Icy wind blew MJ's hair around her bare shoulders, concrete digging into her knees as she leaned forward a few inches to catch a better view of the city block below. She was trying to articulate where they were. Peter had shot maybe fifteen webs when they swung away from the gunman, so they were a good ways away from him. She spotted a cafe on the corner she was fairly familiar with. She remembered going there a couple times with her castmates to try these cookies they were obsessed with. Lights strung around the window shone cozily across the newly fallen snow. A couple exited, each holding a coffee and laughing together.

MJ shuffled backwards from the edge. Her fear of heights after being thrown off various structures danced in her stomach. "Peter, I see Carol's on the corner. We aren't that far from home," she announced as she made her way towards him. The wet concrete was freezing her bare feet, but she ignored it.

Peter was lying on his back beside the roof door, knees up, both feet planted on the ground. He was holding his wrist, blue eyes following the snowflakes drifting slowly towards his face. "Carol's...yeah, I know where we are," he panted. MJ had adjusted the bandage on his wrist so it covered his reignited wound, and the hole his webs had shot through it was resting on the other side of his arm.

MJ squatted next to Peter and shifted his fingers so she could look at his wrist. He winced. She examined the bandage. Blood seeped through, dyeing it from white to red. MJ brushed a strand of hair from Peter's forehead.

"Oh, honey...I just don't understand it. You've walked off injuries way worse than this. What's different about your spinnerets?"

Peter closed his eyes. "Just...extra sensitive...I guess."

MJ sighed. "Well, we need to figure out how to get home so we can restart the healing process."

Peter sat up sluggishly. "I can swing us. I have my other wrist still intact—" he began to stand up, but was interrupted by MJ grabbing his shoulders.

"Don't even think about it, tiger," she ordered, guiding him back to a sitting position. "One wrist is bad enough."

Peter glanced down. "MJ! You don't have any shoes!"

"Peter, it's fine, it's like, barely snowing."

Wrist forgotten, Peter rummaged through a web pack MJ didn't even know he had on him and pulled out his sneakers. "Put these on," he insisted, even starting to do it for her.

"Okay, okay! You don't need to help me put shoes on, Peter, I've been doing it since I was three." She slipped them on over her feet. "I can't imagine how ridiculous I look in an evening dress paired with oversized sneakers," MJ laughed.

"Beautiful, you mean?" Peter smiled at her. The joking around seemed to distract him from his injury. MJ intended to keep it that way.

"Not as beautiful as you," she teased, lightly kissing him on the nose like he liked to do to her. He responded by catching her cheek in a peck, and she responded to that by catching him on the lips.

They stayed like that for a moment, together, warmth igniting against the cold, until Peter pulled away with a short inhale. He looked back down at his wrist, flinching.

"Okay. We are making a plan now," MJ decided, sitting criss-cross in front of him. "We aren't swinging home. So get that idea out of your head right now. The door is locked and...we are kind of at the top of a very tall building with no fire escapes or any way down. So...what do we do?"

Peter didn't reply, just sat and rubbed his wrist, contemplating.

"Can you maybe break the door down?"

"And wake up an entire building of people and probably get arrested in the process for property damage? I don't think so," Peter replied.

"Okay, so that's out, unless we're really desperate. Do you have your cell phone in that pack? I could call May—"

"No!" Peter interrupted. MJ looked at him quizzically. "Sorry. I just...she's probably asleep and...I just don't like to bother her with this stuff. I've dragged her into enough of my problems."

"Peter, I'm sure May would jump through fire to help you with anything." At the uncertain look on his face, MJ continued, "But we'll leave that option as a last resort as well if you really want...what if we go down the wall—"

"Uh-uh. No way. Not after I dropped you once already—" A groan escaped his lips, increased agitation seeming to make his wrist worst.

MJ put her hand on his knee. "Peter, it'll be okay if we go slowly and carefully. I'll hold onto you, you don't even have to worry about holding onto me," she reassured quietly. "I just don't see any other options at this point."

Peter looked away. "I just...don't want to hurt you again."

"You won't. And you didn't. It'll be fine. I'll get on your back piggy-back style, and that way I can hold on really easily."

Pale blue eyes met grey blue. After a reluctant pause, he nodded.

"You okay?" Peter heard MJ's whisper in his ear. Her hands were gripping his chest, arms tightly around his shoulders, while her legs were wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together. She was shivering slightly. They were about halfway down the building, and nothing had ever felt so high to Peter. Slowly and carefully, he made his way down, hands and feet gripping the rough brick.

"Fine," Peter mumbled back, voice muffled through his mask, teeth gritted. He couldn't believe how easy this would've been a week ago. He could've had them on the ground in seconds—no, he could've swung them home in seconds. But instead they were stuck inching their way down the side of a building in the cold as minutes and minutes ticked by, and all because of a bleeding wrist.

It was hard not to get frustrated. He had walked off stabbings, falls off tall buildings, even getting hit by a train. But one person messed with his spinnerets and it was like it affected his whole body. Sweat dripped down his back and forehead, his arms and legs trembled, it took extreme effort to merely crawl down a wall. He tried to pretend the throbbing pain from his wrist wasn't bothering him, but it was obvious his right arm was shaking harder than any other part of his body.

"Take a break, tiger," MJ suggested.

"No," Peter insisted. "If I stop I won't be able to start again—" His foot suddenly slipped and Peter's breath hitched. For a moment he was holding on with just his hands, but somehow he regained control of his feet and reattached them to the building.

"Talking is distracting you," MJ said. "We shouldn't say anything until we're on the ground."

"I—"

"Peter," MJ interrupted. "Don't talk," she whispered.

Just to see what progress they'd made, Peter glanced down to see the ground about 150 feet away. He swallowed, surprised to find a nervous lump in his throat. HIs stomach was turning somersaults as a deep dread settled over his body. He suddenly felt like he was six years old again, sitting on top of the monkey bars on the school playground, gripping them with white knuckles, tears streaming down his face as teachers tried to coax him down. He was afraid...of falling.

Peter's mind flashed back to that time he fell off that building, when his spidey powers decided to take a break and leave him to practically break his back in the process. HIs childhood fear of heights had overcome him briefly then, for a few minutes, before it retreated. Now he could feel the icy hand of acrophobia squeezing his heart in a death grip, just like it did on that day in 2004.

"MJ," Peter said, voice shaky. She tried to shush him, but he continued, "I-I'm not sure if I can keep going."

Concern was evident in MJ's voice as she asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

Peter gulped. "I'm not sure. I-I think I'm losing my powers again."

A/N: Okay okay, every time I write a new chapter I get kinda far and then go, "...okay but this would be the perfect place to end it." So now I've decided to write a fourth chapter, which SHOULD be the last one but like, no promises.