this... date... what exactly would it entail?"

His brain short circuits as he realizes something. "Honestly? I have no idea," Peter admits with a self-deprecating laugh as he scratched his head. "I was so focused on working up the courage to ask that I didn't actually plan what comes next."

For the first time since he's known her, Silver Sable laughs—a genuine, musical sound that transforms her entire face. "You're asking me to go on a date that you haven't planned, with people I barely know, to explore feelings you can't explain."

"When you put it like that, it sounds even worse," he groans, covering his face with his hands.

"On the contrary," Silver says, moving closer to him. "It sounds honest. Raw. Real." She leans in closer to him. "In my world, everything is calculated, planned, and strategized. Rarely do I encounter someone who operates from pure instinct and emotion."

That's him in a nutshell. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asks.

"That depends," she replies, tilting her head slightly. "What is it you truly want from this, Peter? What is your endgame?"

The question hangs in the air between them, loaded with implications. Peter looks down as he considers his answer carefully, knowing that his next words could determine everything. "It's hard to explain," he starts. "I've recently learned that when it comes to matters of the heart, if you leave things unsatisfied, it tends to do more harm than most realize."

Now Silver curiously tilts her head at him, "Meaning what?"

He hesitates and nervously rubs his neck, "Well, would you believe me when I say I met the embodiments of love and hate?"

Silver gives him a bewildered look.

"I know how it sounds, but it's true," he states as he recalls the trial, "It's a whole thing I'd be happy to explain, if you give me a chance."

Silver studies him for another long moment, then turns her chair around to stare out the window, "In Symkaria," she says finally, "we have a saying: 'The heart that denies itself love becomes a weapon against its own soul.'" She turns back to face him. "I have spent my entire life focused on duty, on protecting my country, on being what others needed me to be. I told myself that personal desires were... luxuries I could not afford."

Peter remains silent, finding what she is saying very relatable.

"But you..." She shakes her head with a rueful smile. "You make me question that philosophy. When you revealed your identity to the team, when I saw the man beneath the mask, I realized I had been lying to myself about the nature of my feelings."

Hope flickers in Peter's chest, but he forces himself to remain patient.

"One date," Silver says, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of uncertainty. "To explore this... possibility."

Peter's face breaks into a relieved grin. "Really?"

"Really." She moves back to her desk, already shifting into planning mode. "But I expect you to have sorted out the details before we proceed. I do not appreciate poor organization."

"Right, of course," Peter says, standing and pulling his mask back on. "I'll... figure something out and get back to you."

"See that you do." Her professional demeanor has returned, but there's a warmth in her eyes that wasn't there before. "And Peter?"

He pauses at the door. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," she says with a small genuine smile, "For being honest about what you want."

Peter smiles back, nods and heads for the window, his heart lighter than it's been in days. One down, one to go.

As he swings away from the embassy, he can't help but wonder if Natasha will be as understanding.

He certainly hopes so.

(Mayor's office)

Jameson is in his office, signing papers and grumbling as usual. He flips through the endless stack of bureaucratic nonsense and finds it hard to focus on anything other than the events at the Baxter Building the day before. His mind is a jumble of confusion and disbelief. Gwen Stacy, alive. He still can't wrap his head around it.

When someone dies, that's it. End of story. You can be religious about it and say they've gone to a better place, like he believes with his two wives. But even with that, you don't come back from the dead. You're not supposed to. It's just unnatural. But then again, what the hell is natural in the world he lives in.

In his day, the most astonishing thing was Captain America. Jonah has not been alive long enough to have been able to meet the man, but he did hear all the stories. And everything he heard just amazed him.

These days though? The norm is a billionaire playboy flying around in a high tech suit of armor, a well renowned scientist turns into a green monster when angered, and a teenager gets powers from a radioactive spider bite.

And that was when he was on the outside of it all. Now that he is in the inner circle of the hero community, he has a first class seat to the craziness. Which includes a secret society that secretly protected the world from destruction, that is not gone thanks to a mad man who was harnessing the power of the universe, cause of course that's a thing, and said power is alive and is now inside of a recently revived girl who was long dead.

Jonah groans as he feels a migraine coming on. He has been getting those a lot more recently. He hopes that this is the limit of crazy. Because he doesn't see how it can get worse.

There's a sharp knock on the door and he's about to bark at the intruder when it creaks open to reveal Robbie Robertson. Jameson's gruff expression changes into a genuine smile

"Jonah," Robbie greets him with a friendly smile. "Glad to see you haven't given yourself a heart attack yet." Robbie closes the door behind him, "But from the looks of things, you're trying."

"Heart attack?" Jameson scoffs, but there's warmth in his voice. "I'm more likely to die of boredom." He gestures to the mountainous pile of papers. "A man can only sign his life away so many times before he starts jumping out of windows."

Robbie lets out a good natured laugh at his friend before he approaches the desk and hands Jonah a folder he had in his hand. "Got what you asked for. But I don't know why you want them."

Jonah loses his smile as he takes the folder from his old friend. He looks at the label "Unexplained Incidents" and above that is "Proof of Crimes!" crossed out. Robbie's doing no doubt, and a good thing too.

Jonah opens it and the first thing he sees is an unprinted article where Spider-Man had destroyed AC units from a rundown apartment years ago. Jameson remembers how he was going to publish this article, declaring how Spider-Man was a menace and vandal of the worst kind, before another incident where the Vulture was involved occurred that overshadowed it. He of course made sure the Bugle stated how much damage was done as a result of this confrontation, but looking back at it now, he realizes how much of that was because of Toomes.

"So what did you want these old articles for?" Robertson's question brings him out of his reminiscing.

Jameson sighs as he flips to another unprinted article. "You said you don't want to know about who he is, Robbie," He responds while reading the title of the next article, "Spider-Man: Pouring Pollution!" in which Spider-Man was seen pouring some kind of substance into the Hudson River. "And I don't know how I can tell you without telling you everything."

Robbie continues to look at his old friend curiously. "Does this have anything to do with what happened in South Dakota?" He inquires.

Jameson a humorless scoff as he says, "Honestly, the destruction of a national monument is the least bothersome issue connected with Spider-Man right now."

Both do Robertsons eyebrows go up in surprise. "Really?" He says with surprise and interest, "In the old days, you'd have made sure we ran out of ink printing as much newspapers as we can spreading how Spider-Man was involved in such a catastrophe. Especially with all the death surrounding it."

Jonah looks down in shame, "I know." He says, his voice heavy with guilt, "I already told you how wrong I was about him, Robbie. Now, I don't know how to tell you anything that's going on with him without telling you everything I learned about him."

"Then tell me what you can," Robertson states, "Tell me why you wanted old articles that we never printed but kept?"

Jonah immediately thinks of how to properly word the answer. He leans back in his chair but keeps his eyes on the papers in front of him, "Because I need to know why he did these things." He answers before he picks up one article titled 'Spider-Man Spreads Sickness' and there is a photo of the hero spraying something to a flock of pigeons. "Beating up crooks and fighting other weirdos in costumes I can understand. But why was he doing all these random acts without telling anyone anything?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons Jonah." Robbie responds.

Jonah sighs and places the article down. "That's just it, isn't it?" He says as he rubs his head, "He always has his reasons for doing what he does. And damn me for not seeing ho noble he's always been."

Robbie leans forward, his eyes kind and understanding. "You did what you always do, Jonah. You went with your gut. Sometimes it's right, sometimes it's not. But you never back down."

Jameson snorts, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Never back down," he repeats. "Just a nice way of saying I'm a stubborn old fool."

"Maybe," Robbie concedes with a smile. "But now you found out the truth. And now you are trying to make amends. That's more than most would have done."

Jameson stares at the folder, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and determination. "If I told you what I know now, what I've seen..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I spent years destroying that man's reputation. Years painting him as a menace when he was..."

"When he was what?" Robbie prompts him.

"A hero," Jameson finishes quietly. "A real hero. Not just someone with powers who fights bad guys, but someone who sacrifices everything—his personal life, his happiness, his future—to help people. And I made his life hell for it."

After the interview with Spider-Man, Jonah was able to admit he had been wrong about the hero. Mostly because he now knows who is the man underneath the mask and has known the man since he was a boy in his employ. Granted, the boy was selling photos of himself, but he is letting that slide since Jonah wasn't an advocate for the hero. A fact that he has been tormenting himself over due to recent events.

Gwen Stacy's death was a tragedy. Though he did not know the young woman other than being Parker's girlfriend and the daughter of the deceased Captain Stacy, who death he did blame Spider-Man for. Although he did not blame the hero directly for the young woman's death, he did use it to fuel his campaign against the web-slinger. Hell, he hired Luke Cage to apprehend the hero for killing Norman Osborn, who he did not know at the time was the Green Goblin but now knows after the Mt Rushmore incident.

Apparently, Parker kept that under wraps because the hero did not want to hurt his close friend, the vile fiend's son, Harry Osborn.

'He always puts others before himself,' Jonah thoughts echo in his head. 'Even when it could have exonerated him.'

"Well Jonah, knowing what you know now, I guess there's only one question to ask," Robbie's voice brings him out of his head. He leans forward and asks him point blank, "What are you going to do now?"

A question Jonah has been asking himself. He looks back down at the papers on his desk. "I want to know what else I was wrong about," he says, his voice resolute. He gets up and puts on his jacket as he picks up the files, "To do that I need answers. And I know the best person to give them."

With that, he walks out of his office, shouting at his secretary to call him a cab.

(Avengers Tower)

There is an odd comfort Natasha finds when she is cleaning her guns. Something about the methodical precision of disassembly, cleaning, and reassembly centers her thoughts. Each piece has its purpose, each movement deliberate. The ritual offers her a momentary respite from the chaos that usually defines her life as an Avenger and SHIELD agent.

