A/N: I don't own The Amazing Spider-man/Spider-man or any of its characters. If I did, the Lizard/Curt Connors would get a kick-ass redemption arc in Sinister Six. (If Rhys Ifans isn't going to be in it, I STG I have no interest in it.) I'd bring back Gwen ala the Venom symbiote, but instead of the thing acting as a parasite that basically possesses her, she'd be in total control of it/her abilities and wouldn't have amnesia or any BS like that. And in the first part of the movie she'd be super pissed at Connors, (because of her dad, obviously, and we got literally NONE of Gwen's reaction towards the fact that HER MENTOR killed her father, FFS, they showed 10X more of Peter's reaction towards George's death than Gwen's reaction) but in the end, he does something epic to prove himself and ends up winning her forgiveness and Carnage!Gwen (it did actually happen in the comics, but my version would be very different) and the Lizard actually end up being the protagonists of the movie because hey, even if it's essentially a villain origin movie, there has to be a protagonist of some sort, right? I mean, Dane Dehaan is a great actor and has the potential to make Harry Osborn a super compelling character, but will I ever be sympathetic towards someone who killed Gwen Stacy? Probably not. Anyway, this is a plot bunny for another time and I'm rambling on about nonsense, so without further delay, chapter 11!

From the moment the warm sunlight hits her face, there's an undeniable shift in the air that becomes evident in the few seconds it takes her to drift back into consciousness. The shift had been so abrupt that for a moment, although she'd been well aware of them for the past three days, she's actually forgotten her surroundings.

The window, large and generous enough to have bathed the entire room in light, giving it an entirely different feel than the one she'd been staying in previously. What she doesn't forget, however, is the owner of the arms that were currently wrapped around her, causing her to wonder for a brief moment if her exposure to the serum, no matter how small it had been, was causing her to become as aware of him as he seemed to be of her.

He hadn't bothered to untangle himself from her this time, she'd noticed. His body still pressed flush against hers, his arms wrapped around her firmly enough to be protective, but not quite tight enough to be considered possessive.

She isn't consumed by panic, or even shame for that matter, but she doesn't dare stir much beside him for fear of him waking up.

She knows exactly what would happen if he did. He'd acknowledge her groggily with a fondness in his eyes that even sleep couldn't mask. She'd respond in kind, her own feelings being poorly concealed in her now green eyes that matched the ones staring back at her. His mouth would find hers again, and in the recent afterglow of what had conspired so recently, the events of the night before would repeat themselves.

She may very well forget everything else. Her family. The boy whose love and trust she'd essentially betrayed in favor of a dalliance with someone who should've hardly been considered worthy of sacrificing her other relationships over.

As quietly and gently as she can possibly muster, she slowly eases her way to extract herself from his arms, moving so slow and meticulously that the maneuver may have taken her at least a few minutes to accomplish.

His hold on her hadn't been overly tight, so getting out of his embrace hadn't been the problem, it was getting out of it without waking him that she was most worried about.

She gets out of bed successfully, looking at him quickly on the other side to make sure she hadn't inadvertently roused him from sleep, only to see him still lying soundly on his side, his left arm spread wide to the opposite side where she'd just been, as if he'd been grasping for something that was just out of his reach.

For the first time in awhile he finally looked at peace, content even. She's torn between her need to retreat in order to be alone to sort out her thoughts and absorb what had just happened and wanting to crawl back into her spot beside him and never leave.

She wanted to feel him again. To wake him gently with the light touch of her fingers gliding along the side of his face, for them to be together as they had just been before, only this time bathed in the light of day, the sun highlighting the gold of his hair and igniting the light in his emerald eyes.

The latter decision, albeit the more desirable choice, just wasn't an option for her at the moment.

She searches for a garment to cover herself with, her eyes falling immediately on her blue sweater, her favorite sweater, which was now lying on the floor of the room, broken and discarded, an incision in the middle splitting it clean in half.

