Author's Note: As you no doubt will recognize, the first few lines of dialogue are from the film. I can't remember them verbatim, but hope I've captured the essence…
Chapter Three:
Fly By Night
"Let's get outta here."
"What?"
"Let's get outta here…just for a minute-" he whispered, cupping her face in one hand.
"No—"
"Yes—"
"No!"
"Yesyesyes—"
"I can't—if my parents see me leaving…I'm dead."
He leaned back, a mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes. "Your parents aren't gonna see you leaving."
The penny finally dropped, and Gwen laughed. "You're crazy," she murmured, kissing him softly.
Which might have been a mistake. After all, she had just finished telling him that she wasn't sure she could do this—be with him—if it meant adding another person to her mental rosary. Having to hope (rather than know) that her father would come home every night was enough…and the purple welts across Peter's chest only emphasized the menace he might face on a daily basis.
But she couldn't help herself. The one kiss became another…lengthened…deepened. She traced the hard muscle of his bicep and the line of his jaw, arching herself closer to him. A shiver ran through her as Peter's long fingers mapped the curve of her leg, right to the lace that edged her short cotton nightie.
She broke away, glancing down at his hand, dark against the thin white fabric. His eyes followed hers, roaming slowly back up her body, summoning a flush of heat as they went. Her heart was pounding full-tilt.
Maybe sneaking out wasn't such a bad idea. Swinging through the darkened streets might just be less dangerous than this fizzing proximity of skin to skin. Especially with her family clinking cocoa mugs down the hall.
"So—" she pointed with one thumb. "Out there, huh?"
Peter swallowed visibly and nodded. "Yeah—out there."
"OK, then. I'll just—" Gesturing at her clearly inadequate outfit, she stood up.
"Yep. And I'll get my suit." He sat upright, and she saw him wince.
"Wait...we've got to get you patched up first."
Minutes later, she was cutting an old grey t-shirt into strips, a tube of Neosporin and bottle of antiseptic spray beside her.
Peter's mocking grin returned. "My own Florence Nightingale," he sighed.
"Hey—don't patronize me, bugboy!" Setting the strips aside, she squirted the antiseptic spray over his wounds—perhaps more than was strictly necessary. "This might sting a little," she smirked.
"A little? Jeez—" he gasped. "Anyway, it was a compliment. She was a pioneer in her field!"
Gwen rolled her eyes, applied the Neosporin and began to wind one of the makeshift bandages around him. She had her doubts as to the effectiveness of this "treatment"—they should really go into the lab, make sure there wasn't any poison present—but it was the best she could do for the moment.
"At least I didn't compare you to the Gorgon," he remarked. The hawk-nosed ruler of the Student Health Center, the Gorgon's cotside manner was reminiscent of Nurse Ratched's.
Gwen snorted. "Don't do me any favors." She finished securing the last bandage. "You should be OK for awhile…I'm gonna put something warmer on."
"You felt pretty warm to me."
Blushing, she ducked into her walk-in closet and pulled on a t-shirt, sweater, and jeans. Her nightgown she stashed in a dark corner. She would have to wash that herself—her mother would, no doubt, have some very awkward questions about the bloodstains scattered over it like exploded roses. She slipped back into the room.
Peter stood there, fully dressed, eyes trained on the closet door.
Gwen looked behind her. "Ummm…what's so fascinating?"
"Nice closet."
"Thanks," she replied, puzzled. Then she caught the amusement in his eyes. "Wait—you can't see through walls, can you?'
"Wouldn't you like to know?" He easily dodged the tiny ruffled pillow she threw at him; she lunged, tripping on the remains of her scavenged t-shirt. He caught her against his chest and they stood there breathless for a second.
"You're full of crap," she smiled, as he bent down to kiss her. "Spiders can't see worth anything."
"Maybe…but that pink unicorn on your top shelf is missing one eye." He grinned and caught her upraised wrist, lacing his fingers through hers. "C'mon…let's go."
