A/N: I just...I really liked imagining this whole chapter. It gave me all the warm fuzzies.

Chapter Seven: Don't Let Me Fall

Songs for this chapter:

"Promises" by James Horner

"Hey Lover" by Wabie

-O-

Peter let her win the argument over who got the last slice of pizza. The blue and red police lights had stopped flashing about an hour ago, but Peter had thoroughly enjoyed watching the robber being slammed into the hood of a police car. Maren enjoyed the way his eyes softened when the old lady's purse was returned to her.

"So how does the whole Spider-tingle thing work?"

He threw the empty pizza box over the roof, and it landed perfectly inside the dumpster below, even knocking the lid shut.

Peter grimaced. "It sounds weird when you say it like that,"

She shifted where she was sitting on her coat. "Yeah, I thought about that as I was saying. Decisions were made,"

"Poor decisions,"

She tossed a piece of loose gravel at him. He caught it easily. "Don't try to banter your way out of my questions," she said as he flopped to sit next to her. She bumped her shoulder with his. "C'mon, tell me. I think it's interesting." she hugged her knees to her chest. She propped her chin against her knees, watching the steam vents on the roof expel much appreciated warm air. "I know you're not a psychic. I probed, and your brain isn't wired like that,"

He sat up straight, waving his hands. "Woah, Woah. Rewind that bit back. You. You probed me?"

"Don't worry, Parker. It's not like I stuck around and looked at anything," she teased, and he reluctantly reclined onto his elbows, watching her warily. "Besides, it wasn't like a true probe. More like a call and respond to see if you could answer back,"

He poked her forehead, "And that's how it works upstairs for you? With other psychics? Maybe I could answer back if I knew you were "probing" or whatever? I'm kinda jealous. It sounds like it would cut down on phone costs." she looked at him impatiently. "What? Can't I have questions too?"

"Not until you answer mine,"

"Hmph. Fine." he started picking at his fingernails. She thought about reclining on her elbows as well, matching his posture, before realizing her cognition speeds would drop dangerously low at his closer proximity. "No, it's not anything psychic. As far as I know," he mulled over his next words. "It's more like a feeling. Like something an animal has,"

"Instinct?" she offered.

"Yeah, instinct. Like an early warning system for predators, threats, danger, et cetera,"

"Mm. Ok. So I were to—," she threw a wadded napkin at his face. He sputtered when a pizza crumb went into his eye. Alarmed, she cried, "You were supposed to catch it!"

He sat up, scrubbing his eyes. " What is it with the skeptical testing of the tingle in this dimension?"

She sat up with him, hiding a smile. She batted his hands away. "Let me see, you big baby."

"If you were on the verge of blindness, I wouldn't treat you like this," he dodged her hands a few times.

She laughed. "Hold still, Peter, would you please… — hold still." She caught his face between her palms. "Stop." Her voice was softer, and some of his teasing left his eyes. "You're worse than my nephew."

He let her tilt his head and examine his eye. He cleared his throat. "I didn't — I didn't know you had family."

She hummed, pretending she didn't see the way his eyes dipped down her face."Yeah, uhm. I actually come from a big family. Three brothers, three sisters. But my little sister's the only one who will talk to me."

"What? Why?"

She shrugged a shoulder, "The whole mutant thing tends to be frowned upon in small southern towns. Brings a bad rap." She patted him on the shoulder, shifting on her knees, accidentally brushing against his outer thigh. "I don't see any other shrapnel, bug boy. I think you'll live,"

She sat back again, and he grumbled, "Now, who's dodging?"

She gave a disbelieving laugh. "I am doing no such thing. I was making perfectly acceptable first date talk… You know, for a guy who runs around in red and blue spandex," he beamed at the word date, too happy to be offended. "you don't bring out heavy emotions until —," she counted on her fingers, "the third date."

"Good to know. I'll bring my punched survey cards. We can compare trauma,"

"You're literally insane,"

He caught her hand briefly, "But can I still say, it sounds like most of your family sucks?"