She enters the bathroom, grateful to spot one of the signature bathrobes with the tacky "O" monogrammed on the top near the collar, pulling it on over herself and tying it quickly, not wanting to test Connors' enhanced hearing and senses any longer than necessary. She tip-toes out of the room almost comically, holding the doorknob delicately in her hand as to not cause a clicking sound when she shuts the door behind her.

When she's successfully out, it takes all the discipline she has not to sigh loudly in relief at her seemingly triumphant get away. Especially in the wake of the one she'd attempted just the night before that had failed so miserably…

She takes the elevator on a descent to the forty-ninth floor of the tower in hopes of finding some sort of edible breakfast, however unappetizing and unappealing all of the frozen meals in the refrigerator in the break room had looked to her before.

Just as she'd predicted, although there was a vast yogurt selection, the choices of frozen TV dinners weren't quite as impressive. She lands on another container of Greek yogurt, (yet again) and a TV dinner with an image on the package that appeared so aesthetically pleasing that she had to constantly remind herself to keep her expectations at a realistic level while she heated it up in the microwave.

She loads up a filter with coffee grounds and switches on the coffee maker. Being that the beverage had once been a staple in her diet every morning back when things in her life were at least somewhat normal, she'd decided that she was due for a cup this morning.

It's funny, she thinks, how having a boyfriend turned vigilante with genetically enhanced abilities could prove to somehow be a normal existence to her in contrast to the way the events in her life had taken her here of all places.

She sits down with her mug of coffee and makeshift breakfast, eyeing the contents in front of her not with discontent, but more of a sense of apathy than anything.

She missed her mother's cooking. She missed her mother. She missed her entire family. She missed Peter. She missed MJ and Harry, and hell, she even missed school. The more that she thinks about it, she realizes that it's Monday morning. She was missing school, something she never did unless stricken by some sort of deadly illness, and for some reason this thought strikes her like a punch to the stomach.

She thought of Harry and MJ, sitting in their usual spot at lunch outside on the grass, trying to act like nothing was wrong, like it was no different from any other day, but constantly plagued by the fact that their two best friends weren't present to enjoy the day with them.

People would discuss her and Peter maybe, would mention them in passing as people they knew, whether they actually knew them personally or if they just knew them from around the halls of Midtown Science, they'd bring them up once or twice maybe.

They'd discuss Peter's current state, speculate on when and if he'd ever recover. They'd say they knew he was Spider-man all along, that it had been obvious for whatever arbitrary reason when in reality a significant part of the student body most likely had no idea.

Some of them had probably guessed, it wasn't that difficult to figure out after all. Peter hadn't exactly been subtle about his then newly acquired abilities, not hesitating to flaunt them to the public if the situation had called for it.

Okay, so maybe that time in the auditorium with Flash had been somewhat of an isolated incident, but in the end, Gwen guessed that even that one instance had still probably been enough to leave a lasting impression on anyone who had witnessed it.

Flash. She missed him too, her friend who she still sometimes tutored to this day. It was mid April, in a little over a month finals would be coming up. He'd want her help with studying of course. It wouldn't be that hard for him to find another tutor, but somehow the thought of him having to study with someone else because of her absence just makes the knot in the pit of her stomach grow even tighter.

And then or course, there was prom. Gwen had never been that excited at the prospect of it, not in her earlier high school years and not even that much in junior year, but the fact that prom was something that was practically mandatory for seniors, this year she'd actually been somewhat excited to go.

And then of course, she had Peter. Events like that, she felt, were only fun when you had the right person to go with.

MJ, of course, had been ecstatic about it right off the bat. So much so that she'd made Harry promise that he'd go with her at the beginning of their senior year. Harry in turn had of course feigned reluctance at the prospect of being tied down to a date so far in advance, but in the end Gwen could see that it was all just for show. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Gwen could see that Harry's feelings towards MJ were blatantly obvious, even if sometimes she couldn't.

