The snow seemed to hit Peter harder as he swung, half-blinded by Black Cat's revelation, through the streets of New York City. He barely felt the dull pain still shooting down his leg, firing webs at random, feeling almost disoriented by what it was that he had to do. All around him the flakes continued to fall, fast and heavy, melting within seconds of clinging to the eyes of his mask. Part of him wanted to find a way around Black Cat's logic, to try and convince himself that there was some other way. It was a losing battle, however. At that point, three of Doctor Octavius' robots had attacked him. He'd encountered them enough to realize that they'd honed in on him and him alone every time. Not only was he putting his loved ones in danger, but staying in New York would only serve to put the city in even more peril, and he wasn't going to be responsible for more senseless damage and death on the Big Apple's soil.

I won't let myself be the reason that people get hurt anymore, he thought with grim determination as he swung first to the building near the Bugle where'd he'd changed earlier that day. Swinging past Below Decks, Peter felt a painful stab of regret. It seemed completely surreal to him that his entire day had gone into a tailspin since he'd gone to meet MJ. He had half a mind to throw his civilian clothes over his costume and dip into the restaurant, at the very least just to see her one last time and offer some lame explanation as to why he had to leave. No, he told himself as he rushed by the building in a blur, I can't give her the chance to try and change my mind. As much as the thought of never seeing Mary Jane again killed him, he didn't trust his resolve to hold should he so much as get a glimpse of her before he left.

But where? Just how far away is safe enough? He had no idea just how Doctor Octavius' robots tracked him. It seemed almost unbelievable that even Felicia had seen more than he had in terms of the capabilities of the machines. If only he'd thought to actually look at the contents of the hard drive before handing off to Octavius, then he could have had a better handle on what it was that the robots could actually do. Yeah, and then what? He thought savagely as he wrenched his backpack out from under the radiator he'd stored it under. The second you saw what those damn things could have done you'd have jumped ship...and then you never would've met MJ. Hastily threw his civilian clothes over his costume, stuffing his mask into his backpack and leaping onto the wall of the alley. Somehow not meeting Mary Jane would have made the whole notion of his leaving easier.

You're an idiot, he thought, standing upright on the pavement and heading off into the continuing downpour of snow, You know what you're problem is, Parker? You keep thinking that there's room for other people in Spider-Man's life, and there's never going to be. Look at Felicia. As far as you know, she's all by her little lonesome and she seems to be doing just fine. Part of him, a part that he tried to fight against as hard as possible, toyed with the notion of seeking Felicia out once more and asking her to come with him. The idea of being completely isolated while facing whatever it was that OsCorp had left to throw at him was too much to bear. At least she could hold her own against the machines. Somehow, he knew she wouldn't come along even if he begged her. There's too much in the city for her, he realized, kicking up snow as he rapidly turned onto the block that housed his and Eddie's apartment, hands tucked into his pockets against the cold. Cat...Felicia...whoever she is...she's too wild to be caged...Besides, for all I know, she's still got the hots for Harry. Which, he realized, was probably the reason she'd been trying so hard to get under his skin. She was lonely, far lonelier than he was.

The apartment was silent as Peter marched towards the elevator. At nearly eleven at night in the middle of the week, most of the occupants were either asleep or working the graveyard shift. As Peter walked down the hallway that led to his and Eddie's suite, his eyes moved from door to door, from one end of the dark burgundy carpet to the other, taking it all in one last time. When he'd first moved in, he'd been surprised by how mellow the whole apartment was. From the outside, he'd suspected it to be one of the old style buildings built in the seventies; all hardwood floors and floral wallpaper. After nearly a year of living there, he'd gotten so used to it that he'd taken the place for granted.

His hand trembled as he unlocked the door and slid into the darkness of the suite he'd shared with his best friend for the last several months. I don't want to go, he realized as he crept as quietly through the living room towards his bedroom. God, I don't want to do this. Every piece of furniture, every unused video game suddenly held immense meaning to him. All the nights he and Eddie had stayed up trying to outdo each other playing Call of Duty, or watching stupid movies or just staying up talking came flooding back to him as he fumbled with the knob of his bedroom door. He glanced to his right at Eddie's room, fearful that the other man would be awake and almost wanting him to be.