And they were off. At first, the swooping sensation made her disoriented…the buildings seemed to be flying at them, rather than the other way around. After a few minutes, though, her vertigo lessened; she raised her head from his shoulder and felt the wind rush across her cheeks. They were flying up…up…up…finally landing on a bare rooftop.
The cityscape took her breath away. Spread out below them, New York looked like a model of itself: the skyscrapers were fancy building blocks of brick and mirrored glass; the bridges, like Erector sets with their constant traffic of little toy cars; and Central Park was a great dark carpet of miniature trees.
If she looked up, she could actually see stars. Not many (you had to get well away from Gotham for that), but here and there an especially bright one twinkled through the darkness.
And the silence. Gwen had grown up in the city. She could sleep through honking and shouting and trains rushing by. (Only the sirens really kept her awake…for obvious reasons.) Most of the time, the cacophony blended into a kind of white noise. But up here…it was actually quiet. Even the white noise was hushed and blurred; it was one of the most peaceful places Gwen had ever been.
"So," she finally said. "This is what you do? When you're not battling giant reptiles, I mean."
Peter leaned on the ledge. "Sometimes…yeah."
"And in between trapping car thieves and muggers and drug dealers."
He shrugged this off with one hand.
Gwen shook her head. "I can't believe—"
"What?"
"I can't believe that you're out here, every night, doing all that…risking all that…while I'm safe in my cozy little bedroom."
He brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. "That's why I do it—so you can be safe."
Gwen put her hands on his chest and shook her head. "Peter—it's not—I don't want you to—"
"It's not just for you," he interrupted. "It's you, and Aunt May—the people I care about most…" He trailed off, and she realized that his list was painfully, pitifully short. But then he went on, "And everyone else out there—they all have people they care about. And if I can help them, can keep them safe too, then I have a…a responsibility to do that."
"You take too much on yourself. You're still just a teenager."
Peter clasped her cold hands in his, chafing them together. "No, Gwen. I'm not just a teenager. Whether I like it or not, I'm…I'm Spider-Man. I'm the only one that can do what I do. And so—I have to do it."
Tears glazed her eyes. He was so stupidly noble…and so careless of his own safety…it made her demand, almost angrily, "But—WHY?"
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and turned away. She just barely heard him. "Because once—I didn't. I could've helped, and I walked away. By the time I changed my mind—" his voice cracked—"it was too late."
She put her arms around him then, forcing him to accept the embrace he'd refused, the day after his uncle died. She held on, willing him to share his pain, until he clutched her to him and buried his face in her hair.
They stayed like that, locked together a thousand feet in the air, until he stopped shaking, until the tears dried and the warmth came back into his cold cheek.
Finally, he raised his head and looked down at her. "God—Gwen—you must think—I just—" He stumbled over the words…but everything he felt was in his eyes anyway.
She smiled shakily, putting one finger on his lips. "Shhh—I know. But just remember this—you're not alone, Peter Parker. Not anymore. Don't think I'm gonna let you have all the fun, either."
It wasn't until much later, when they landed back on her fire escape, that the dark side of the bargain she'd made with herself came back to her.
"You headed home now?"
"Yeah…probably."
Yeah. Probably. Maybe. Doubtfully. There was always another lowlife, another crime, another victim. Not to mention the Lizard, and some guy with a star on his wrist.
She kissed him, fiercely, trying to show him the promise, the possibility, of other nights they might have together. Trying to convince him not to take stupid risks, to keep himself alive for one more day.
"Be. Careful," she managed.
"I will," he breathed into her neck. Then, with an indeterminate growl in his throat, he kissed her once more and was gone.
She watched him slinging his way out of her sight, with one thought:
Come back to me.
She didn't sleep at all that night.
In case you're curious, I only have one or two more chapters to "fill in," before I embark on the uncharted waters post-movie. Hope you're still enjoying the ride!