She snorted, "Oh definitely,"

She was reluctant for him to let go of her hand. When he moved to pull away, she interlocked their fingers. He looked at her, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she flopped back, laying down. She wanted to imagine that it was cloud cover instead of smog across the night sky, but the city wasn't that generous. She heard gravel shift and crunch as he laid next to her.

"Maybe," she said, breaking the tenuous silence. She turned her head and found he was already looking at her. "Maybe, you could come meet them. They live out in the country in Connecticut,"

His smile was gentle, pleased. "Yeah, I think I would like that," his thumb stroked the back of her hand, and she looked back up at the sky so he couldn't see her red face.

"Besides, you guys are about the same level maturity-wise,"

"How old?"

"Eight,"

"What!? — You know what, I can't be mad at that,"

"Truth hurts,"

She could still feel him looking at her, could feel he desperately wanted her to look back at him. She was a coward on the first date, or maybe just with him.

"At the risk of you liquefying my higher cognitive function in a literal as well as a metaphorical sense, why'd you give it up?"

Always deflect, never confront. "Give what up?"

"C'mon. I've seen the videos from back in the day." he winked. "The costume wasn't bad,"

"Yeah, for a walking purple iris," she snorted. She remembered getting in and out of that suit. It was too tight, too hot, and too sweaty. She preferred air-conditioned labs, but Maren couldn't help but smile when she struck Scott Summers and Bobby Drake speechless with the suit reveal. Granted, it didn't take much to strike teenage boys speechless, especially with a skin-tight suit. "Besides, it might have looked nice, but the smell? Urgh," she gagged, "Beyond belief after a long day,"

Squeezing her hand, he prompted again, "C'mon, why? I've talked to a few other people in spandex. Which I'm still not used to there being so many here,"

"Right! They multiply by the day,"

"No one wants to share, though. I don't know enough about the whole mutant agenda, except for the fact that it's been a shit storm,"

She let out a long breath. "That's a good way to put it." she knew he let the silence lull purposefully. "Well, like you said shit storm. Except for the fact that some mutations can be useful. Or, uh, profitable might be the better word. There was something called the Weapon X project." She cleared her throat when her voice cracked. "You asked me about heights. The heights started to scare me when I realized that someone wasn't always going to be there to catch me,"

He sat up, leaning on one elbow, hovering over her, "Hey, you don't have to tell me,"

Her eyes shone in the darkness. She blinked a few times. She managed a smile at him. "It's ok. We can just skip the third date rule," his eyes kept to her face, and she resolutely avoided eye contact. "I fell into something bad, and I was…alone." the scar on the back of her neck burned. "It was no one's fault. But, uhm, I'm- I'm a coward, Peter,"

Her eyes became glassy. She let their burning ground her.

Peter lowered himself, sliding one arm under her neck, pulling her face to look at him with the other, forcing him to look at him. She turned her head, propping herself on her forearm.

"That isn't who I see,"

She met his eyes, "It's not?" Her quiet question hung tenuously.

He shook his head. "No,"

A tension she hadn't known she was holding released itself from her limbs. She relaxed fully into the arm underneath her head. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, his warm brown eyes lingering. Their softness felt dangerous, thrilling. He leaned back again, and she was closer than she had been when they first laid on the roof.

Her voice was teasing when she said, "You just want me to pay for the pizza next time,"

His chuckle rumbled in his chest, "What can I say, your salary is better than mine," before he flicked her in the ear playfully.

"Hey, pizza gold digger!"

"Wouldn't it just be a pizza digger?" he let his arm rest around her shoulders when she shifted closer. "Which sounds violating in all… the wrong ways,"

She reached under his sleeve, finding the textured cuff of his costumed sleeve. She pulled until she could see a hint of red. "Maybe you could deliver pizzas in this?"

"How do you think I paid for college?"

She laughed. "Ok, so. Twenty-one questions?"

He sighed heavily. "If I must. I will not be partaking in any emotional nudity until the third date though,"

He yelped when she jabbed him in the ribs.