Get up, Peter thought, even as he carefully, quietly pushed the door open, get up and stop me. Make me stay. But the door to Eddie's room didn't even open. Peter didn't even know if he was actually even home. It may have been the middle of the week, but he knew what Eddie's rituals were when he'd had a difficult day at work. Remembering how coldly he'd brushed his friend off earlier that day at the Bugle only served to tighten the vice-like feeling in Peter's chest. He didn't want to leave things sour with Eddie. It wasn't his fault that he'd written the article about MJ. He had only been doing his job.

In an almost dazed state, Peter moved through the room that he had called his own since leaving Aunt May's. Small as it was, it was still his room, his own little sanctuary. Even all the nightmares he'd had here weren't enough to make him dislike it. Keeping his mind as focused as possible, he rummaged through his things, only taking the clothes and items that he needed out of necessity. Pulling open his underwear drawer, he shifted through until he find several spare web cartridges, which he stowed in his already bulging backpack. The entire search had taken less than ten minutes, and in all that time Peter hadn't so much as hard a grunting snore from Eddie's bedroom. He almost laughed, thinking of how loudly Eddie could breathe when he was asleep. Any other time, the noise would have bothered Peter but now that he was leaving all he could think was how used to it he had gotten, how strange it would seem to wake up...wherever in the hell he ended up without the presence of his best friend.

Take it all, he thought bitterly as he quietly closed his bedroom door behind him for the last time and walked to the kitchen, just take all of Peter Parker's life away, Spider-Man. It's not like he had a lot going for him in the first place. Only now, as he prepared to leave everything behind, Peter knew how much he had been deluding himself in thinking that, how ignorant to all the wonderful things in his life that he'd kept himself since losing Gwen. You wanted the end of the world, Parker? Well congratulations, you've got it.

He couldn't leave Eddie completely high and dry. Eddie meant too much to him for that kind of departure. For nearly five minutes, Peter paced in front of the kitchen table, keeping his senses alert for any signs of Eddie's approach or presence in the apartment, still hoping that his friend would show up. They would have it out then, have some fantastic fight that would result in Peter spilling his guts, telling Eddie everything: about Spider-Man and Gwen and the machines that Doctor Octavius had built. It would be such an easy escape, and Eddie would tell him that he was being stupid, maybe even sock him in the jaw just to knock some sense into him.

Not even so much as a spider crawled across the floor of the kitchen. Using the notepad that he and Eddie kept near the phone for messages, Peter scrawled a message to his friend, forcing himself to remain stoic throughout. It took several tries before he got the wording right. At first the message felt too long, too heartfelt, and so he tried again. His second attempt seemed to too brisk and to the point. At last, he settled on something simple, something that he hoped would take the sting out of his departure.

Eddie-I'd love to be able to tell you why I'm leaving. Chalk it up to all the crap about me that you find annoying. My banking information's on the back of this note. I hope whatever money's in there helps you with the rest of the rent. I'm so sorry for this. Just know that I'm doing this for everyone's good.

- Peter.

He left his bank card on the table for Eddie to find whenever he got in or woke up. It didn't matter where he went. Peter knew that if Octavius' robots were going to follow that he'd have nearly no time for a job. In any event, it was only fair to do. The rent per month was too much for one person to handle, even if Eddie had had a decent amount in his savings. Not bearing to linger any longer than he absolutely had to, Peter left the suite that had been his home, his piece of stability for so long, locked the door behind him and shoved the key under the frame.

It was still snowing when he stepped out onto the street. He still had one last stop he wanted to make before he set out, one that would be even more agonizing than having gone to Eddie's apartment. Ducking into an alley as quickly as he could, Peter stripped off his outer layers and made another web bundle to contain them. His backpack was nearly full to bursting from the things he'd stowed away in it to fit his street clothes. Then, making sure to keep his grip on his webbing as secure as possible, he swung through the snow once more. He wanted to look back, to turn around and see the familiar apartment building just one last time. Somewhere in the back of his mind Peter knew that it would most likely do his resolve in, so he kept his gaze steadfastly forward as he swung back in the direction he had come, the bright lights of the streetlamps, buildings and Christmas lights turning into a blur around him.

