As soon as I heard about Aunt May's heart attack, I rushed to the hospital, more concerned than if it had been one of my own family. Not surprisingly, Peter was there. "Will she be okay?" I asked him.

"She's gonna be fine," he replied assuringly. "She's been sleeping all day." I walked past him towards the bed. Aunt May looks so frail… I know it sounds funny, but even with my recent encounters with danger, this was the first moment I had felt such a deep-seated fear.

"Thanks for coming," Peter said gratefully.

"Of course," I replied. I couldn't just leave them there—she was all Peter had. Heck, she was all I had.

"How are you?" he asked, concerned, as usual, more for me than his own troubles. "I mean, you okay about the other night?"

I nodded, touched by his worry. "Yeah, I'm fine." It was my turn to think about someone else before myself. "I just felt bad about leaving Aunt May."

"Have you talked to Harry?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised. I knew there was more to that question, more that I knew he would never actually ask.

I sighed at the thought of Harry. "He called me." I made my way to one of the chairs in the hospital room. "I haven't called him back." I didn't want to remember the hurt he had caused me, or the indignities his father had heaped on me. I still couldn't believe Harry hadn't stuck up for me. Peter would have—

Never mind what Peter would have done! I scolded my errant thoughts. I don't need to be constantly comparing the men in my life. I'll never get anywhere that way. Then I remembered a time when someone had defended me—at the risk of his own safety, even his own life—and the thanks I had given him in return…I still got chills just thinking about him.

Spider-Man. The first truly dependable man in my life. The only one, really, I thought. Harry's kisses had never made me react the way I had that night in the rain. Actually, every time Harry tried to kiss me, I did my best to fend it off. It seemed wrong, somehow. And Flash had never been that exciting for me. He had been my security blanket, my defense against geekdom in school. And both of them stood to gain by a relationship with me: Flash got respect from his buds for 'being' with me, and envy, I suppose, from all the bragging he did about his 'exploits,' none of which were true—at least not the ones involving me—and Harry, well, I suppose he wanted to impress his father and friends, being with a pretty girl like me (I'm not stuck up, I promise, I know I'm pretty decent-looking if Emma Rose wants me to model for them). And I'm sure invoking Peter's envy was something he relished.

But Spider-Man? He's a different story entirely. He seemed almost…reluctant to get involved. I mean, he has a whole city to protect. How would he have time for a girl like me? And yet…the feelings I discovered that wet night can't be denied…

"The fact is," I continued, "I'm in love with somebody else."

"You are?" Peter asked, too stoically.

"At least, I think I am." Glancing over again at Aunt May's still form, I brushed my confusion away, sighing. "It's not the right time to talk about it."

"No, no," Peter interjected curiously, "Go on." He looked as if he was about to die of curiosity. "Would I know his name, this guy?"

I laughed nervously, blushing furiously. "You'll think I'm a stupid little girl with a crush." Peter was the last person I needed to be dumping my troubles on, but his demeanor kept saying, 'Dump away.' He's just so darn understanding that I can't help myself sometimes.

"Trust me," were his simple words.

"It's funny," I reflected, not sure where to even begin. Gathering my courage and my wits, I barreled on. "He's saved my life twice, and I've never even seen his face," I told him, unsure as to why I was telling him.

Peter smiled knowingly, moving to sit. "Oh. Him," he said, half laughing, half something I couldn't quite recognize.

I had to join his chuckling. "You're laughing at me!" I scolded with mock indignance.

"No, no, I understand," he continued, still laughing as I sat facing him. "He is extremely cool." An odd look of mixed pleasure and regret crossed his face, and I couldn't quite figure out why.

But my curiosity barreled on without the consent of my intuition. "But do you think it's true—all the terrible things they say about him?" Oddly, although I'd been telling Peter just about everything, we hadn't ever talked about Spider-Man before this. And I couldn't wait to hear what he thought.

"No. Not Spider-Man." He shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance in the world." He looked earnestly at me. "I…know him a little bit." I was thrilled and surprised at this. Peter Parker knows Spider-Man? Even a little bit is a lot for the city's elusive masked hero. "I'm sort of his…unofficial photographer."

"Has he mentioned me?" I asked eagerly. Oh, great. Now I'm acting like it's eighth grade all over again, asking my friends if my crush is talking about me, if he's staring at me right now…MJ, get a grip of yourself!

"Yeah," Peter replied.

My curiosity got the better of my sense of pride. "What'd he say?"

He looked a bit confused, and slid his piercing blue eyes to the right as he replied haltingly, "Uh, I said…He, he…he asked me…what I thought about you." He looked back at me.

I couldn't tear my eyes from his. "And what did you say?"

Looking back on this conversation makes me laugh. I can't believe Peter actually said something like that! I mean, really. I don't think I'll ever understand what goes on in his head…

"Uh…I said…'Spider-Man,' I said, 'the great thing about MJ is…'"

I looked at Peter encouragingly. I didn't notice until days later that Peter hadn't really told me what Spider-Man had said, but what he, Peter, had told Spider-Man. And now, well, I know better. And I cannot believe I actually had this conversation with him. Poor guy must have been so confused.

Peter continued, " 'the great thing about MJ is…when you're looking in her eyes…and she's looking back in yours…'" (which is exactly what we were doing at that moment) " '…everything feels…not quite normal.'" I was surprised at Peter's open honesty, and to this day believe that that was the closest he had ever come yet to actually telling me how he felt. " 'Because you feel,'" he continued softly, " 'stronger—and weaker, at the same time. You feel excited, and at the same time, terrified.'" I almost couldn't meet his gaze anymore; it was far too intense, more intense than I had ever seen in Peter Parker's face. " 'The truth is, you—you don't know what you feel…except you know what kind of man you want to be. It's as if you've reached the unreachable…'" I could feel the tears well up in my eyes, although I was too stubborn at the time to realize why. " 'And you weren't ready for it.'"

"You—you said that?" I breathed. I was shocked to hear something like this from Peter. He had always been the shy one, rarely giving more than monosyllabic answers to anything but a homework question, and here he was, more eloquent than…well, anyone I'd ever spoken to in person. His honesty was just heartbreaking…

"Well…something like that." He nodded, lowering his gaze in what I thought to be embarrassment, and now suppose was just sheer discomfort over the whole situation.

I reached for his limp hand, hoping to comfort him. I knew he had sort of laid himself bare, and didn't want him to shy away again…little did I realize at that point how sick I was of him shying away.

At the soft contact between our hands, he looked back up at me, with what looked like sadness and hope in his eyes. I smiled and squeezed his hand. Aunt May will be all right. You'll see, I promised mentally.

The door opened, revealing the last person I wanted to see right then. Well, actually, I suppose it could have been much worse—it could have been Norman Osborn, or even the Green Goblin…wait a sec…never mind. But it wasn't him, it was Harry.

He walked in and saw us sitting there, facing each other, hand in hand. And the most terrible expression came on his face—he was so disheartened, stunned, knowing he had ultimately lost, once again, to his best friend—that Peter and I quickly dropped our hands. But it was too late.

"Hey," Peter said, vainly trying to break the awkward silence. I looked down at my hands, avoiding Harry's gaze. I felt sorry for him, but really, he deserved it. I didn't want to feel too bad for dumping him, not after the way he treated me.

I just don't seem to have the best luck with guys, you know?

First, my father, and—well, I've already said what he's like. Flash was my first real boyfriend, and he wasn't much of a catch. Harry was still about nine years old, emotionally dependent on his father's acceptance, which never came. And there was another too, one that seemed to have a particular interest in me…