After prom and finals there would be graduation. Would she even make it? Would she be gone from school and her former life long enough that she wouldn't even qualify to graduate? She only had two absences under her belt from getting the flu earlier in the semester, and they were allotted ten absences per semester, but the duration for how long she'd have to stay at the tower was impossible to guess. Her stay there could range anywhere between another hour and another week.

She may never make it to Oxford after all. And the irony of it all was that her reason for missing out on her scholarship would be completely on the shoulders of the person who'd gotten her the scholarship with his letter of recommendation in the first place.

Her wouldn't let her fail high school, would he? As her former mentor he surely wouldn't jeopardize her education? It was another thing that was impossible for her to guess, being that she had absolutely no idea where his head was at the moment.

You sure knew where it was last night.

"Oh would you shut up?!" She fires back at her subconscious, knowing that it was the kind of perverted retort that Phillip would've come up with, but being that she'd become so acquainted with his humor over the years, some of it had unfortunately rubbed off on her.

She pounds her forehead against the table in front of her, eliciting an audible clink from the mug of coffee next to her food.

"Ugh, what have you done?" She asks herself, head still on the table, wondering if for a fleeting moment if talking to oneself was one of the many side effects of the serum.

Given the fact that she'd already done it in the past, and that her dose had probably been the tiniest bit possible, she'd guess that it probably wasn't.

Even now, she couldn't for the life or her think of the reason why she'd went through with it. Well, actually the reasoning behind it was pretty simple really. Perhaps the most obvious answer to any question she'd ever posed to herself actually, but even in spite of that, she still felt the need to wrack her brain for exactly why she let it happen.

Her resolve should've been stronger, like it had been earlier that night in the lab when she'd pushed him off of her. It wasn't as if he would've forced himself on her if she'd resisted him, that much being obvious from the fact that he'd backed off immediately in the lab when she'd realized they couldn't go through with what they'd been about to do.

All she would've had to do was to tell him to stop and he would've, it would've been so simple.

Now things between them were anything but simple, as if things hadn't already been complicated enough between them before this other extra element had come into play.

What would he think this meant? That she'd complied so easily? That in that moment she'd wanted him just as much as he'd wanted her? Would he think that she didn't love Peter anymore? Would he think that she was in love with him?

Was she?

Of course she still loved Peter. Her actions of the prior night had nothing to do with him whatsoever. After all, if she'd been thinking about him at all at the time, there's no way she would've went through with it in the first place.

Or so she tells herself, anyway.

She shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have slept with someone who's psyche was so utterly unbalanced that she had no idea what the repercussions for their little indiscretion would be. In reality, it had hardly been her fault. He'd been the one to initiate it, and he always had, it turned out.

He wasn't the same person he'd been before the serum, that much was completely obvious to her. She had no idea what their interactions would be like since the events of the previous night.

He was so far from the man she'd known before, that at the mention of failing due to an excessive amount of absences, he'd probably just shrug it off and delude himself into thinking she was perfectly content with just going on staying in the tower and doing nothing but screw him all day until she eventually starved and flunked out of school.

When she realizes just how appealing this option really sounds to her, she pounds her head against the table one more time for good measure, hoping maybe this bit of self inflicted punishment would knock some sense back into her head.

She lifts her head slowly, once again eyeing the microwaved concoction in front of her, realizing that in the midst of her deep thoughts of her current predicament, it had probably started to grow cold by now.

She picks up the plastic fork she'd pulled out of one of the drawers, impaling what appears to be a tiny piece of steak and lifts the morsel to her mouth.

She chews it slowly, contemplatively, as if trying to decide whether or not it actually tasted good or if she was just starving enough at this point to believe that anything would taste good.

When she's eaten the whole thing accompanied by her yogurt and coffee, she feels no sense of true fullness even after having consumed a complete meal that would've made her full on any other occasion.