-O-

An hour passed, and each was still filled with questions about the other. His mouth was quick, and she hoped (before she could stop herself) that it was always like that.

"What's the heaviest thing you've picked up?"

"Uh," his voice was frantic, taking on a game-show-contestant-panicked tinge. "I threw an 18-wheeler once,"

Her brow drew together in surprise. "Wow, for real?"

He nodded. "What about you? The heaviest thing you've picked up?"

"With or without the purple haze?" she said, throwing back the nickname he dubbed her a few minutes earlier.

"With,"

"I..hmm…"

"Tick-tock," he said.

"Gimme a minute. Um, Logan said I tore apart a warehouse once with a bunch of containment units. I don't really remember much,"

"So an actual buildi-," he paused. "Wait, who's Logan?"

"What? Oh!" She burst out laughing, shaking. "Oh god. I'm so sorry…I am not dismissing you in any way. It's just…I'm imagining that whole interaction, and I pray that never happens for the sake of the whole universe,"

He grumbled to himself for a moment. She smiled, propping her chin against his chest. "Oh, c'mon, Peter, don't be mad,"

His lips twitched despite himself. He shook his head. "I'm not…you…you're just?"

"I'm just?"

Before she could think, he catapulted to his feet, picking her up along with him like she weighed no more than the pizza box he tossed earlier.

"Peter, what-?"

Mischief emanated from his smirk. "Why don't we face some fears?" he grabbed her hands, tugging her closer to the edge of the roof.

She eyed him skeptically, reluctantly moving her feet. "Of?"

His eyes glittered, "Falling,"

On instinct, her heels dug into the roof's gravel as her palms started sweating. "No. Emphatic, straight-up no." She yanked her hands away but didn't step back. He pulled his hoodie over his head, and she screeched, "Peter!" throwing her hands over her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Helping,"

"By taking your clothes off?" she was getting ready to peek through her fingers when gloved hands wrapped around her wrists. She opened her eyes, finding him kicking off his pants and pulling his gloves on.

He held his mask in one hand and offered the other to her. When she didn't take it, only eying it suspiciously, he rolled his eyes before taking her hand anyway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"We're conquering fears," he pulled her onto the roof ledge with him. His heels hung over the edge while her panic rose to Level: Unbearable. She latched onto the fabric around his shoulders, digging her nails in like a cat being forced into an ice cold bath.

Her mouth went dry as the cacophony of car horns and idle conversations filtered into the air. "Haven't you heard of therapy, you neanderthal?" her insult lost its edge when terror raised her voice an octave higher.

He had the audacity to laugh. "Haven't you heard that living your life with your feet on the ground is boring?"

"Getting pelted by a pigeon isn't exactly what I want for excitement either!" she hissed.

He yanked the mask over his face, wrapping one arm around her waist. She didn't have the sense to push him away, to step away from the edge. She could hear his smile. "You'll thank me for this later,"

Peter fell backward taking her with him. Her stomach dropped, and she nearly lost the pizza she had just eaten. Her glasses nearly flew off her face. Her arms wrapped around his neck in a chokehold while her legs matched around his hips.

"Peter!"

He didn't hear her.

Falling felt like dying.

"Woohooooo!"

THWIP!

The echo of his web-shooters pierced the air overtop the city noise. For an instant, she expected the bad memories to flood her. For an instant, time stretched as they fell from the rooftop. She waited for the hooked tendrils of terror to wrap around her chest like poisoned vines. She waited. Then…nothing. Only the wind in her ears, the texture of Peter's costume underneath her fingertips. She opened her eyes.

Falling felt like dying…

His web line drew taught, and they were flung higher into the air. The world twisted in front of her.

Falling felt like dying. But she had forgotten that dying felt a lot like being starkly alive.

Gravity gave away to falling then to flying. Terror changed to delight as she shrieked with laughter. Peter swung her higher into the Manhattan skyline as purple energy encased them both.