She sits at the kitchen island in Avengers Tower, behind her Red Hulk is devouring his third bowl of cereal, said bowl is as big as a cooking pot and the spoon is bigger than a ladle, Clint and Jessica are snuggled on the couch watching some cheesy rom com that makes Natasha want to shoot the TV.

So it's basically another day of at the Avengers Tower.

Except for one thing. She glances over to where Tony and Steve are, having a private discussion about what happened just a few days ago with Spider-Man at Mt Rushmore. She can hear them talk about political ramifications of Spider-Man's involvement in the destruction of a national monument and how it creates ripple effects that extend far beyond the immediate destruction. And it all boils down to one thing.

Politics. Always politics.

Natasha has seen this dance before. When something goes wrong, the first instinct is always to cover their own asses and find someone to blame, someone to sacrifice to appease the masses. Spider-Man's involvement at Mt. Rushmore, regardless of his actual role in stopping Osborn, makes him a perfect target. The fact that he's a leader to a team meant to represent a new age for mutant and non-mutant is just icing on the cake.

In the process of obtaining the information on the fake X-Men's whereabouts, she had discovered the reasons why those phonies were made in the first place. To discredit not only the X-Men and label them officially as terrorists, but to discredit Spider-Man and his new team.

Norman had gotten in the ear of the right people and managed to sway them into allowing him to be in charge of Project Cosmic, which was already in the works before Norman came in. Apparently, since the Phoenix debacle, the US government has been trying to find it's own nuclear deterrent for those kind of situations. Not realizing that their actions could have caused an even worse catastrophe than the one they had to deal with.

But back to the point. Osborn is not known to the public as the Green Goblin, if only because it's to protect the shares of Oscorp, and very few outside the hero community know about him. And as a result of this little known fact, he was able to get in on a dangerous government project and use it for his own sick means. Which, based on what she and Sable found in his room back at the base, is to kill Spider-Man.

She still has the notebook with the lunatic industrialist's scribbles that show his pathological obsession with the hero. Though she can barely make heads or tails of it. Not the psycho babble where he talks about killing Spider-Man, but the science and, oddly enough, magic that is mentioned in his book. He somehow got the knowledge on a ritual he used that fused the fake X-Men and turned them into those monsters. It was combined with the implants that gave them the ability to replicate the real Cyclops and his people's powers. Although, not entirely. Because if they could have, Rogue definitely would not have been able to punch through the fake Colossus's head. But still, it gave them power to match Wanda, which is a frightening prospect.

It shouldn't come as a surprise though. That's exactly what the beauracrats who approved the project in the first place had wanted. Power to match the strongest of Avengers. For reasons that are obvious to anyone who know how politics work.

People in positions of power and influence will do whatever they can to achieve their goals. Whether that is obtaining more power and influence, or even enacting something that has to do with their own personal bigotry. And that is what project cosmic was essentially for. A means to combat the "mutant threat" that has made a major comeback.

And what's worse, is that Natasha can see this project eventually be seen as a good thing by most people. Afterall, a politician's personal bigotry is often one that is shared among masses. And when it comes to mutants,well it goes without saying how bad things were and are for them. And it'll only get worse thanks to recent events from not only the fake Cyclops and his people but the real ones too.

The man's declaration of a mutant revolution has been circulating through all media platforms, and of course the younger generation view the man as a freedom fighter for his people. Which does not sit well for so many in Washington. They've been making SHIELD work overtime to try to capture him and his friends. And while the Avengers and most of the hero community have no problem with this, therein lies the problem.

The heroes are in agreement with several influential figures in stopping Cyclops and his friends, and some of those figures are the ones who were involved with creating the phonies. So by doing this, they can make any anti-mutant movement look like a just cause, albeit by association.

Public opinion is a fickle beast, easily manipulated by those who understand its rhythms. And it only gets worse in Spider-Man's case. They are doing their best in making it seem like what happened to Mt Rushmore was solely on the hero by calling out his failure in stopping the Green Goblin. And while Steve and Tony have been doing all they can to make sure the public and many officials are aware that the blame does not lie with the arachnid themed hero but solely with his adversary, they aren't very good when it comes to politics. Because truth means very little when it comes to political and personal agendas.

Fortunately, in an ironic twist, the hero has an ally in that now in the form of Mayor Jameson. He was once the hero's greatest foe and now is his most staunch supporter, as odd as that may seem. The man knows how to play the field of politics and media, having years of experience with both. Which is why him threatening to expose the corruption that allowed Osborn to be a lead in a government project which led to the destruction of the monument that killed dozens if they did not back down was a masterful stroke. On the surface, it is a bold move, blackmail and threaten to get desired results, but the problem was that they covered their asses relatively well.

Honestly, after that, Natasha can say she'd vote for him if she could.

The sound of the elevator draws her attention. The topic of Steve and Tony's discussion, Spider-Man steps out and waves, "Hi everybody!" He says jubilantly says, "Okay, now you guys say, 'Hi Dr. Nick.'"

The room falls silent except for the sound of Red Hulk's spoon scraping against his bowl. Clint pauses the movie, Jessica turns around on the couch, and even Tony and Steve stop their conversation to stare at Spider-Man.

"Wrong crowd for Simpsons references, I guess," Peter says, his usual quip delivery slightly forced as he surveys the room full of blank stares.

"We got it," Clint says dryly. "It just wasn't funny."

"Ouch," Peter clutches his chest dramatically. "My pride."

Natasha allows herself a small smile as she continues cleaning her Glock. The hero's ability to maintain levity even when clearly nervous is something she's always found... intriguing. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap against his thigh—tells she's trained to notice.

Tony approaches, his expression serious despite Peter's attempt at humor. "We were just discussing the political fallout from South Dakota. Hill's getting pressure from multiple angles."

"Let me guess," Peter says, his tone becoming more subdued. "They want someone's head on a platter."

"Something like that," Steve confirms, crossing his arms. "Jameson's doing what he can, but there are forces at work that don't care about the truth."

"Don't worry though," Tony reassures him, "We're making sure that if they point fingers at you, then we point some back."

Peter nods, his mask hiding what Natasha suspects is a grimace. "Well, I'm happy to hear that but that's not why I'm here." He tells them before he turns to Natasha, "I'm actually here to talk to you."

The kitchen falls silent except for the soft click of Natasha sliding the magazine into place. Even Red Hulk stops chewing, his massive head turning toward the conversation. Clint pauses the movie, and Jessica sits up straighter on the couch.

Natasha sets down her weapon, her green eyes studying Peter with newfound interest. "What do you need from me?"

Peter glances around the room, noting the sudden attention from everyone present. Steve has that look he gets when he's trying to figure out if this is mission-related while drinking his coffee. Tony's eyebrows have climbed toward his hairline. Clint looks like he's watching the most interesting movie of his life.

"I was hoping to not make a spectacle of this," Peter says with a rueful smile, "but apparently that's not in the cards today." He takes another breath, steeling himself. "Natasha, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me. On a date."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Steve, as he is drinking his brew, lets his coffee spill on the kitchen island where he and Tony were sitting. Clint chokes on his popcorn, Jessica immediately patting his back as he coughs. Red Hulk's spoon clatters into his bowl with a sound like a church bell. Tony just stares, his mouth slightly open.

As for Natasha, she blinks once. Then twice. Her mind is cycling through surprise, confusion, and something that might be anger.

"Excuse me?" she says, her voice perfectly controlled despite the chaos erupting around them.

"I said I'd like to ask you out on a date. With my girlfriends, me, and Silver." He pauses, then adds quickly, "It was actually one of them that came up with the idea."

Clint finally stops coughing long enough to wheeze out, "Did he just—Jessica, are you seeing this?"

"Shh," Jessica hisses, settling back into the couch with her popcorn like she's watching premium cable. "This is better than the movie."

Natasha's training kicks in, her expression smoothing into that unreadable mask she's perfected over decades of espionage. It's her only deterrent from letting what she is feeling right now show.

"Let me understand this correctly," she says, her accent that she usually buries more pronounced than usual. "You want me to go on a date with you and your three girlfriends?"

"Silver too," Peter corrects automatically, then immediately regrets it. "I actually asked her out before coming here and she said yes."

"Oh, this keeps getting better," Clint mutters, getting an elbow from Jessica.

Red Hulk finally swallows his cereal with an audible gulp. "Kid's got bigger stones than I gave him credit for."

Natasha keeps her composure, but underneath, she is upset. She doesn't like being caught off guard, certainly not by the hero with a penchant for reckless sincerity that she has feelings for. There's an amount she is willing to tolerate, and him doing something like this? She does not care for it.

"What the hell brought this on?" She questions him, intentionally harsh too.

The harshness gets a wince from him, and he rubs his neck, a nervous tick. "Well, Felicia told me she talked to you and Silver about our… arrangement."

"And because I told her I have interest in you," Natasha interrupts, her eyes narrowed at him with anger, "You assume I'm just waiting for you to ask me out?"

From her peripheral vision, she can see Tony eyebrows go up in surprise, likely because she just admitted to having feelings for the arachnid themed hero, and shift his eyes to Steve as if he had the answers. Steve though is just as clueless as everyone else in the room. Nobody would know about her feelings for the hero, and why would they? She isn't a schoolgirl wanting to talk about her crushes to her friends. Mostly because of the history with said crush that nobody, save a few, know about.

He backpedals, hands half-raised. "No, no—I mean… I wasn't assuming. I hoped, maybe, but it's not—" He bites off the babble before it gets away from him, tries again, "Look, I get it feels like it's out of nowhere, me asking you out when I just found out about you having feelings for me. But believe me, it's not. Me asking you out isn't something I'm doing just because."

She crosses her arms and asks, "So then?"

He hesitates for a second before he says, "Nancy Rushman and Red Cat."

The spy's eyes widen in surprise by the two long forgotten names.