He swung on the underside of the Queensboro Bridge, over the spot where Mark Three had fallen through the ice. He half expected to see Black Cat still lurking around the area, perhaps double checking that the robots really were gone and gone for good but not even the police were on the scene. The bridge was still closed down and Peter knew that it would be until morning. The strange silence seemed to deafen him as he made his way towards Queens. New York City was always so alive, even when the weather turned the way it had that day. Everything was muffled as though death itself had set a mantle over the city.

Once he was among the smaller skyline of Queens, the silence seemed even more noticeable. Not even a stray alley cat had its nose poked out from behind the garbage bins as Peter came to land in front of Aunt May's house. The windows were dark. Aunt May was obviously asleep, it being after midnight. Glancing around to make sure that nobody was watching, Peter crept to the side of the house and began to crawl up the slipper surface of the outside wall to his bedroom window. Before he could stop himself, he glanced over his shoulder. Through the swirling snow, he saw the red glow of MJ's bedroom window, and frowned, wondering why in the world she was still awake at such a late hour on a weeknight. He'd left her by the Gershwin hours ago, giving her more than enough time to return home and go to sleep.

She was so close...too close. For a moment, Peter felt his willpower melt like ice. All he had to do was leap across the space that separated Aunt May's house from Anna Watson's and he would be outside MJ's window, close enough to let her see his face, to talk to her, tell her everything, to touch her just for affirmation that he'd actually been able to have her in his life albeit briefly.

He shook his head, and pushed the window to his bedroom open as quietly as he could. Taking care not to make too much noise, he dropped to the floor in a crouch, shutting the window behind him. The snow falling beyond the fogged up glass was so thick that he knew that even if somebody had been watching, they would have had an incredibly difficult time seeing him.

Just as he had in Eddie's apartment, he looked around the dark, almost empty space of his old bedroom. Memories came flooding back to him, memories that were far more painful to face than the one's that had come upon him back at his old apartment. So much had changed for him in this room. He'd grown up here, become who he was now here...been with the last person, at least before MJ, who had made the ache that now overwhelmed him dissipate for a while. As he padded gently across the room, Peter realized suddenly that he'd left his shoe box of memories back at Eddie's apartment. The vice around his chest tightened all the more, paining him to the point of a breakdown but he quickly shook it off.

Get used to it, he told himself firmly as he walked quietly to the door to the hallway, you're going to have to lose a lot more than some old photos. They were just memories, memories of a time that did nothing to help him. What good were pictures of Uncle Ben and Gwen Stacy if he lost everybody else in his life, if he had to remember them instead of be with them? He wouldn't let himself be the reason that they got hurt, no matter how much it hurt him to leave them.

The hallway, like his bedroom, was dark and silent. Peter frowned, looking over his shoulder at the stairs to the front hallway. The dim glow of the Christmas tree was visible just beyond the mouth of the staircase and for a second he thought of going downstairs to sit and just look at the gentle lights one last time before leaving. Just as this thought entered his mind, his spider-senses thrummed dully, alert but not in the way of danger. Somebody was standing in the hallway behind him, somebody who was looking directly at him. Peter turned...and felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Aunt May stood just outside her bedroom door, a light blue housecoat drawn securely around her. Her hair was loose and disheveled. Evidently she'd just woken up. Her expression wasn't one of anger, which relieved Peter somewhat. For a moment he forget himself and the fact that he wasn't Peter Parker, but Spider-Man. He took a step forward and then stopped, reminding himself that to Aunt May all he was was an intruder. Yet she didn't look even remotely afraid or angry as she walked calmly towards him, stopping just short of being within arm's reach.