Probably, she thinks, because it hadn't been food that she'd been hungry for after all.

She can't decide if she's more relieved or slightly alarmed at the fact that he isn't in the room anymore when she goes back in for her clothes. (Or, what was left of them, she should say)

Before coming back up to the fifty-second floor, she'd debated on whether she should avoid that particular room altogether, or if she should just swallow her pride and face him and the aftermath of what had transpired there not long before sooner rather than later.

In the end, she realizes that any attempt to avoid him was pointless, and she'd proven this hypothesis over and over again throughout her stay there at the tower. When in countless, if not in all of the situations where she'd set out to avoid him, he always ended up intentionally seeking her out, always knowing her exact location in the tower at any given time no matter where she was.

So when it came down to it, she'd decided to go back to the room. Not the one she'd known previously in all of her other days there, but the one where she'd just stayed for the one night and the room she assumed was the only one on that floor which possessed a window. She'd made a mental note of the room number before she'd left it earlier that morning. 5207. The number being easy to remember since the 52 obviously represented the floor they were on and the 7 being easy since it was always typically associated with being lucky.

If Phillip were there, he probably would've had some ammunition for another joke right about now…

But where the hell had Connors wandered off to? Was he looking for her? Had he gone back to the DNA laboratory to resume his research on the serum? As much as she doubted it, was he going to make some attempt to avoid her after what had happened between the two of them? Had he gone out for Shawarma somewhere? As unlikely as it sounded, he clearly didn't care as much as she'd thought about being detained by the police if anyone ever ended up spotting him out in the open outside of the tower. So for him to leave the tower and wander out into the outside world didn't really seem that outlandish after all.

She chances a look over at the bed, the comforter and sheets in a crumpled mass. The contents of the bed looked no more disheveled than that of any other unmade bed she'd seen before, didn't even look any worse than what her bed at home would resemble if she ever decided to leave it unmade. But somehow the fact that looking at the configuration of the crumpled bedding seemed to bring her back to the moment (er, moments) in question, the slight disarray of sheets was enough to bring yet another blush creeping up to her cheeks.

She wonders if it smells like him, if it smells like them. Wonders exactly what their scents mingled together might smell like. Wonders if the scent of sweat and their coupling had somehow clung to the sheets even long after they'd gone.

Seeing that the door was open and that it was clearly unoccupied, she ventures into the bathroom, discarding her bathrobe on the floor and stepping into the shower.

She must smell like him too, she thought. When he'd been everywhere, when he'd been surrounding her in every way possible, how could she not?

She wants to wash him off of her. Not out of repulsion or any kind of disgust towards him, but because it wouldn't make things any easier if during their next encounter, his scent was still clinging persistently to her skin.

The thought was almost animalistic in nature, the idea that smelling of him could constitute some sort of claim, that he could feel some possessive nature towards her simply because he smelt himself on her.

There weren't any guarantees that he would think this. It was all just an assumption and a precaution on her part really, but based upon his behavior in the past few days and the primal, almost territorial way in which he seemed to regard her recently, it was a safe bet that she couldn't be too far off from what his thought process would be.

She lingers in the shower longer than necessary, probably scrubbing at her skin harder than needed as well, going over each area about three times before she decides that she's clean enough.

She towels off with one of the towels that are kept beneath the sink, retrieving her bathrobe and putting it back on once she's deemed herself sufficiently dry.

She's grateful when she exits the bathroom to see that he still hasn't reappeared in the room, her surroundings as undisturbed as they'd been when she'd reentered the room moments before to discover his absence.

She searches the floor again for her discarded clothing, knowing that it was partially in vein since her shirt was damaged, but feeling the need to cover herself with something other than the white robe at the same time.