"Who and what?" Jessica whispers to Clint, who shrugs in response, confused as everyone else in the room.

Clint wouldn't know about either one, only few people do. Nancy Rushman was her persona she had developed as a result from losing her memory after being tortured by Hydra. Nancy was a mild-mannered all American third grade schoolteacher who was essentially the antithesis of the Black Widow.

It was a weird experience Widow went through.

But anyway, while Natasha was Nancy, Spider-Man had been there for her, as was Peter Parker, who she now knows are one in the same. The young hero had been there for her when she desperately needed someone. As a result, Nancy had grown attracted to the hero. And after Natasha regained her memories, those feelings remained. Despite Natasha saying otherwise.

It was hard for her to admit that after what she went through and Spider-Man being there as a friend through it all, those feelings had been genuinely hers and not just something her amnesiac personality had.

But that didn't change who she was though, and she doubts he would have accepted it. Matt didn't.

And as for the Red Cat, that is a whole other story. (AN: See what I did there. )

And here is the hero, who was at the center of both those incidents, subtly telling her that despite the circumstances surrounding those events, he wants a chance to explore these feelings he developed in those situations. Albeit in very unorthodox terms.

Natasha stares at him as he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. She doesn't know why she is considering this. Hell, she doesn't even know why isn't picking up her gun and shooting this imbecile for pulling this stunt, her feelings for him notwithstanding.

But that's just it isn't it, she has feelings for this goofy hero. And evidently, those feelings are what is stopping her from picking up her Glock and emptying the clip in his chest.

So she starts to consider this. She does her usual thing of weighing the pros and cons of this, potential benefits, risks, and finally whether or not it's worth it. This is by far the most unorthodox and strangest thing she is even considering being a part of. But then again, that is how her feelings for the hero developed in the first place. With Nancy Rushman and Red Cat. So why does the relationship have to be anything else but?

Considering everything, she comes to only one conclusion.

"I must be out of my mind." She mutters with a shake of her head, before looking back at the expectant hero, "Fine."

The hero is elated by this, evident by the huge smile on his face, while everyone else's jaw hits the floor. She can see popcorn fall out of Jessica's mouth due to her mouth being so wide. Clint staring in disbelief, an expression shared by Steve. Red Hulk is surprised as his eyes shift between her and the hero. And Tony? Well, he seems shocked but she can see the glint in his eyes. Which she knows will mean she will not be getting a moments peace anymore.

"Great!" He says jubilantly, "As soon as I have something planned I'll let you know."

Wait what?

"You're asking me out on a date and you didn't plan it." She says in complete disbelief.

He clears his throat and shifts his feet, "Well, in my defense, when I plan for dates, they have a tendency of not going as planned." Natasha frowns in displeasure at him just asking her out at the last minute and not having anything planned. "Also, I'm having a hard time thinking of something that we can all do that won't draw attention."

She continues to scowl at him for a few more seconds before she rolls her eyes. She stands up and goes to the drawers in the kitchen to pull out a pad and pencil that is used by the team to make a list of groceries. "Being impulsive is no excuse for being unprepared." She sates as writes down an address. "Especially when you are attempting to romance someone."

"An argument can be made that doing something spontaneous can be romantic," He counters.

She tears the paper off the pad and walks over to him. "Not when you are attempting to convince that person into joining your harem."

"Not a harem."

She doesn't argue and hands him the piece of paper, "This is the number and address of a restaurant that has a reputation for discretion. Make reservations under Parker."

Peter takes the paper, looking down at the elegant handwriting. "Thanks, I—"

"Don't thank me yet," Natasha interrupts, her voice carrying that edge that makes sure people know she means business, "You have this one chance to prove this isn't some depraved fantasy you've concocted and are hoping to make real."

"You really think I'm like that." He questions, seeming genuinely offended by the accusation.

"No." She responds honestly, "But then again, I didn't think you were the type to host orgies at the Avengers mansion while rolling around in piles of money."

She can see the blood rush to his face in embarrassment as he turns to glare at Tony, "Dammit Tony!"

Tony raises his hand in defense, "Hey, Hardy was the one who told your whole team that morning. I just told everyone else."

The hero makes a face and grumbles, making Nat quirk her lip up in amusement. She watches as he slips his mask back on and heads back out the doors he came through.

For an instant, she feels every eye in the room on her. Even the Red Hulk, the least social of the group, is eyeing her with scrutiny. She ignores them all and turns back to her weapons, methodically reassembling her second Glock with practiced precision.

"So..." Clint's voice breaks through her thoughts, that familiar teasing tone making her jaw clench.

"Don't," she warns, not looking up from her weapon, but she can feel the weight of everyone's stares pressing against her shoulders like a physical thing.

"I'm just saying—"

"Don't," Natasha repeats, her voice dropping to that tone that has made grown men reconsider their life choices.

Clint, being Clint, doesn't take the hint and ignores her warning. "But I'm going anyway. So Spider-Man just asked you out on a group date with his three girlfriends, along with Silver Sable and you said yes. I got to admit, this is surprising. I mean, you've always been so... particular about relationships. And now you're jumping into some kind of group situation. And with Spider-Man of all people?"

Natasha's jaw tightens as she clicks the magazine into place with more force than necessary. The metallic sound echoes through the suddenly quiet kitchen. She can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions hanging in the air like smoke.

"Fascinating observation, Barton," she says, her voice flat as she holsters her weapon. "Your powers of deduction continue to astound."

"I'm just saying," Clint persists, and she can hear the grin in his voice without looking up, "This is the same guy who by all accounts has had a terrible track record when it comes to relationships. I mean, I'm just basing that on conversations during poker nights, but still."

Ah yes, poker night. Natasha resists the urge to roll her eyes at the thought. The weekly poker night hosted by the heroes has become a sort of sit and bitch session. Where her friends and colleagues come together to try and take each other's money while also conversing about this and that. The conversations are wide in range. From Logan talking about the mutant issues to him complaining about a student not doing his/her homework. Or Ben Grimm mentioning a romantic date he took his fiancé on to gripping over no longer being allowed in the bowling alley near his home because he refused to apologize to the manager over something or other.

On occasion, they do bring up topics of other heroes like Spider-Man. Mainly because he has a tendency to be on the news more than any other hero. And when he does come up, it's usually over his relationships.

She becomes aware of Tony's calculating gaze. She knows that look—the same expression he gets when he's designing a new suit or solving a particularly complex engineering problem. It's the look of a man who's just discovered something fascinating and intends to dissect it thoroughly.

"You know what I find interesting?" Tony says, settling back against the counter with his arms crossed. "The fact that you actually said yes."

The cleaning rod in her hands stills for just a moment before she continues to put her tools away. "Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm." Tony's voice carries that infuriating note of smugness that makes her want to shoot him instead of the TV. "Because the Natasha Romanoff I know doesn't do anything without calculating every possible angle first. Which means you've been thinking about this for a while."

"Maybe I'm just curious," she says, almost too quickly. Making her want to berate herself because she can see Tony caught that too.

"Curious," Steve repeats, and she can hear the disbelief in his voice. "About what, exactly?"

"Like sorority girl curious?" Tony rhetorically questions with a smile that makes her want to empty the clip into his face.

She can see the curiosity burning in his eyes, the same look he gets when he's trying to solve a puzzle. The others are watching too—Tony with that calculating expression that means he's already planning to tease her about this for months, Steve with his earnest concern that makes her want to punch something, Jessica with barely contained excitement like she's witnessing the best gossip of the year.

Even Red Hulk has stopped eating, his massive form leaning forward slightly as if he might catch some detail that explains this sudden turn of events.

Natasha holsters her cleaned weapon. She's made her decision, and now she has to live with it. The logical part of her mind—the part trained by the Red Room to analyze every angle, every potential threat—is screaming warnings about vulnerability, about letting people close, about the chaos that personal attachments bring.

But there's another part, quieter but persistent, that remembers Nancy Rushman's simple happiness. She remembers feeling something other than the cold calculation that has defined her existence for so long.

"I need some air," she announces, moving toward the balcony doors with the fluid grace that never quite leaves her, no matter the situation she is in. Even extremely uncomfortable ones.

Natasha steps through the glass doors onto the balcony, the cool evening air hitting her face like a physical relief.

What the hell is she doing?

The question loops through her mind as she stares down at the street traffic. She's Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. Trained killer and master spy. She doesn't do impulsive. She doesn't do vulnerable. And she sure as hell doesn't agree to group dates with overly earnest superheroes and their collection of girlfriends.

Except apparently she does.

The weight of every gaze from the common room presses against her back through the glass doors. She can feel them in there, probably replaying what just happened, trying to understand it. Hell, she's trying to understand what just happened.

Why did she say yes? Could is have something to do with her?

A question that will plague her mind until the date tonight. And whatever happens tonight, she knows one thing for sure. Any normal routine she used to have, is now gone.

(Unnamed Club)

Felicia sits at the unfinished office of her and MJ's unfinished nightclub, looking over some paperwork that her redheaded girlfriend told her to. Just some things that she needed to put her name on if she wanted to be Mary Jane's partner in this business. Right now, Felicia is looking at some tax forms the model asked Hardy look over.

The prospect of having a real job has not been something Felicia has considered doing since she was in college. Why would she want one anyway? Being the Black Cat has paid for a lavish lifestyle in ways no job she'd be considered qualified for would ever be able to. She's not stupid or average, it takes serious acrobatic skills and cunning mind for her to be able to pull off heists, but skills like that aren't exactly something that can land her a great job.

And again, why would she want one? Why would she want to put up with an incompetent bossy imbecile who only runs their mouth while she does all the work? She'd rather be her own boss.

"You done with those yet, Hardy?"

The platinum blonde beauty looks up from the paperwork to her business/romantic partner just as the woman strides into the office.

