Not the longest chapter, I know, but at least I updated! This is one has a bit of relationship drama in it, so enjoy!


The inside was just as glittery as the outside. Chandeliers swung from the vaulted ceilings like translucent testaments to the wealth of society suspended above the ballroom floor, dripping crystals that refracted their inner glow across all shadows that may cross their path. Mother-of-pearl was inlaid in the marble floors in an art deco fashion. Round tables lined the wall and clustered around the front of a stage upon which a fake red ribbon fastened between two poles was meantto represent the ribbon on the actual bridge and when cut would release a rush of symbolic gratitude that would not be lost on the heroes. They've got their own bridge now. Yay for them.

A band was playing a light jazz theme as Warren and Max entered the ballroom. A waiter offered them both champagne and Max took a glass, downing it in one gulp when he was out of sight.

"Slow down, Kujo," Warren teased as Max shook her head as if to dispel any unwelcome thoughts.

"I'm going to need a lot more where that came from to survive tonight," Max muttered.

"Never been to one of these things before, huh?" he took the glass from her and set it back down on the waiter's tray.

"I've been to one too many," Max said bitterly. "But let's talk about you, Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Broody."

"What do you want to know?" His face didn't betray any emotion.

Max crossed her arms. "Things," she said cryptically.

Warren resisted rolling his eyes. "I come from a long line of business men. My father, Warren Worthington II, knows your father because they occasionally clash on business matters. That's all you need to know."

"Huh," she said, looking him up and down. Max narrowed her eyes. "How do you know so much about me?"

"It's not me," Warren said emphatically. "It's the X-Men. We've known about you and your Flock for a long time. Even offered you a safe haven once, but you never came."

"We thought it was a trap," Max said.

"You're still welcome at the Academy if you and the Flock want to study with us." Warren's blue eyes shone with sincerity and sent Max into shock. He didn't know.

A hush came over Max and she averted his gaze. "The rest of the Flock is dead."

"Oh." The realization settled over Warren like new fallen snow. "Oh, I really am sorry, Max."

"Yeah? Well get in line, bucko." Max picked up another glass of champagne and this time Warren didn't stop her.


It was a lot easier to get into the party than Peter thought it would be.

"Pass please," the bouncer said flatly. He was a stout fellow with an unfortunately rectangular face emphasized by a starkly cut flat top hairdo. He looked like he belonged in the Crimea, not an Upper East Side party.

Peter fumbled in his suit pocket for the Daily Bugle employee pass. A smiling 18-year-old Peter stared out from the laminated cardstock. The pass was due to expire in a few months when he turned twenty one.

The bouncer looked at the card, looked at Peter, looked at the camera, and grunted with a nearly imperceptible nod towards the door.

Peter thanked him and entered the gala, which was just beginning to warm up with the cocktail hour. Guests were conversing in various corners of the room, some couples had even started to dance. The mayor of New York City sat chatting with a blue man with round spectacles. Peter raised his camera and snapped a few photos.

As he wormed his way through the pockets of party goers people began to notice him less and less, as if he was just a piece tastefully decorated stature to avoid or a floor lamp. Peter didn't like to be thought of as a lamp, but as furniture went it was less humiliating than being an ottoman or a Lay-Z-Boy.

He was rounding the south corner of the ballroom when a hand shot out and snatched him by the back of the collar, pulling him into a hidden service closet. He ducked, wrenching his suit out of the hand's grasp, and pushed the attacker up against one wall with his forearm pressed on their throat.

"Hey stranger." Max's crooked grin shone in the dim lighting of the closet. Peter rook his arm off of her neck, his camera bounding against his chest.

"God, Max, you scared the crap out of me." He let out an exasperated sigh and took his camera off from around his neck. He set it down on the shelf to his left.

"Have I ever told you how hot you look in a suit?" He could feel Max wind her hands around his waist and pull him in close.

His anger began to dissipate with the compliment. "You've never seen me in a suit," he said with a roll of the eyes and a sly grin.

"All the more reason to keep wearing them," Max replied, raking her eyes over the well-cut black fabric decorating his shoulders.