She finds her underwear, at least, near the foot of the bed and feels some semblance of her modesty returned when she puts them back on beneath the robe. Her skirt is recovered shortly after that, along with her stockings that for some odd reason end up being found on opposite sides of the room. Her bra turns up quickly too, without too much effort of searching on her part, but the fact remained that her sweater had been destroyed, and even with most of her ensemble in tact, she couldn't simply walk around the tower without a shirt.

She wanders over to the large window, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin for the second time that day. From this high up, she had a pretty good view of the city, well, everything that was in a relatively close vicinity to Oscorp Tower at least. Her eyes wander over the streets, most of the ones near the tower still being devoid of life or activity, but she imagines the other parts of the city, the ones where the hustle and bustle hadn't ceased. The New Yorkers hailing cabs and driving off to their Monday morning commute, cursing under their breath when they ended up stuck in traffic.

Life just simply went on. Without Peter, without Spider-man.

Without her.

The knob on the door finally clicks, the sudden noise amongst the stillness she'd eased into almost being enough to make her jump out of her skin, but when he enters she's proud of herself considering the fact that she hadn't let her surprise register visibly at all.

His expression is somber, again. Which she guesses she's grateful for being that these days, she never really knew what she was going to get with him. He's also fully clothed, unlike the night before, another fact that she's grateful for.

The robe she currently wore was a modest one, long enough to leave only her feet showing and with a neckline snug enough to leave only her neck exposed, and yet somehow, for some reason, the moment his eyes fall on her, she instinctively holds the neckline together with her left hand, holding it in place as if the ample coverage already provided by the robe wasn't enough for her.

"Morning." He breaks the silence first.

She simply gives him a curt nod in return, still holding her neckline closely together. She wanted to ask him where he'd been, but didn't want to come off as co-dependant or overly concerned about keeping constant tabs on his whereabouts.

It wouldn't do her much good to ask anyway, as there were only a few plausible answers as to where he could've gone to. He'd either a.) Been looking for her b.) Gone back to the lab to continue research on the serum or c.) For some idiotic reason, he'd left the tower to obtain something he was in desperate need of, putting his freedom and life in jeopardy at the expense of something that could in no way be worth the cost of leaving. The third option, of course, was the most ridiculous, but at this point her life didn't seem as if it was firmly based upon much realism.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence and her train of thought once again.

"What you said last night, about my letter getting you into Oxford. I highly doubt you required mine or anyone else's help getting in. They would've been fools not to accept you, and that goes for anywhere else for that matter."

It's almost enough to make her blush again, for what wouldn't been nearly the millionth time in the span of a mere three days.

"Thanks, but, it's not as if it matters anymore. I highly doubt they'll ever accept me now."

"Why do you say that?" Concern has registered noticeably in his voice.

"If my absences at Midtown keeping stacking up the way I expect they will, and I end up failing because of it, college probably won't be much of an option for me anymore."

Connors is silent for awhile. He averts his eyes downward from hers, as if to actually stop to consider the weight of her words, as if perhaps he was actually thinking logically and finally realizing the full negative impact of keeping her there was going to have on her life.

She stares down at the floor, preparing herself for whatever outburst he may have at her declaration, readying herself for the possibility of him rubbing her promise to him back in her face, to state that she'd made her own decision and that she'd simply have to live with any of the repercussions that came along with it, and that if she was so concerned for her education that she shouldn't have said that she'd stay there with him in the first place.

Before she even has time to realize it, he's made his way across the room and is standing directly in front of her, putting his left hand on the side of her face to raise her eyes up to meet his, the first contact of skin since their last encounter almost being enough to startle her.

"You'll be home by the week's end. I won't jeopardize Oxford for you. I know how hard you've worked for this, I've been with you almost every step of the way. I'm not going to take this away from you. No matter what, you'll be out of here by the end of the week, I promise you that."

In that exact moment, she has no idea what the proper reaction to a declaration like that could be. A combination of conflicting emotions and impulses seized through her all at once. Did she thank him? Did she ask him why in the world she'd have to stay there until the end of the week in the first place? Why the deadline? Why not just let her go home right then and there?