"Almost," she responds, looking back at the forms, "Not used to dealing with legit paperwork. I let Job handle all that stuff."

"Good thing you're a fast learner." MJ comments. "And Job said that being legit, even on the surface, means you got to know something."

Felicia leans back in the chair and looks at the supermodel with some annoyance. "You know, when you invited me to join in with you on this little endeavor," she starts as she crosses her arms, "I figured you'd do all the real work, and I'd deal with the parts you don't want to know anything about."

That's what she was hoping for anyway. She'd do her Black Cat thing and MJ would be her cover.

"You figured wrong on both fronts," MJ retorts as she head over to their offices personal bar and pours a drink, "Because in order to make sure you keep your word on donating more than half of whatever you earn as Black Cat, then I need to keep a close eye on you."

Felicia pouts playfully at her girlfriend, "You don't trust me, Red?"

MJ rolls her eyes but keeps her smile, "I trust that you love me, Peter, and Sonja. But I don't trust you to behave and do the right thing without someone there tugging your ear."

Felicia continues to pout, "That actually hurts, you know. But I can't blame you." She tries to play it off and turn her attention back to the paperwork, but inside she is a little genuinely hurt by the redhead's admission. She is dating the woman, so of course it stings a little.

"Good. Because you've built a reputation on doing exactly what you please." MJ all but empties the contents of a mini bottle of bourbon into her glass, leans against the bar with the posture of someone who has learned to play confidence by ear. "This," she says, swirling the drink,"—this club, this legitimate business? Total trust fall. I'm trusting you to not hurt me or Peter when you do your thing."

Felicia signs the last sheet with a flourish. "Still can't believe you and he aren't pushing me to be more normal."

MJ shrugs and states, "Normal is overrated. Learned that during quiet nights without Peter around."

Felicia looks at MJ as she twirls the pen in her hand, "So you don't want to return to the quiet life."

The supermodel's smile is soft for once, almost sad. "Ask me again after tonight."

"Why tonight?"

MJ gives her a look. "Because tonight our shared boyfriend is trying to convince a deadly mercenary and an elite super-spy to go on a date with all of us, and if it doesn't blow up in his face, I'll finally believe fate doesn't hate him."

Felicia laughs. "Low standards."

"Well, we are dating Peter Parker." She jokes, sharing a laugh with the thief.

Felicia sets her pen down and hands the papers to her partner, "I signed every paper you highlighted. But for the record, if you try to micromanage me, I'll run this place into the ground just to spite you."

Mary Jane takes the papers and looks them over as she takes a sip of her drink. "That would be a shame. Because you'd be out half of what you're laundering, and I'd inherit the half you already cleaned." She places the papers back on the desk, along with her drink, and moves behind Felicia's chair, running her hands lightly over the thief's tense shoulders until she feels some of the tension ease. "Besides, you're not the only one with a devious streak, Hardy. I wouldn't have been okay with this if I can't think of a way of making you suffer by doing good."

Felicia relaxes into the gesture, bowing her head slightly so MJ can't see her face go vulnerable for a second. She's never needed to be needed, never wanted to be responsible to anyone except herself, but lately something about the way MJ and Peter look at her—like she matters, like she's not just a beautiful distraction or a bad habit—they're changing her, bit by bit.

Felicia's gaze drops through the one-way mirror to the dance floor, a shiver of movement catching her eye amid the ladders and extension cords and cleaning crews. A familiar face is making its way through the unfinished dance floor. Mayor J Jonah Jameson, the only man in the city who does not need a bullhorn to be heard in crowded areas.

"Check it out," she says, nodding to the man downstairs. "Either our boytoys old boss is here to shut us down preemptively, or the city's run out of places for him to lurk."

MJ leans in, following Felicia's line of sight, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. "That's weird," she murmurs. "Wonder what brought him by."

Felicia watches her girl walk to the entrance of their office and invite the mayor up, which makes Hardy want to leave the room. Felicia is not a fan of the man, for obvious reasons. He was her beau's worst enemy before he found out Peter was Spider-Man. Hardy always felt like her man allowed the former newspaper man get away with way too much without retaliating against him.

It's weird how his boy scout attitude is both an incredibly annoying trait and a serious turn on for her. 'What does that say about me?' She wonders.

Not wanting to open that depressing well, she focuses back to her thoughts on the mayor as she watches the man walk around the construction workers towards the stairs to their office.

It wasn't that long ago, not even a month really, where Felicia was not a fan of the mayor. All the lies he spread about Spider and boasting how the former newspaper editor was helping people stay informed about the hero's nefarious activities. Of course, he got worse when he became an elected official and actually funded a task force to hunt Spider.

If he knew half the things Peter has done for this city, and the world for that matter, the man would be kissing her man's perfectly shaped ass.

"Watson," he greets MJ with a stiff nod. "And Hardy, right? Peter's... other girlfriend?"

Felicia's lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "One of them, anyway."

Jameson clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder of Peter's unconventional relationship status. Felicia recalls Peter telling her and the two redheads about his conversation with Jameson. The day after his big reveal that splintered his team, Jameson called and asked for updates. At some point, Jameson asked about Felicia as he seemed to recall her being there beside Peter, who she was and why she was there at the big reveal. Peter told him and that turned into a whole other thing with his former boss.

"Right. Well, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by." He says as he puts his jacket on the rack by the door.

"How thoughtful," MJ says, gesturing to a seat. "What can we do for you, Mr. Mayor?"

Jameson sets his jaw and pulls out a yellow folder from his coat. He slides it across the desk to MJ, tapping it with one stubby finger. "I need to know how much of this is real and how much is my own damn paranoia."

MJ picks up the folder and takes out the contents before placing them onto the desk for both her and Felicia to see. They see it's newspaper articles about their shared man, and they're one's that Felicia recognizes. All the things her man has done for the city and it's people that he never took credit for. Despite her telling him too.

"What is all this?" MJ questions the mayor.

"I was hoping you can tell me." Jameson responds as a guilty look crosses his face, "All of these incidents looked like Parker reeking havoc across the city without a single explanation. I figured if there is anyone who can shed some light to these incidents, its you."

Felicia stops herself from rolling her eyes at the mayors words as she sits back down. She finds it very annoying how often the redhead beside her is the one people run to for answers about Peter. It makes sense—MJ was his anchor, the sane voice in the never-ending circus of their lives—but Felicia has her own history with Spider. Sometimes a deeper history than even Watson knows.

"I recognize some of these, but most I have no clue about."

Felicia looks at her business partner with surprise, having not expected that from her of all the people in Peter's life.

"This one," she says, picking up an article with a photograph of Spider-Man spraying something on a group of pigeons. "This one, for instance. Peter told me about it years ago during one of our... quieter periods." Her voice carries the weight of old memories. "There was an outbreak of some kind of avian flu that was spreading through the city's pigeon population. If it had jumped to humans, it could have been catastrophic."

Jameson seems to be stunned by this revelation, "And he just took care of it? Without telling anyone?"

"Without fanfare, without credit, without anyone knowing," MJ confirms as she peruses through the files more, "He did it from the high school chem lab he was subbing from, before he got fired."

Felicia herself recalls him regaling her with that story during their pillow talk moments. She wasn't the typical girlfriend when it came to their relationship, but she did listen when he talked about his activities.

MJ picks up another on, "This one I don't know." She states.

"Let me see," Felicia requests and the thief leans in to look at it. "I think I know this one. I heard a rumor about him breaking some AC units from some old slum building and I asked him if there was any truth to it. He told me a couple of kids from the school he was teaching had gotten sick and he saw they all lived in the same building. He looked into it and saw that their apartment building AC units were producing some kind of dangerous toxin that was making the kids sick."

Jonah stares at her incredulously, "Why didn't he tell anyone?"

Felicia shrugs and responds, "Apparently, the guy who owned the building was a slum lord, real scumbag. He got a lot of cheap stuff to go into the buildings he owned. AC units, pipes, you name it. And he was paying off the right people to get away with it."

Felicia watches as the mayor gets this look in his face that she's seen on her man. One that tells her he's conflicted. Over what though, Felicia can only guess.

But that conflicted expression leaves and a determined frown sets on his face, "Tell me everything."

The two women glance at each other before they rifle through more articles. For the next hour or so, Felicia and Mary Jane regale the mayor with stories of their shared man. All the things he's done for the city, it's people, and even the world on a occasion. And through it all, the Mayor listens intently.

When their story time came to an end, something became apparent to Felicia. And that was how little Mary Jane knew about their man's activities, especially compared to her, which surprises the thief. Felicia knew more about what Peter did as Spider-Man than the woman, who frankly, was way more perfect for him in the thief's eyes.

Turning her attention back to the mayor, who seems to be completely floored by all that he's learned as he stares at the articles. Hardy wonders what he's going to do with all this new information. She imagines him going out and shouting to the world everything her man has done, but she doubts Peter would appreciate that. If only because he's not a fan of the limelight, even with the new leadership role he's taken.

"He's done more for this city more than anyone else," she hears the man mutter, "And not once did he go and brag about to the press."

Felicia bites back a comment she'd like to make. Of course Peter never went to the press about his heroics, not even to his fellow heroes. The only reason she knows is because she asked him to clear up rumors she hears. And when he did, he made it clear he was okay with nobody knowing what he did, so long as people were safe. That was part of what drove her crazy about him and what made her love him at the same time. His boy scout attitude.

"Don't go shouting it to the rooftops." MJ tells him, likely mirroring Felicia's thoughts about what their man would want, "It'd bring more trouble to Peter than he needs right now."

The mayor seems to consider this for a moment before he nods in understanding, "Alright." He says before he stands and gathers the articles. "Thank you for telling me what I needed to know."

The two watch the man leave. Felicia stares at the door for a moment, then turns to look at Mary Jane, who's gathering up the papers scattered across the desk. Something tugs at her—a realization that's been building over the past hour. "You really didn't know about most of those things he did?" She inquires.