"You know, you should probably get back to the party," Peter said. "Someone might notice that you're missing."

"Yeah, yeah." Max stood on her tiptoes, her nose barely brushing up against his and their lips tantalizingly close. "Less talking, more kissing."

Peter was roped into a fiercely passionate kiss that he eventually leaned into, ruffling more than a few feathers, but he felt that is was mostly Max kissing. Peter wanted to kiss her, he loved kissing her, but he was more worried about what would happen when they were found by a stray waiter or serving maid. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy it (he really did, a lot) it just meant that he was a bit more cautious. If anything, Peter was the prude in the relationship. Max didn't have such inhibitions to limit her because she barely had any consequences as is. If her fathers found them Peter was pretty sure he would be worse for wear, whereas Max would walk away with a slap on the wrist and some injured pride.

"Max," Peter tried to say.

"Mmhmm?" She hummed and continued to kiss him with her eyes shut firmly against the outside world.

"Max," Peter said with more force, pushing her away as gently as possible. She got the message and took a step back, peering up at him with her big brown eyes.

"Yeah, I get it," Max mumbled. "The party awaits."

"But..." Peter snaked his arm around her wait, regretting his decision after seeing the look on her face. "Maybe just one more kiss."

"Yes!" Max said triumphantly. "I will corrupt your young mind soon enough."

"We'll see about that."

And they kissed, but one kiss turned into two, which turned into four, which (if you carry the twelve) turned into much, much more involving sweaty palms and the removal of suit jackets in the confined space of the janitor's closet. But it didn't end up progressing very far as the door swung wide open with a flood of lamplight. Max and Peter sprung apart as a very angry Warren stood to full height (which wasn't much taller than Max, but impressive nonetheless).

"Max," Warren growled, pulling her out of the room by the wrist. "I'll deal with you later," he added pointedly to Peter before slamming the door closed.

"Get your hands off of me!" Max was five second away from judo flipping his ass.

"You really arm a problem child, aren't you?" Warren seethed, more angry at Max than the fact that she was feeling up the event photographer in a broom cupboard. "Drinking, sex, what's next, drugs?"

Max met his eyes with defiance. "You don't even know me," she said scathingly. "I met you all of five minutes ago and you think you can lecture me on what I can and can't do?"

"I know you're in a bad place right now, but your parents deserve better!" Warren gripped her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. "How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were having a quickie with the hired help in a closet?"

"Don't you even dare call him that!" The simmering to of anger inside Max boiled over. Her fists began to shake with rage. "He is my boyfriend, and we've been going out for weeks so excuse me if I want to kiss him. I didn't know that was against some arbitrary and misogynistic rules!" She turned on her heel and stormed away from Warren, the soles of her shoes clicking against the floor.

"Where are you going?" Warren reached out a hand to hold her back but Max flipped him onto his back in one deft move.

"I was leaving so I didn't smash your brains out all over this pretty little floor," she twisted his arm to the point of breaking with a malicious smile. "But I guess that's not an option."

A deafening boom came from the main ballroom, interrupting their tryst with scattered screams.

"Shit," Max said. "Don't think this gets you off the hook."

"Same goes for you." Warren countered. They exchanged a glance, switching into hero mode and leapt up to investigate.

Meanwhile, Peter was leaving the small room when his camera knocked Max's beaded clutch open on the floor. A spark of red fabric peeked out from the left corner and he bent down to pick it up, surprised to see the mask of the infamous Spider-Man. He stared in amazement at the thing and glanced to check that the coast was clear before pulling it on.

Peter Parker was back in action.


Done! Hopefully the next chapter will be written sooner. I'll try my best to update sooner, but now I must go and write the next chapter of LWTO. And the question of the day is...

What was it that interrupted the gala?

Review with your answer!

Also, I opened up an author's blog on tumblr, the url is acadia-cor. I'll post manips, gifs, graphics, and sneak peeks relating to my fics. You can also ask me pretty much anything and I'll answer it. If you want to follow my multi-fandom personal blog, that one is bells-in-a-hand-basket.

So doooo it, follow both acadia-cor and bells-in-a-hand-basket on tumblr!

-Acca