"What are you doing here?" She said, her tone of voice one that Peter had heard all too often when he'd come back late and then refused to say why.

"I just-there was something I...I need to tell you something on behalf of your nephew."

Aunt May cocked her head to the side. "You mean from Peter?" She said in confusion. "I didn't think the two of you were actually corresponding."

"Yeah well...he takes my pictures so we've gone out for coffee a couple of times." It was such a lame excuse and the situation was so surreal. Peter hadn't wanted or even expected to be caught and wildly wished that he hadn't even stopped at his aunt's home before leaving the city for good.

Aunt May arched an eyebrow. Her eyes traveled from the lenses of Peter's mask down to his injured leg, and widened with worry. She took another step forward, so close that Peter forced himself to back away, not wanting to allow himself the opportunity for comfort that would cripple his resolve. "You're hurt," Aunt May said with the same motherly concern that she'd always shown Peter.

"It's nothing," he fibbed, although in all honesty his leg hadn't bothered him in the slightest during his swing over from Eddie's apartment. Once more Aunt May met his eye with a familiar expression, this time the disbelieving kind that Peter had gotten all too used to seeing during the time when he'd been hunting for Uncle Ben's killer. It was as if he wasn't even wearing the costume, as if Aunt May was simply talking to Peter Parker and not Spider-Man.

"You said you had a message from Peter," Aunt May said, crossing her arms over her chest. "What is it? Has something happened to him? Is he in trouble?"

"He's not in trouble," Peter said, feeling sick to his stomach at the fact that he had to continue lying to her like this. "But he's not going to be in the city anymore."

"He's leaving?" Aunt May looked stricken and it was all Peter could do to stop himself from reaching out and pulling her in for a hug. "Why?"

"I can't tell you that," Peter replied, "but it's for your own good...for everybody's own good."

"Are you making him leave?" The accusation in Aunt May's voice hit Peter like a slap to the face. Once more he found himself hating Spider-Man and the general trajectory his life had taken since the day he'd been bitten by the spider in OsCorp's laboratory.

"Something is making him leave. He's...there's just somebody out there looking to hurt him and if he sticks around then you're going to get hurt too."

"So he is in trouble then?"

"Yes, but it's not...Mrs. Parker, you don't understand...I'm trying to help, you and Peter. I don't want to see either of you get hurt, so just please trust me when I say that he's got a perfectly good reason for having to leave."

Aunt May's eye's flashed passionately and she drew herself up to her feel height, meeting Spider-Man's gaze unflinchingly. "He's my boy," she said determinedly, "and I have a right to know why in the hell you have to be the one telling me all this and not him."

"Because!" Peter said insistently, even though he didn't know just what to say. He cast around wildly for something, anything that he could tell Aunt May that wouldn't give her cause to worry for him more than she already was. "You wouldn't understand," he finally said, "there's something out there that's after him and-"

"Wouldn't understand?" Aunt May said indignantly. "I don't know exactly how close you are to Peter, or how important he is to you, but let's get one thing perfectly clear: I have raised that boy since he was six years old. I've known him through so many losses, so many awful, awful losses..." Her voice shook and Peter felt the knife in his guts twist. She was talking about Uncle Ben and Gwen. "Peter is the smartest person I have ever known," Aunt May went on after regaining her composure, "not to mention one of the bravest. He has more to lose now than he ever has before so if anybody has a right to know just what in the hell is going on, it's me!" She glowered at him, her eyes blazing and bright with unshed tears.

Peter felt oddly helpless against her, as though the greatest threat of his life had cornered him at last. Aunt May wouldn't back down because that was the kind of remarkable woman that she was. He could stand in the hallway and talk her around until morning came and they were both blue in the face but still she wouldn't budge. Peter didn't think she would even cry simply because she refused to show weakness in the face of adversity, even if said adversity wore skintight red and blue spandex. But he had to make her see, make her understand just what it was that was going on around her, of how much danger he could put her in.