MJ shrugs, turning back to the bar to refill her glass. "I told you, I used to keep myself in the dark about his Spider-Man stuff."

"Yeah but…" Felicia hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words for what is obviously a delicate topic, "Look, I'm not judging you. I'm just surprised. I mean, I always figured you were his rock. The thing that kept him grounded and stable all the times you and he were together."

MJ gets quiet for a minute, staring down at her drink. Felicia can see hints of shame and guilt on the redhead's face. Like what her partner said hit the nail on the head.

"There were days he'd come home," MJ began, her voice a fragile whisper, laced with a profound weariness, "all beaten and bruised, and he'd just pass out on the couch." A forlorn expression, etched with memories of countless nights spent in anxious vigil, settled upon her face. "I'd be there with a medical kit and painkillers, ready to help him. I'd patch him up, clean his wounds, try to make him comfortable. And he would make a joke or two, thinking that would make things easier to deal with." A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped her lips. "But most days, it didn't. Most days, it just made me feel… more alone." She paused, her gaze drifting to the window, as if seeing beyond the city skyline, back to a past filled with unspoken fears. "Every siren I hear, every news report about some big battle with Spider-Man in the middle of it, it was the worst thing. My stomach would churn, my heart would pound, waiting for the inevitable call, or worse, for him to just not come home at all. Because while Peter had me, I didn't have anyone to confide in. No one to share the burden with, no one who truly understood the constant dread of living with a superhero." Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now held a deep, unyielding sorrow. "I was his confidante, his nurse, his therapist, his cheerleader. But who was mine? Who did I lean on when the world felt like it was crumbling around us?"

"There is only so much pressure a rock can take before it cracks and crumbles," MJ states, using the analogy Felicia provided. She then looks at the thief, "That's why I'm grateful for you and Sonja now. I never thought I'd say this, but having you both in our lives has made everything... lighter somehow."

Felicia feels something tighten in her chest, a familiar warmth that she gets with Peter and now gets with the actress. Which bothers her just a bit. Genuine emotion has always been her kryptonite, far more dangerous than any security system she's ever cracked.

"Don't get all mushy on me, Watson," she deflects, but there's no bite in her words. "Lover boy does it enough that we don't need to add to it."

MJ rolls her eyes and huffs in amusement. "Fine." She says before finishing her drink and setting down the glass, "Now lets go get ready for tonight. God knows we need to be on our toes."

Felicia can't argue with her there. They are about to go on a date with an ex-KGB assassin and a well known mercenary. How things play out, will depend on everyone involved.

(Jean Grey School)

Spider-Man enters the school with Logan leading the way. There is some trepidation in his steps as he stands in the middle of the school's foyer. Jeff in his arms and the phoenix on his shoulders. Both there with him for different reasons.

"Nice to see this place so lively again," Spider-Man says as he looks around at the multitude of students mingling, and Jeff wiggling in his arms, clearly eager to explore the new environment.

Logan takes out cigar and lights it, "With the reamergence of mutants all over the world, this place has been packed to the brim." He states, his mouth occupied with the cigar.

The hero beside him raises a brow at this and comments, "Yet that doesn't seem to stop you from exposing these kids to second hand smoke."

Logan shrugs, "Not the worst thing they're exposed to." He informs his team leader.

Spider-Man shifts Jeff to one arm and gives Logan a flat look through his mask. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a role model to these kids, you're doing a pretty terrible job."

"Role model?" Logan snorts, smoke curling from his lips. "Kid, I'm here to teach 'em how to survive. Sugar-coating the world ain't gonna help when some bigot with a gun comes knocking."

The Phoenix chirps disapprovingly at Logan, ruffling its tiny feathers in what Peter can only interpret as cosmic judgment. He finds himself oddly proud of the little bird's moral stance.

"See? Even the cosmic force of creation and destruction thinks you're setting a bad example."

Logan eyes the cosmic entity given physical form with something akin to concern, "Still think bringing that bird here is asking for trouble," Logan mutters.

"Most definitely," Spidey confirms as he places the shark down and it begins to explore its new environment. "But I also know ignoring it is not the best way to move forward."

Logan eyes the sea predator that is now loose in the school, "And the shark?"

"He's a peace offering," the Queens-born-hero states, also keeping his eye on his pet, "It's hard to be mad when the little guy is around."

The hero watches as his companion takes his cigar out of his mouth to retort but stops when a familiar face phases through the wall Jeff was by. The little guy jumps in fright and runs back to his owner, hiding behind his legs.

The hero stares at it and says, "You're a great white shark, not a great white chicken."

Jeff lets out an indigent sound, bothered by his owner's comment.

Spider-Man turns his attention back to the arrival of the headmistress of the school, and sees two more people come out the room she was in.

He stares at Alex, Bobby, and Kitty before he gives waves awkwardly and greets them, "Hey guys. How's it-"

Bobby walks by him without a word.

"-going?" He finishes as he drops his head and lets out a sigh. He was hoping after Logan says things were fine between them, that the rest of the X-Men were going to be as amicable. But if Bobby is mad, he doesn't think he'll have an easy a time as he originally thought.

He looks back at the remaining two X-Men, who stare at him expectedly. He knows they are waiting for him to say something about everything he revealed.

He takes a breath and starts, "Okay, let me start by saying that I did what I did because if I didn't, some other poor soul would have been chosen instead. And as we've learned, that doesn't go well."

Alex raises a brow and crosses his arms, "Meaning?" He inquires.

"We fought a war over it." Peter states, believing that's enough of a reason.

"The implication being that the X-Men would start a war to get it back?"

"Of course not." Peter says firmly.

"Really?" Alex challenges him, "So you told your friends and girlfriends but didn't tell any of us, why?"

"We literally just stopped fighting." He points out. "I wasn't here when you guys came to your senses but I was told that things were tense at the time. Most of the others weren't thrilled about you guys suddenly joining our side."

Spider-Man watches Alex's expression shift, seeing the conflict play out across his face. The younger Summer's brother uncrosses his arms, his posture relaxing slightly, though tension still radiates from his shoulders.

"Look," Alex says, running a hand through his hair, "I get why you made the call you did. Hell, maybe it was even the right call. But it's more about the fact that, like you said, we fought over it. People who were our friends and allies told us to not use this power to try and restore our people, and yet here you are, with the same power, and they're not telling you to give it up."

The spandexed hero grimaces, "In their defense, I do have advantages you guys don't." He tells him.

Alex rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in frustration, "Yeah. Jean. We remember."

Peter winces at his slip. He knows it's a sensitive issue right now, the fact that Jean is alive and could have prevented the disaster they went through but didn't.

Kitty steps forward, her expression more understanding than Alex's. "The important thing is that you told us eventually," she says, though Peter catches the slight emphasis on 'eventually.' "And you're here now, trying to make things right."

"Trying being the operative word," Peter mutters, glancing in the direction Bobby disappeared. "How mad is he, exactly?"

"Scale of one to ten?" Kitty tilts her head thoughtfully. "About seven. Which for Bobby is practically volcanic."

Spider-Man becomes disheartened. Bobby Drake is his closest friend when it comes to the X-Men. To have him be this mad, makes him wonder if he can actually mend bridges.

Logan clears his throat, smoke curling around his words. "Drake'll come around. Kid's got a good heart, just needs time to process."

That doesn't make him feel better, but it's better than nothing. Still though, there is one person he is most concerned over. "And Rogue?" He asks.

Alex and Kitty exchange a look that makes Peter's stomach drop. It's the kind of look that says 'be prepared for the worse.' Which he was expecting but still.

"She's in the danger room," Kitty informs him before waking past them, "Logan can't take you there while I talk to Bobby."

"Thanks," he says before he follows Logan's lead leaving Alex behind. Jeff trailing behind him, the animal just happy to be out.

"Fair warning, Webhead," Logan says over his shoulder, "she's been in there for hours. When Rogue's this worked up, she ain't exactly receptive to heart-to-hearts."

Peter nods, his stomach tightening. He's faced down supervillains, cosmic entities, and even death itself, but somehow the prospect of confronting an angry Rogue makes all of those seem like a cakewalk. "Any advice?"

"Duck," Logan says simply.

"Great. Very helpful."

They reach the observation deck overlooking the danger room, where Beast is sitting at the control station.

"Hey Hank," Spider-Man greets his fellow genius.

The man turns around and greets him cordially, "Spider-Man." He turns his attention to the two animals with the hero, "I did not know what to expect, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"That's how I get through the day." Spider-Man quips. The hero steps closer and, through the reinforced glass, Peter can see Rogue demolishing a series of simulated opponents. "I guess it's reassuring that she didn't make those simulations look like me."

"Only after the day you revealed the phoenix to her," Hank tells him.

Well that's discouraging. But maybe the fact that she is no longer pounding simulated versions of him means she is in a better mood.

Hank adjusts his spectacles, peering at the readouts. "Her sessions have been growing increasingly intense. I believe she's working through some rather complicated emotions."

"That's one way of putting it," Logan mutters, chomping on his cigar.

The Phoenix chirps anxiously on Peter's shoulder, sensing his unease. Jeff nudges against his leg, as if offering moral support.

"Well," Peter says, squaring his shoulders, "might as well get this over with." He hands Jeff to Hank. "Watch him for me? He bites, but mostly furniture."

Hank accepts the animal with a bemused expression.

"Wish me luck," Peter says to Logan and Hank as the Phoenix chirps anxiously on his shoulder. He leaves Jeff with the two X-Men and heads for the elevator that will take him down to the danger room floor. He becomes more anxious when the doors slide open and a ding announces his arrival.

He steps into the room, and Rogue glares at him. "Hey," he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "So... come here often?"