Another question had surfaced in her mind: Did she even want to go home now? Or the even more loaded question yet: Would she even be ready to go home by the week's end?

She moves her hand to cover the one that's resting on her cheek, still not failing to be surprised at the warmth radiating from it.

"Okay." Is all she gives him. She almost thanks him, but refused to show any gratitude towards him giving her back the freedom that was rightfully hers in the first place.

He had that look in his eyes again. Tenderness. The look of his that she was able to bear least of all. Less than menace, less than the predatory glint that the Lizard almost always directed her way.

She wants to kiss him again, partially so she wouldn't have to look at his expression anymore, part way because the softness that had crept over his features was doing something odd to her heart. But she doesn't, because she knows exactly what and where it would lead to, and it just so happened to be a place that she wasn't prepared to revisit again so soon.

His takes his hand slowly away from her face, her hand that had been covering his dropping along with it, even when his hand had dropped to his side, her fingertips linger on the back of his hand longer than necessary before she finally retracts them.

"Were you doing more research in the lab? For the serum?" She realized then in that moment just how literally unaware she was of the research he'd been conducting on it since his attempt to unleash it upon the city, and for a moment she wonders if his intentions had been as malicious as they were previously.

"No, not yet. I feel as though my mind's so occupied by other things that I'm not even all that sure I'd be of much use today."

By other things, she could probably guess what he'd meant, but even so, she wasn't about to ask him to clarify the meaning behind his words.

"You seem like you're getting closer. To keeping your right arm, I mean. If that's what you're trying to do."

"Yes, I suppose I am. In a perfect world, I'd have the arm back without all the – repercussion that always seem to come along with it. But I've unfortunately discovered that the pesky transformation always seems to be a side effect of the serum, no matter how many times I adjust the components, the result is always more or less the same."

She clears her throat, choosing her next words carefully.

"What if, you could find a way to restore the arm, without the side effect of the Lizard transformation? What if we, could find a way to restore it permanently, without that happening?"

He looks at her in slight bafflement, but he wasn't completely incredulous as she'd expected he might be at her suggestion.

"I know it seems stupid, seeing as how you've basically taught me everything I know, but maybe I could give you some sort of insight that you didn't have before. Maybe I could in some way help you figure this out."

"That's out of the question." His tone is final, adamant.

"Everything that's happened, everything that you've went through, it doesn't all have to be for nothing."

Just like that, he turns his back on her and leaves the room, making in blatantly obvious that he was finished with the conversation.

It was too bad that she wasn't.

She follows after him as he storms away from her, right on his heels, not allowing him to cut her off before she's finished. It was a curious role reversal, her chasing after him for a change, it seemed that things really had come full circle after all.

"Why are you so against this? What harm could it do?" She yells at his retreating back.

He pivots quickly to face her before she has time to register it, so fast that she nearly collides into his chest.

"It's not that I don't think you can help me, it's that you can't aid me in this particular research."

She gives him a quizzical look, imploring him to elaborate more on what he's just said.

"The research on this particular serum doesn't even technically belong to me— or Richard, anymore. As Doctor Ratha so astutely pointed out to me, Oscorp now possesses all ownership of it completely."

"So your working on it without their consent is technically illegal?"

"Exactly, and not only that, but if you aided me in this research in any way, I'm sure Osborn or the board would find some way to charge you as an accessory for conspiring to commit an act of terrorism against the city."

"Is that what you were planning on doing with it? Again?"

"No, of course not. But they don't know that."

"How do we even know they'd find out I was helping you with this?"

"I'm not prepared to take that chance."

"Well I am, and it's not really your choice to make, is it?"

He takes a step closer to her, placing both hands on her shoulders.

"Gwen, you have your entire life ahead of you, mine is behind me. Don't risk your future for a lost cause."