Peter felt as if he were experiencing an intense period of sleep walking. The air in the small upstairs hallway seemed to become dense and heavy as he slipped his fingers under his mask. He tried to look Aunt May in the eyes, tried to keep his strength up but he couldn't. It would kill her, that much he knew, but at the very least it would serve to help her see things his way. All the secrets he had kept would finally make sense to her and at the very least she would finally see that he was right, that leaving would be the best thing for the both of them.

His mask suddenly seemed to weigh a ton as he peeled it off of his face and gripped it in his hand. For a moment he simply stared at the dark floor beneath him, feeling his heart beating to the bursting point. His face grew hot and his eyes began to sting as the full gravity of what he had just done hit him like a freight train. At last, at long last he looked up and into Aunt May's kind, understanding eyes. She didn't look angry. She didn't even look surprised. As ever, her entire face seemed to be comprised of that resilient concern, that steadfast understanding that had seen them both through so many losses and secrets. Before Peter could stop them the tears were falling down his face like the snow outside the window. His knees shook. Suddenly he was a frightened six year old again, needing comfort because the monster under the bed had scared him out of a peaceful sleep. He bowed his head, sobs breaking through his breathing. Hot tears prickled his skin and immediately Aunt May stepped forward, stood on the tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around him, holding him in an embrace that was stronger than titanium in spite of her frail frame. She stroked his hair, and spoke quietly to him, comfortingly, taking him back to those simpler times when all he really had had to fear was the boogeyman and a scraped knee. At first Peter's maelstrom of emotions drowned out everything but the sound of his own crying. Then, as he began to calm down ever so slightly he finally was able to make out just what it was that Aunt May was whispering softly to him as she held him.

"It's alright Peter...it's alright...I know...I've always known..."

He looked at her then, breaking free of her embrace to stare at her in shock. Aunt May met his gaze unflinchingly, an understanding, almost wistful smile on her face as she watched his tears fall. Peter shook his head, not comprehending what she'd whispered at first.

"How?" He said in a choked whisper. "How can you have known?"

"You're my boy, remember?" Aunt May said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How could I have not known?"

"But...but all those times that-"

"Peter, would you honestly have kept this up if you'd known that I knew all about it? Even right now you're planning on doing something incredibly foolish because you think I'm in danger."

"But you are!" He shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands, still not sure what to make of his aunt's revelation. "How long have you even known?"

"Since Doctor Connors," Aunt May replied. "At first...at first I just thought you were acting out after Uncle Ben's passing...but then, the more I thought of it, the more I realized how it all fit together. Spider-Man didn't exist until you started disappearing every night. And then, on the night when Doctor Connors was attacking the city I was sitting here, at home, watching the news and I saw you...I saw my boy, and I thought to myself, 'that's Peter...it has to be Peter because only Peter would do something so recklessly dangerous and completely, selflessly brave.'" She chuckled and added, "Besides, you weren't all that good at hiding it after a while, especially not when your laundry kept coming out with red and blue water stains." She smiled warmly at him, her eyes still shining. "Before we go any further," she said, "why don't we go downstairs, alright? Give you a chance to get off of your feet."

He was so used to complying with her that he didn't even think twice about disagreeing. Together, Peter and Aunt May walked down the staircase and by the twinkling Christmas tree. She'd drawn the blinds in front of the windows but Peter could still see the shadows of the fat, feathery snowflakes as they continued to fall outside. Aunt May all but pushed him into the very same chair at the dining table that he'd sat in during his last visit. Automatically, he laid his hand on the table, smiling softly when she reached at a gave it a reassuring squeeze. He'd calmed down somewhat, too stunned by the fact that his secret identity wasn't secret to the one constant in his life.

"Now," Aunt May said, "what's all this about you having to leave?"

Peter took a deep breath and looked plaintively at his aunt. "There's...these machines...they were supposed to be used for good but...the wrong people got a hold of them and now they're after me...and me alone."

Aunt May frowned. "After you? How are they after you?"

"They follow my signature, Aunt May," Peter explained with a defeated sigh. "These people...my enemies...they had a sample of my blood. The robots will follow it, regardless of where I go or who I am. Anybody around me is in danger. It almost got a lot of people hurt at the mall last week."