Rogue doesn't smile. Her eyes flick to the Phoenix on his shoulder, then back to his face. "What do you want, Spider?"

"World peace? A lifetime supply of coffee? To not have this incredibly awkward conversation?" He shrugs. "But since those aren't options, I'll settle for clearing the air between us."

Rogue crosses her arms, her stance wide and defensive. "Always got a joke for every occasion, don't ya?"

He rubs his neck uncontrollably, "It's what I do," Peter says with a shrug, trying to defuse the tension. "Look, I just wanted to—"

"Fight me," Rogue interrupts, her eyes narrowing.

"What?" Peter blinks behind his mask.

"You heard me." Rogue uncrosses her arms, flexing her gloved fingers. "You want to clear the air? Then let's do it my way."

Peter is taken aback by the challenge as the phoenix chirps anxiously on his shoulder. He doesn't think this is the best way for them to mend bridges. "Rogue, I didn't come here to fight—"

"That's your problem, Spider," she cuts him off, stepping closer. "You talk. You joke. You hide behind words when sometimes what people need is to work things out the old-fashioned way."

Peter hesitates, weighing his options. Fighting Rogue isn't what he had in mind when he came to make amends, but he recognizes the look in her eyes—it's the same one he's seen in his own reflection countless times. Sometimes physical exertion is the only way to process complicated emotions.

"Alright, Rogue," he finally says. The phoenix flutters off his shoulder, finding a safe perch on a nearby simulation pillar. "If this is what you need, I'm game. But let's keep it clean."

"Beast," Rogue calls upward to the observation deck, "set the room for open combat."

The space around them shimmers, the stark white walls transforming into a ruined cityscape. Chunks of concrete and twisted metal create an urban battlefield, complete with overturned cars and crumbling buildings. Peter recognizes it as a simulation of downtown Manhattan after one of the many catastrophes they've faced.

"Stop until someone says uncle?" Peter asks, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders.

Rogue doesn't respond. Just raises her knuckles and cracks them. He's starting to understand that Rogue needs this—needs to physically work through whatever's churning inside her.

"I won't drain ya," she states, as she gets into a fighting stance, "But I won't be gentle."

Peter takes a deep breath and nods. "Fair enough."

The moment the words leave his mouth, Rogue launches herself at him with the kind of speed that would make a freight train jealous. Peter's spider-sense screams, and he barely manages to leap sideways as her fist connects with the concrete where he'd been standing a split second before. The impact creates a crater the size of a manhole cover.

Okay, he thinks, she really wasn't kidding about not being gentle.

Peter fires a web-line at a nearby building simulation, swinging up and around to put some distance between them. The Phoenix chirps from its perch, sounding distinctly worried, which doesn't do much for his confidence.

"Running already?" Rogue calls out, launching herself into the air after him with a powerful leap that carries her three stories up.

"Tactical repositioning," Peter shoots back, twisting in mid-air to avoid her grab. "There's a difference."

He lands on a simulated rooftop, but Rogue is already there, her fist whistling past his head as he ducks. The wind from her punch ruffles his mask, and he can feel the raw power behind it. If that had connected, he'd be eating through a straw for a month.

Peter backflips off the building, firing webs as he goes. Not to trap her—he knows better than that—but to swing between the simulated debris field. Rogue follows, leaping from chunk to chunk of concrete with the grace of someone who's spent years learning to control incredible strength.

"You know," Peter calls out as he narrowly avoids another devastating punch, "when I came here to apologize, I was thinking more along the lines of conversation, maybe some heartfelt sharing—"

Rogue's boot catches him in the ribs mid-sentence, sending him tumbling across the simulated street. He rolls with the impact, coming up in a crouch as pain radiates through his side. The hit wasn't at full strength—he can tell—but it still feels like getting kicked by an angry mule.

"Less talking," Rogue says, advancing on him. "More fighting."

Peter springs to his feet, his spider-sense tingling as she closes the distance. This time he doesn't retreat. Instead, he darts forward, using his speed and agility to stay just out of reach of her devastating strikes while landing quick hits of his own. A jab to her shoulder, a sweep at her legs, nothing meant to seriously hurt but enough to keep her engaged.

The rhythm of combat settles over them—a violent dance they both know well. Peter realizes this isn't about anger anymore, at least not entirely. There's something else driving Rogue, something she's trying to work through with her fists.

"You want to know what really gets me?" Rogue says between punches, her southern accent thick with emotion. "It ain't that you kept the Phoenix secret. Hell, maybe that was smart."

Peter dodges a particularly vicious uppercut, feeling the air displacement ruffle his costume. "Then what is it?"

"It's that you got to have Jean there to help you," Rogue says, and Peter can hear the pain beneath the anger now. "You got guidance, training, someone who understood what you were going through. Meanwhile, we were all just expected to figure it out on our own."

Peter's next dodge is a fraction slower as her words hit home. He's been so focused on justifying his decision to keep the Phoenix secret that he hadn't considered how unfair the whole situation must seem from her perspective.

Rogue takes advantage of his momentary distraction, catching him with a glancing blow that sends him sprawling. He tastes blood inside his mask, his lip split from the impact.

"Scott had to deal with that power eating away at him," Rogue continues, her voice cracking slightly. "Emma, Colossus, Magik, Namor—they all struggled with it alone. And in the end, it destroyed them. Destroyed us."

Peter wipes blood from his mouth, looking up at her from where he's sprawled on the simulated concrete. The Phoenix chirps anxiously from its perch, but he holds up a hand to keep it from interfering.

"You're right," he says quietly.

Rogue blinks, clearly not expecting that response. "What?"

"You're right," Peter repeats, getting to his feet slowly. "It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. You guys got dealt a terrible hand, and I got Jean to guide me through the same power that nearly destroyed your friends and family."

The fight seems to drain out of Rogue at his admission. Her fists lower slightly, though she remains tense.

"I can't change what happened," Peter continues, taking a cautious step closer. "I can't give you back Professor Xavier, or undo the damage that was done. But I can tell you that every day I carry this thing, I think about what happened to Scott and the others. I think about how easily it could have been me losing control instead."

Rogue's shoulders slump slightly. "It should have been one of us," she says quietly. "We're the ones who needed it to save our people."

"Maybe," Peter acknowledges. "But it wasn't. And we can't change that now. All we can do is move forward and try to do better."

The simulation around them flickers and fades, returning the danger room to its stark white walls. In the sudden quiet, Peter can hear their heavy breathing echoing off the walls.

"I ain't mad at you," Rogue says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peter tilts his head, confused. "You're not?"

"I'm mad at everything," she clarifies, looking down at her gloved hands. "Mad at Jean for not stopping Scott when she could have. Mad at myself for going along with it all. Mad at Scott for what he's doing now, hiding somewhere like a coward while the rest of us deal with the fallout."

The Phoenix flutters down from its perch, landing on Peter's shoulder with a soft trill. Rogue's eyes track the movement, but there's no anger in her gaze now—just exhaustion.

"I'm tired, Spider," she admits. "Tired of fighting wars that never seem to end. Tired of losing people. Tired of watching everything we try to build get torn down."

Peter feels his heart clench at the raw pain in her voice. Without thinking, he takes another step closer. "Rogue," he starts, "I think I've established that I know exactly how you feel. The anger and exhaustion."

Thier conversation days before should have done that at least. And it seems she knows that too since she asks, "So how do you do it? How do you still smile and try to be happy, when the whole world seems to be working against you?"

He looks down in thought and answers with, "By remembering that, life will always be hard, no matter what. But it's the moments between the hardships that matter. Spending time with the people you care about, helping others, making a difference, and finding joy in small things. I can't fix everything, but I can try to make things better, one moment at a time."

Rogue studies him for a long moment, her expression softening. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I have to," Peter says, feeling the weight of his own words. "Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"

A silence stretches between them, not uncomfortable but contemplative. The Phoenix chirps softly on his shoulder, almost as if in agreement.

"I'll work with you," Rogue finally says. "Not because I'm over everything that's happened, but because I think you're right about moving forward."

Relief washes over Peter, his tense muscles finally relaxing. "That's all I can ask for."

She extends her gloved hand, and he takes it, feeling the strength in her grip—restrained now, careful.

"Just promise me one thing," she adds.

"Name it."

"No more secrets. At least not the ones that affect all of us."

Spidey nods, giving her hand a firm shake. "Deal."

As they leave the danger room together, the Phoenix still perched on his shoulder, Peter feels a cautious optimism. It's not perfect—nothing in his life ever is—but it's a start. One bridge mended, a few more to go.

(Outside of The Royal)

Sonja is a fierce warrior. She has stared death in the face more than a hundred times and smiled. But sitting in this cab and heading for a night out with her lovers has her more nervous than she expected. She hides it of course, but still, she tugs at her dress and adjusts the strap for the seventh time in as many minutes. The city lights streak through the tinted windows of the cab, constant reminders of the modern world she is now experiencing first hand.

She acclimated better than she'd thought she would have been able to, but this world still feels like a fever dream conjured by a mad wizard. Glass towers that touch the sky, doors that open without a push, electricity harnessed and used in everything. Clothes so thin and indecent they made her armor seem prudish. 'They're not and they don't'. For years, Sonja had filtered it all through the eyes and mind of Mary Jane, her host, vessel, and friend. But nowadays she is experiencing it firsthand and it feels strange. Many aspects of the modern world are strange to her. And tonight she is dealing with one she felt she had mastered.

Courting.

In her old life, courting was far simpler for her. All she needed to do was merely be present; allow the person to see her and they immediately fell in love with her. It did not matter if it was a man, woman, peasant, or royalty. All of them fell for her the moment they laid their eyes on her. 'Reel it in.' But she knows that will not be the case with these women. Because they will be here for their romantic interest in Peter. Which she can understand, she does love the fool too afterall.

And she is very pleased her shared fool had convinced Natasha and Silver to join them on this date of theirs.