She meets his eyes point blank, hoping he understands that she was grasping the complete severity of the situation, that she was completely aware of the monumental risk she was taking.

"It doesn't have to be."

His expression is the picture of contemplation, which gives her the hope that maybe he'd come around after all.

"Fine, but on one condition."

"You seem to have those a lot." She can't control the smirk pulling at her lips.

"If the authorities ever ask you about it, about the research and if you had anything to do with it, you deny that you had any involvement in it whatsoever. I will not take you down with me. No matter what they ask you, you had nothing to do with anything that involves that serum. It doesn't matter how minimal your involvement in it was or will be, doesn't matter who you are or who your father is, if they find that you've been attempting to make adjustments to their research in any way, they will do whatever they can to make an example out of you. Which, considering your circumstances, seems completely outlandish, but believe me Gwen, you don't know these people like I do."

She pauses for a moment, absorbing the full weight of what he's just said. She wanted to help him get his arm back, but the only way she could do that was to let Connors take full accountability and to essentially take no responsibility of her own for making adjustments to a serum that was technically illegal to be associated with in any way.

"Okay."

Truthfully when the time came she didn't know what she'd do. Connors had a point, her future was too valuable to simply throw away, and in the grand scheme of things, her involvement in any research that concerned the serum would be so minimal compared to what Connors had done with it that it almost wouldn't even be worth anyone looking into it.

He nods, appearing to have gained back some of his composure from earlier, but still looking none too thrilled about getting Gwen involved in research that could potentially risk her entire future.

"Alright well, let's get started then I suppose. But first things first…"

His eyes scan her entire form from head to toe, taking in her current appearance. Not in a predatory manner, but more assessing than anything. Still, his eyes darting over her body like that was enough to make her heartbeat accelerate ten fold.

"Don't you have anything – proper, to wear?"

"I did, but you sort of destroyed my only shirt last night, and as you probably know, I didn't exactly pack a bag. I didn't anticipate an extended stay or anything." She stated as matter-of-factly as she could.

"Right well…fair enough. I'll be back." He turns away from her, proceeding on the path he was on before, going towards the elevators.

"Where are you going?!" She asks in a half concerned, half exasperated tone.

He's already made his way to the elevators by the time he responds. The room they'd been in before wasn't far from them, so he was still within reasonable speaking distance from her.

"I'm going to remedy the situation. I feel obligated to being that I'm responsible for your predicament."

She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing, did he just tell her that he was leaving the tower? There couldn't be anything available for her to wear actually there in the tower, so of course he was talking about leaving, right?

"Be careful!" She yells in his direction, trying to hold her voice steady, hoping he won't sense the obvious worry in her tone.

"Never seem to take your own advice, do you?" He's smirking wider than she's possibly seen in what felt like a long time, a real smile, not the menacing or benevolent one she's received so many times from the Lizard. He looks at her straight on after stepping inside the elevator, leaving her with those parting words before the doors close on him.

A smile finds its way to her lips, contemplating the response to the last words he said to her.

No, I guess it turns out I don't.

A/N: Okay, so I totally realize that in an earlier chapter, Gwen was totally against the idea of helping Connors out with anything that involved the serum. But I just wanted you guys to know that her change of heart here isn't due to OOC-ness, but more has to do with the fact that at first when she came to the tower, she was convinced that he was using it for malicious purposes, like, maybe attempting to unleash it on the city again, etc. In this chapter, however, when she's finally realized what he's set out to do with it (get his arm back, like he'd set out to do in the first place before the whole Lizard thing happened) she feels the need to help him finish what he's started especially considering all that he's lost because of it. Also, I'm totally aware that Gwen doesn't owe him anything and should feel no obligation to him whatsoever, which she doesn't, but hey, I mean, it's Gwen. And don't heroes always feel compelled to help the downtrodden? And she's obviously starting to catch some major feelings for the guy, in case that wasn't made blatantly obvious. XD