"And you're planning on running away to make it better? To keep everybody safe, right?"

Peter nodded and forced himself to smile. "Guess I didn't count on getting caught before I left though. I already left Eddie a note. I just came by here to...I don't even know. I just wanted to see you...to see this place before I left."

Aunt May shook her head and stared at the blind covered window for a moment. "Where would you go?"

"I hadn't quite got there yet," Peter admitted quietly. "I figured as long as I was away then you would be safe...not just you, but Eddie and...and MJ."

Aunt May caught his eye. In that remarkable way of hers, she seemed to understand just what it was that Peter meant by that. Somehow he knew that it had absolutely nothing to do with her and Anna Watson gossiping over Scrabble. "Well," she said softly, "if it's what you think is best then...who am I to stop you?"

"You're my girl," Peter replied with a smile. "I'd say you've got a right to tell me what's what."

"Do you actually want me to tell you what I think?"

Peter nodded, realizing then just how much he did.

Aunt May sighed again. "You know I don't want you to go, Peter. I want you to stay here, to be within walking, or I guess swinging distance. I can't afford to lose anybody else just as much as you can't, and it's something I've had to brace myself for ever since I realized exactly who you were and what it is that you let yourself do." Once again her eyes flicked to his injured leg and Peter shifted guiltily in his seat, realizing just how much he had inadvertently put his aunt through over the years. "Not only do I not want you to go for selfish reasons but...I don't think it would help in the end."

Peter frowned and cocked his head to the side. "Why would you say that?"

"Say you do leave," Aunt May went on, "and that you do get the best of these machines. I know you will, no matter how long it takes but Peter, the second you do, what's going to stop you from convincing yourself to remain alone? You could take down every terrorist organization in the world and somehow I think you'd still figure that being alone would be better. You would tell yourself that it's better that way because, like with this situation, you'd be keeping me and everybody else safe. But that's not true. You know that's not true. I told you once that you're only ever along if you refuse to let people in. I've been in on this whole Spider-Man thing and you didn't even know it. You can keep me and this whole damn city safe by not being here but I know for a fact that it'll kill you, Peter. And I don't want to see that happen."

Her voice shook. This time it was Peter's turn to reach a comforting hand out, even as he offered one last point of protest. "They can find me anywhere...anytime."

"Then I guess you'll just have to keep your distance from Queens for a while," Aunt May replied with a grin. "This is a rather large city, Peter. And you've kept a lot of people safe, even if you haven't been able to save everybody."

"There's just so much to lose..."

"That's life, sweetheart. There's always something to lose because there's always something to gain." Her eyes flickered in the direction of the Watson's house and Peter know instantly just who it was that she was referring to. He wanted to fight, to keep protesting, to carry out his original plan to flee the city but it was a losing battle. He realized then just how foolhardy he had been in assuming that the only way to keep those he loved safe was to abandon them entirely. And there was truth in Aunt May's words. Peter could picture himself living as a hermit or wondering superhero vagabond, never looking back at New York City, finding every excuse in the world to stay away simply because he could justify it with the fact that he was trying to keep people safe. It wasn't in his nature to be solitary. Hell, he hadn't even been able to stay away from Gwen longer than two weeks after her father had died.

"I'm sorry," he said to Aunt May.

"What in the world for?"

"I guess...I guess just everything...lying to you all the time...coming here and freaking you out with all of this."

Aunt May chuckled softly and gave his hand another reassuring grip. "It wasn't like I couldn't see through the lies, Peter," she said with an amused smile. "They were honestly kind of funny sometimes. As for coming here and your harebrained scheme...well...I think our little talk helped, don't you?"

Peter nodded and then stifled a yawn. Like a tidal wave he suddenly the full weight of exhaustion wash over him. He'd been up since that morning and through the ringer since then, physically and emotionally. The pain in his leg returned full force and he almost winced at the stinging feeling of it.

"Get some sleep, honey," Aunt May said, giving his hand a pat. "And...well, thank you."