A black taxi pulls to the curb, and Felicia emerges first, her platinum hair catching the streetlight as she pays the driver. The thief moves with that predatory grace Sonja recognizes—a kindred spirit in a world of soft civilians. Tonight Felicia wears midnight blue, the dress hugging her curves like armor, her confidence radiating outward like heat from a forge.

Sonja approaches, her heels clicking against the pavement in a rhythm that feels too delicate for her warrior's soul. "You look radiant," she tells Felicia, meaning it.

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Red." Felicia's smile carries that familiar edge of mischief. "Though you look like you're preparing for battle instead of dinner."

"Am I not?" Sonja asks, genuinely uncertain. "Peter described this as a test of sorts. To see if the others might join our... arrangement."

Felicia laughs, the sound sharp and bright in the evening air. "When you put it like that, maybe we are going to war." She links her arm through Sonja's with easy familiarity. "Come on. Let's see if our boy managed to secure a table, or if we're eating street hot dogs tonight."

They approach the restaurant's entrance, where a stern-faced man in formal attire guards the door like a sentinel. The maître d' surveys them with the calculating gaze of someone accustomed to determining worth at a glance.

"Good evening," Felicia purrs, her voice taking on that silky quality Sonja has learned means the thief is working. "We have a reservation."

"Name?" The man's tone suggests he's already prepared to turn them away.

"Parker," Felicia replies smoothly.

The maître d' scans his list, his expression growing more dismissive by the second. Sonja feels her muscles tense, battle instincts rising despite the civilized setting. In her time, such disrespect would be answered with steel.

"I'm afraid I don't see any reservation under that name," the man announces with barely concealed satisfaction. "Perhaps you'd like to try one of the establishments down the street?"

Sonja's hand moves instinctively toward her hip, where her sword would rest if she wore it. The motion stops when she remembers she's unarmed, dressed for courtship rather than combat. Frustration builds in her chest—not at the man's rudeness, but at her own helplessness in this strange social battlefield.

"Well," Felicia says, her voice carrying a dangerous edge that makes Sonja's warrior instincts sing in recognition, "this is awkward."

A sleek vehicle pulls up to the curb behind them, its engine purring like a contented predator. Sonja turns to see Silver Sable emerge from the driver's seat, her silver hair gleaming under the restaurant's lights. Even in evening wear, the mercenary moves with lethal precision, her dress somehow managing to look both elegant and practical.

Behind her, from the passenger side, steps Natasha Romanoff. The spy wears black—of course—but the simple dress transforms her into something that makes Sonja's breath catch. Dangerous beauty wrapped in silk, every line of her body speaking of controlled violence barely leashed.

Silver approaches with measured steps, taking in the scene with tactical awareness. "Problem?" she asks, her accent adding weight to the single word.

"No reservation," Felicia explains, her tone suggesting this is merely an interesting puzzle rather than a serious obstacle.

Silver's lips curve in something that might charitably be called a smile. She steps forward, addressing the maître d' with the kind of authority that comes from commanding armies. "Romanoff," she says simply.

The man's entire demeanor shifts as he scans his list again, this time with considerably more attention. "Ah, yes! Right this way, please."

Sonja watches this transformation with fascination. In her time, respect was earned through displays of strength or the reputation of one's blade. Here, it seems, certain names carry the same weight as legendary weapons.

They follow the maître d' through the restaurant's elegant interior, past tables filled with the city's elite engaged in their own elaborate social rituals. Sonja notes the way conversations pause as they pass, the weight of stares following their progress. Four women, each beautiful and dangerous in their own way, moving together with predatory grace.

The table they're led to sits in a semi-private alcove, offering both intimacy and strategic visibility—a choice Sonja approves of from a tactical standpoint. She settles into her chair, the unfamiliar sensation of sitting for pleasure rather than around a war council making her hyperaware of every movement.

"So," Natasha says once they're seated, her green eyes scanning each of them in turn, "this should be interesting."

Sonja studies the spy, noting the controlled tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers drum once against the table before stilling. Natasha's composure is flawless, but Sonja recognizes the signs of a warrior preparing for an uncertain battle.

"Where is our shared paramour?" Sonja asks, glancing toward the entrance.

"Probably swinging through traffic as we speak," Felicia replies, settling back in her chair with feline contentment. "Peter has many talents, but punctuality isn't one of them."

Silver checks her watch with the precision of someone accustomed to military schedules. "He has three minutes before this becomes unprofessional."

Sonja finds herself appreciating the mercenary's directness. There's something refreshingly honest about Silver's approach—no games, no hidden meanings, just clear expectations stated plainly.

The restaurant's atmosphere hums around them, conversations blending into white noise punctuated by the soft clink of expensive glassware. Sonja tries to relax into the unfamiliar rhythm of civilian life, but her warrior's instincts keep her alert, cataloging exits and potential threats even in this place of supposed safety.

"I have to ask," Natasha says, her voice carefully neutral, "what exactly are we hoping to accomplish tonight?"

The question hangs in the air between them, loaded with implications. Sonja feels the weight of it, understanding that this moment will determine whether their unconventional arrangement has any hope of expanding or if it dies here among the crystal and fine china.

Before anyone can respond though, the man they were waiting for arrives, heavily disheveled. "Sorry!" He says as he is still adjusting his tie and straightening his jacket, "I'm sorry I'm late!"

"In comparison to previous dates with Mary Jane, you're rather early." Sonja comments.

Peter pauses for a moment before he takes his seat between the four women. "Sad but true." He says with a nod, before picking up a menu and asking, "So what's good here?"

The five of them proceed to place their orders, which range to different cuts of meat and cooking temperatures. But then an awkward silence befell the table. One that Sonja is surprised over. Because her two lover are not ones for silence.

She watches as her man fidgets awkwardly in his seat. He is clearly struggling with a conversation starter. "So… this place you recommended is nice."

Sonja raises a brow at him. A rather bland way in comparison to his usual style.

But it seems to do the trick as Natasha does continue the conversation, "It used to be a mob restaurant." She informs them.

All of them are surprised by this news. "Really?" Sonja voices their thoughts.

"Well it wasn't mob owned," Natasha clarifies as she takes a sip of her drink, "But it was a go to place for them back in the day."

"What happened?" Peter questions.

Natasha shrugs, "Tony happened." She responds, prompting raised eyebrows from not only Sonja but also the others at their table. "See, back then, the mob bosses would come here to talk business, run up their tabs, and never pay for it. 'Course if you were the mayor or chief of police, then you pay."

"Then when Tony showed the world he was Iron Man, and it had been known that this a regular spot, scared the mafia away. Especially when others in the hero community make this place a regular spot too. Hell, Wanda and Vision used to come here every wedding anniversary."

"So that's why this place is known for it's discretion?" Peter says in realization.

Natasha nods, "Pretty much. You can be seen tongue wrestling with the president and not a word of it would reach outside."

"What about the customers?" Silver questions.

"Nobody other than the Maitre d'," Natasha states, "has access to the reservation books so no names can be discovered. It's crucial that only one person knows who comes here and when."

"Speaking from experience?" Peter asks, grinning at Natasha, who merely raises an eyebrow in response.

"A lady never kisses and tells," she replies with the ghost of a smile playing at her lips.

The waiter arrives with their appetizers, setting down elegant plates of calamari, bruschetta, and some kind of fancy cheese Sonja can't pronounce, but Mary Jane can.

The night goes smoother than she or Mary Jane thought. The conversations flow easily enough, and they all get to know one another. Not too deeply, just first date basics such as hobbies outside of the costumes. When the main courses arrive they speak of their careers. Peter even passionately tells them about his work at Horizon labs, which makes Sonja smile, and she can feel MJ happiness as well. When Peter speaks with such passion about his work, makes him look younger, less burdened by the weight he carries as Spider-Man. It's a side of him she never tires of seeing—the brilliance beneath the bravado.

As the empty dishes of their main courses are taken away, Sonja can see from her observations that Natasha is relaxing slightly. The woman seemed tense throughout the night, as if she did not want to be here with them. But now it seems the spy has changed her mind.

Peter gestures animatedly as he finishes a story about a lab accident that turned one of his coworkers temporarily purple, eliciting laughter from them all. His tie is slightly crooked, and there's a small sauce stain on his sleeve that he hasn't noticed. Yet despite these imperfections—or perhaps because of them—there's something endearing about him.

By the time desert arrives, Sonja can safely assume the date has been a success. Just looking at the two women, both seem to be amicable with this.

However, just as she was sure, something changes in Romanoff's composure. It was slight, but Sonja can swear she saw a tremble run up the spy's arm. But if it was there, it got buried by the same composure Natasha came in with.

"So what exactly are you hoping will come from this evening?" The spy suddenly inquires.

Peter looks up from his dessert, chocolate smeared adorably at the corner of his mouth. "Honestly? Just a chance to see if there's something here worth exploring. No pressure, no expectations."

"No expectations," Natasha repeats, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. "You invite us to join your existing relationship and claim to have no expectations?"

"What I think he means," Sonja interjects, "is that we're not assuming any particular outcome. We're offering an invitation, not making demands."

Natasha's question hangs in the air, creating a tension that makes Sonja's warrior instincts bristle. She studies the spy's face, noting the subtle hardening around her eyes that betrays her discomfort. There is a challenge in Romanoff's tone that reminds Sonja of opponents testing for weaknesses before a battle.

"An invitation," Natasha repeats, her voice cooling several degrees. "To what, exactly? Because I think we should be clear about what's being proposed here."

Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, to explore the possibility of... something more. Between all of us."

"What about relationship hierarchy?" she asks, her voice sharper than intended. "In an arrangement like this, someone always comes first."

Peter's brow furrows. "We don't really think of it that way—"

"That's naive," Natasha cuts him off. "Every relationship has power dynamics. Who makes decisions when there's a conflict? Who gets priority when time is limited?"

She watches the warmth drain from the table, replaced by a cautious stillness she recognizes from countless interrogations. But she can't stop herself now; the protective instincts honed through decades of survival are taking over.

"And what about the long-term?" she continues, setting down her fork with a precision that betrays her rising tension. "Is this just about sex and companionship, or are we talking about deeper commitments? Marriage? Children?"

The word "children" seems to hang in the air between them. Sonja and Felicia exchange glances Natasha can't quite read, while Peter's face has gone slightly pale.

"I think," Silver says carefully, "these are questions that typically come after several dates, not during the first."

"In my experience," Natasha counters, "it's better to know the parameters from the beginning." She turns her gaze directly to Peter. "What happens if one of us gets pregnant? An unplanned child changes everything."

Peter chokes slightly on his water. "That's, uh—that's definitely something we'd have to discuss if it ever became relevant."

"So you haven't thought about it," Natasha presses. She can feel herself pushing too hard, but can't seem to stop. It's like watching someone else take control of her body, sabotaging what had been, until moments ago, a surprisingly pleasant evening.

"Not specifically, no," Peter admits. "Though to be fair, with everything else going on in our lives—cosmic forces, resurrections, team dynamics—family planning hasn't exactly been at the top of the priority list."

Natasha feels a cold clarity settling over her, the familiar comfort of emotional distance reasserting itself. "That's exactly my point. This arrangement of yours seems built on impulse and emotion rather than practical consideration."

Felicia's eyes narrow dangerously. "And what's wrong with that, exactly?"

"Nothing," Natasha says with a shrug that feels too stiff, "if you're looking for a temporary diversion. But you invited Silver and me to join something that already exists between the four of you. That suggests you want something lasting."

She watches Peter's face fall slightly, and a part of her—the part that genuinely cares for him—wants to take it all back. But the words keep coming, driven by a lifetime of conditioning that equates vulnerability with danger.

"Lasting relationships require structure, planning, clear boundaries," she continues. "Not just... feelings."

The way she says "feelings" makes it sound like a contagious disease.

"That's quite the clinical approach to love," Sonja observes, her voice carrying a warrior's bluntness that Natasha might appreciate under different circumstances.

"Love is a luxury in our line of work," Natasha replies automatically. "One that often comes with catastrophic consequences."

A heavy silence falls over the table as Natasha's words land like stones in still water. Sonja feels Mary Jane's consciousness stirring within her, a whirlpool of disappointment and resignation. The warrior woman has seen enough battles to recognize when one is lost.

"I believe we have our answer," Silver says, her voice carrying neither judgment nor surprise.

Peter's face falls slightly, though he makes a valiant effort to mask his disappointment. "Well, it was worth a try," he says with forced lightness. "At least the food was good, right?"

His attempt at humor falls flat, the tension at the table too thick to be cut by a mere joke. Sonja watches as Natasha signals for the check with a subtle gesture that speaks of years of practice ending uncomfortable situations efficiently.

"I should thank you all for the evening," Natasha says, her professional mask firmly back in place. "It was... enlightening."

As the waiter brings the check, Peter reaches for it, but Silver's hand is faster. "I insist," she says, sliding her card to the waiter before anyone can protest.

They exit the restaurant in awkward formation, the earlier camaraderie evaporated like morning dew under a harsh sun. On the sidewalk, they pause in that uncomfortable moment that marks the end of failed dates throughout the ages.

"Well," Peter begins, rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess this is—"

Natasha cuts him off with a curt nod. "Goodnight," she says simply, turning toward the sleek car that awaits her at the curb.

Silver lingers a moment longer, her expression unreadable in the dim street light. "Perhaps another time," she says, her words carrying a weight that suggests she means it. "Under different circumstances."

As the two women drive away, Sonja feels the weight of Mary Jane's disappointment mingling with her own. She places a hand on Peter's shoulder, feeling the tension there.

"It was a noble attempt," she tells him, her warrior's pragmatism coming to the fore.

Felicia sighs dramatically beside them. "Well, that could have gone better," she mutters, fishing car keys from her purse. "Next time, let's stick to people who aren't professionally trained to avoid emotional vulnerability."

Peter lets out a small, genuine laugh at that, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "You might be onto something there."

To Sonja's ear, the laugh sounded more rueful. But she cannot blame him. She honestly believed they would have succeeded in convincing the two women in giving this a real chance. And for a moment, they did. But unfortunately, Sonja forgot one thing. How strong people are when it comes to being vulnerable.

"As disappointing as that was though," Peter voices, "I can't be too upset. We still got you each other, right?"

Felicia snakes her arm around his, "Without a doubt."

Sonja follows her lead, "It goes without saying."

He gets a small smile, but the moment leaves when his phone rings. He takes it out and sees who is calling, "Johnny? Why's he calling?"

Sonja recalls what her host did for the man and states, "Mary Jane set him up with one of her friends, so it's likely he is calling to brag."

Peter rolls his eyes, assuming that as well, before pressing the call button. "What do you want, Storm?"

But when his joyful demeanor leaves, Sonja knows she was wrong.

(Baxter Building, Minutes Before)

Laura travels down the corridor holding the hands of the one sleepy Franklin and one annoyed Valeria. Normally, it would be the two that find this to be insulting, but the boy is too tired to care at the moment. The girl on the other hand, her displeasure is clearly evident on her face.

"We don't have to bother mom with this," Valeria tells her sitter as they continue to walk.

Laura keeps her eyes forward as she responds with her usual monotone, "You are attempting to create another time device like the one that brought the dragon."

After that incident with the dragon, Laura learned quickly how dangerous it is to leave these two without adult supervision.

Dangerous for them and everyone else.

From the corner of her eye, she sees the young girl roll her eyes, "She doesn't know about that. And nobody got hurt."

Laura sends a side glance to the little girl.

"Nobody got permanently hurt." Val corrects herself, remembering how much Laura got hurt from that misadventure. "And we wanted to help Uncle Peter by sending back the younger version of him to his original time."

Yes. The young version of Spider-Man who called her cute back during the flag football game. Laura does not know why, but she has been interested in Spider-Man since that day. But she cannot focus on that now. She has children to deal with.

"Intentions aside, it is still a dangerous thing to be tampering with." She states, not wanting to go through another ordeal like the one with the dragon.

Since she has been here, she has been pulled into so many dangerous situations that she is starting to believe it was safer at the X-Men. And that school gets blown up every other week. That being said though, she feels more welcomed here than she ever did over there.

Laura steps into the med bay with the Richards children in tow, finding Sue monitoring Gwen's vital signs. The woman looks up, her blonde hair falling slightly over her forehead as she offers Laura a tired smile.

"Uh-oh, what did they do now," Sue says, setting down her tablet.

Laura releases the children's hands, noting how Franklin immediately rubs his eyes while Valeria crosses her arms defensively. Laura straightens her posture, hands at her sides as she prepares to report.

"I found them in Reed's lab," Laura states flatly. "They were attempting to build time displacement device."

Sue's expression shifts from tired to alarmed in an instant. "What?"

"Val said they were trying to help Peter send his younger self back to his original timeline," Laura continues, her voice maintaining its even tone despite the severity of what she's reporting. "I stopped them before they could complete the calibrations."

"We were being careful!" Valeria protests, her small face scrunched in frustration. "I triple-checked my calculations!"

The med bay doors slide open with a soft hiss, and Reed steps in, his attention fixed on a holographic display projected from his wristband. Even as he enters the room, his eyes never leave the data scrolling before him.

"Reed," Sue calls, her voice taking on that edge Laura has come to recognize as her trying-to-remain-calm tone.

"Hmm?" Reed responds absently, still not looking up.

"Your children were building another time machine," Sue says pointedly.

This finally draws Reed's attention away from his work. "They were what?" His eyes widen as he looks from Sue to the children. "Val, Franklin, is this true?"

They are interrupted when Sue's brother, Johnny, walks in. The man is dressed in nice clothing, but said clothing g is rumpled and he looks tired.

"Hey everybody," he announces, his voice carrying that particular tone Laura has come to recognize as Johnny's post-date swagger.

Sue's attention immediately shifts to her brother. "Where have you been? It's almost midnight."

"On a date," Johnny replies, flopping into a chair near Gwen's bed. "With Mary Jane's model friend. And before you ask—yes, she was exactly as shallow as advertised."

Laura notes the way his pulse quickens slightly, the subtle scent of alcohol and perfume clinging to him. He's not intoxicated, just... pleased with himself.

"If it went bad then why'd you come home late?" Franklin asks his uncle.

Said uncle does not respond, just gets a pleased smile on his face.

"Johnny," Sue sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you didn't—"

"What?" Johnny grins, leaning back in his chair. "Have a perfectly nice evening with a consenting adult? Because that's exactly what happened." He stretches, an exaggerated yawn punctuating his words. "She wasn't much for conversation, but we found other ways to pass the time."

"There are children present," Sue hisses, gesturing toward Franklin and Valeria.

Johnny rolls his eyes. "They don't even know what I'm talking about."

"I do," Valeria pipes up, her expression clinical. "You engaged in sexual intercourse."

Laura suppresses a smile at the horrified look on Sue's face.

"Val!" Sue exclaims before turning her attention back to her brother. "Johnny I thought you put this sort of behavior behind you."

Johnny groans in aggravation, "Sue give me a break will you. I went through a lot when I was gone, and I'm just trying to enjoy-!"

"NO!" Gwen Stacy wakes up and screams as she sits up.

Everyone in the room have different shocked reactions, Laura unsheathing her claws as she gets in front of the kids protectively. She sees Sue and Reed had reeled back in shock while Johnny fell off his chair and is staring at the blonde girl in shock like everyone else.

"I think you need to call, Peter."