Peter frowned. "For what?"

"For finally being able to tell me yourself. I would have waited until my last breath to keep your secret for you but now...well, maybe now you'll let me at least text you when you're out and about swinging around the city."

Peter chuckled and got to his feet, pulling Aunt May into a tight hug. They walked back up the stairs together. Peter said goodnight to her a her bedroom door and then all but fell into the bathroom. Somehow, he managed to turn on the shower and strip off his costume. The hot water seemed to wash away everything that had accumulated not only on him but within him since his fight with the machines by the bridge. Even though he knew full well that remaining in the city would still be dangerous, he also knew that he would never be able to bring himself to leave, not after all that he'd managed to rebuild since losing Gwen.

He stood at his bedroom window after changing into a pair of sweatpants that he had packed in his bag. Through the snow he could see the red glow from Mary Jane's window. He stood there, watching it without really knowing why, comforted by the fact that she was so near, and that he wouldn't have to leave her after all. As if on cue, he heard his cell phone vibrate from the depths of his backpack. With indecent haste, Peter tore through the hastily packed contents and extracted his phone. Grinning, he opened the message from MJ.

I see your light on. Are you actually home?

Yes, he replied. He waited for only a few seconds before she responded.

My Aunt's out at a work Christmas party. Want to come over for a bit?

Peter felt his face turn as red as Christmas bauble but he did not hesitate to send an affirmative reply.

Give me like five minutes to tidy up, MJ said in response. It was ridiculous, not to mention somewhat indecent but in the relief of not having to leave New York City he wanted to see her and see her as soon as possible. Not even bothering to put a shirt on he opened the bedroom window and leaped lithely to the snow-crusted ground below, the flakes melting the second they touched his skin. Without missing a beat he all but sprinted across the space that separated Aunt May's house from the Watson's, leaping over the wooden fence like a track and field hurdle. Abandoning caution, he jumped onto the side of MJ's house and climbed up, hoisting himself onto the window ledge and knocking on the glass.

He heard a yelp of surprise from within. A moment later, the red curtains parted and MJ appeared on the opposite side of the window, her eyes wide with surprise as she took in the sight of Peter perched on her window sill. She'd pulled her hair back into a comfortable ponytail and was wearing a simple blue t-shirt that, like everything she wore, managed to define the smooth curves of her body. In spite of her shock, she smiled warmly when she saw Peter and slid the window open for him.

"I take it going through the front door is too mainstream?" She said, standing back to allow him to crawl in through the window.

Peter shrugged. "I guess I don't have the finer points of romance worked out. I thought girls liked it when boys broke in through their bedroom window."

"You do realize that my window is like ten feet off the ground, right?"

"I, uh...was also on the gymnastics team in high school?"

"Wow, you sure are full of secrets and surprises, Tiger," MJ replied with a smirk, closing the window behind him. Her bedroom was bigger than the one he had back at his and Eddie's apartment, yet somehow seemed to be packed to the brim with personal effects and touches that made it seem smaller than it actually was. A headboard with multiple cubbies rose over a bed that was set with mis-matched pillows and what appeared to be a handmade quilt. Knick-knacks of all description were tucked into the spaces on the headboard. Posters and cut out magazine pages bedecked the walls. Over a computer desk tucked comfortable in one corner Peter noticed a small cork board filled to the brim with newspaper clippings. As he looked closer at it, he saw with a slight feeling of egotism that they were all pictures from the Bugle that he had taken of Spider-Man.

"You really do have a collage for the web-head," he said with a chuckle.

MJ shrugged, plopping herself comfortably onto the edge of her bed and giving him an innocent smile. "I told you there were people who gave a damn about him."

"Yeah...tell me about it."

Mary Jane cocked her head to the side and said, "What do you mean by that, Tiger?"

"Nothing...just been an interesting night."

"I'll say it has," MJ replied with a weary sigh. "First I get roped into staying later than I should have, then I almost get picked up by three steakheads only to get swooped off of my feet by the very same spandexed hero who makes up that little project." She nodded at the cork board and shook her head in disbelief.

Peter forced himself to look surprised as he sat on a comfortable bean bag chair near MJ's closet. "You mean Spider-Man?"

"I don't have any pictures of Marky Mark on my cork board anymore, Tiger," MJ said with a grin. "Yeah...he was...he was pretty damn amazing." She met his eyes with a significant look and added, "Took me for a swing around the city, in this crappy weather even...and then dropped me off on Broadway...it was like he knew me or something...like...actually knew me."

Peter cleared his throat and said, "Well I...may have mentioned something in passing..."

MJ arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Did he come visit you when you were in the hospital?"

"Something like that."

Mary Jane shook her head but let it drop. "What are you doing over here so late?" She asked. "I mean, it's great for Aunt May and everything but...well, it's not exactly fair conditions for traveling."

Peter leaned back in the plushy chair, surprised by just how comfortable it was. "I just needed some good advice," he said, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "Nobody better to go to than Aunt May and...well, she definitely gave me some." He smiled to himself, still feeling slightly drunk on the fact that he didn't have to hide anything from his aunt anymore. In the pragmatic part of his mind he knew that morning light would bring the full reality of the situation to him, but at the moment he was perfectly content to just enjoy the feeling of not having to hide anymore.

He heard Mary Jane push herself off of her bed and the next second felt her hand close around his. Opening his eyes, Peter was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was half-naked and alone in her bedroom with her. His face turned slightly pink at the fact and he felt himself switch into a hyper-alert state, wildly wondering whether or not to do the right thing and just leave, even as she pulled him up off the bean bang and led him towards the quilt covered bed.

"Uh...MJ?" He said uncertainly, feeling both elated and incredibly, hideously wrong.

She only laughed and shook her head, throwing the quilt aside and patting the mattress invitingly. "Come on," she said levelly, "you look dead on your feet and there's not a chance in hell I'm letting you climb up the side of a house again, not matter how many leotards you wore in high school."

"I didn't wear leotards," Peter mumbled, feeling like an awkward teenager all over again. Mary Jane flicked off the lamp that had been basking her room in gentle light. The shadows of the thick snow outside danced across her gauzy red curtains. "Shouldn't...I mean, I can just sleep on the bean bag chair..."

"Don't be so skittish, Tiger," MJ said with a soft laugh, gently pushing him into the bed. The mattress was softer than anything Peter had ever slept on. The quilt was surprisingly thick and as he turned his head to follow her as she crossed to the opposite side of the bed, he breathed in a scent that was sheer Mary Jane Watson. "I'm kind of not in the mood for being alone tonight. Besides, as much my aunt would kill me for this, your aunt would kill me and make me into chili if she found out that I made you climb up the side of her house."

"Is, uh, it very likely that your aunt will see this?"

MJ laughed darkly. "As long as there are cocktails and young men to flirt with, Aunt Anna won't be leaving her Christmas party until the buses start running at regular intervals again." She crawled under the quilt next to him and Peter felt as if he would spontaneously combust if his body got any hotter. MJ smiled reassuringly at him and whispered, "I mean...if you really don't want too then-"

"It's...it's fine," Peter mumbled. "I guess it's just...I feel like I should be doing the chivalrous thing here..."

MJ chuckled. "I feel perfectly safe with you. Besides, in the unlikely event that you do get fresh-not that I'd complain-I've got my taser on hand."

"Right...two times in one night would be going for a record though, wouldn't it?"

"How did you know I'd used my taser once already tonight?"

Smooth move, Parker, Peter thought with a wince. Keeping his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling he said, "Well, you said you almost got picked up on by three steakheads before Spider-Man came along...I guess I just figured that you introduced one of those dickheads to your taser..."

"Yeah," MJ said with a soft laugh, "but Tiger, I didn't tell you about my taser...not even Betty knows that I've got one."

For the sake of avoiding digging himself an even deeper hole, Peter closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Several moments afterwards, he really did drift off, conscious even in his dream state of the soft, warm body beside him.