A/N: I have been so excited to get to the Xavier school. Like so much XX. Also, there is a limited amount of spice in this chapter. Like nothing happens, but...I dunno. Read or skip if you want. Nothing too indecent though...BAHAHAHAHA...yet.

Songs for this chapter:

"she" by Harry Styles

"she calls me daddy" by KiNG MALA

"All For Us" by Labrinth

Chapter Twelve: You're All I Have Too, You Know

-O-

Maren was grateful to be alive. Not from her two encounters with Sabretooth and brush with Oscorp. No. From Peter Parker's driving style, especially after he admitted he hadn't driven since passing his driving test in high school.

"Why would I need a license? We're in the city. Either swing or walk," he had said. "How can you even afford parking?"

Her nails cut into her palms as she held onto the door handle, her eyes clenched shut. "Are we dead yet?"

"Um, the correct question is, are we here yet?"

"I know what I said,"

He talked over her, "And yes, we are," he threw the gearshift into park. He leaned against the steering wheel, looking across the expansive grounds, elegant granite staircase, and walkway along with traditional Greco-Roman statues contrasting with the brightly colored playground equipment across the yard. "Nice place. Expensive place,"

She breathed a laugh, "Yeah, the professor's pretty good at finding sponsors. The angel guy helps too,"

Peter's brow rose, "Like?" he pointed to the sky.

Maren snorted. "Sorta. He's a rich guy in Brooklyn. He helps a lot. You've probably taken pictures without realizing,"

"I think I would remember enormous angel wings,"

"Warren Worthington III? Ring a bell?"

Peter's eyes widened. "That guy? He can?" Peter flapped his arms briefly. "Really?" He didn't wait for her answer before he opened his door, swinging his legs out, standing. She could see him talking to himself in the rearview mirror as he went to the back of the car. He pulled the luggage out. He closed the trunk and was still talking. He wound around to her side of the car, opening her door. "Don't you think? I mean, it would have to, right?"

She let him tug her out of the car. "You had 80% of that conversation with yourself. You realize this?"

He had never stopped touching her, she realized as they walked toward the mansion's grand front entrance. Absently running his fingers over her hand in the car, brushing loose hair from her face, helping her from the car, keeping her hand in his until they reached the stairs, then his hand skimmed across her lower back. It was almost like he needed the reminder she was still standing next to him, warm and still alive. Confusion and something else buzzed across her thoughts. God, she hoped it was the painkillers.

His knuckles rapped against the front door before he saw the lion door knocker. He grinned impishly. "I always wanted one of these," he said before slamming it down dramatically a couple of times.

A grouchy, shirtless Logan ripped the door open, ran his eyes over Peter like he was rotten produce inventory, then slammed the door shut again. Peter blinked before looking at Maren with an irritated stare. He said slowly. "I really…really hate him,"

"You're not alone in that sentiment," Maren pulled her hand from his, raising it perpendicular to the wooden door. A purple haze surrounded her fingers. She flexed her hand, the energy surrounding moving forward, leeching into the door. The door popped open with a thud, hitting something behind.

Maren stepped inside first, finding Logan holding the shattered remains of a coffee cup.

He met her eyes, feral, "You do that?"

She shrugged, "Don't slam the door on people,"

Peter followed with his backpack and Maren's duffel. He whistled lowly, "Nice place," he dropped the bags onto the floor.

Logan's glare turned lethal at Peter, "And why's he here?"

Another voice from underneath the staircase spoke up. "Sorry. We haven't been able to finish training him yet," A young man with red glasses and matching hair stepped into the light.

Maren grinned. "Hey, Scott,"

He flashed a peace sign. "They said you might be comin' back,"

"About the training," Peter began. "There's a great school in Brooklyn. I can get the number you want?" He was about to say more when Logan flashed metal claws, slashing in his direction. Peter leapt backward, flipping onto the glass window far above the door.

Maren craned her neck to look at him. She sighed. "I wish I could say I was surprised about him,"

Scott considered a moment. "I like the new boyfriend." Maren flushed but didn't correct him. "A lot better than the old one. Sticks to walls pretty well by the sound of it,"

Peter crawled upside down onto the ceiling. "There's a cobweb. I'll get it,"

Maren huffed a quiet laugh while Logan growled, spinning on his heel. "Fuckin' priss. 'm goin' back t'bed," he ruffled Maren's hair as he passed. "Night, kid,"

She heard Peter leap back from the window then onto the floor behind her. Maren waved while Peter resisted the urge to flip the bird. She looked back at Peter. "I think that went ok,"

He slung an arm around her shoulders. "I thought so. All fingers and toes are still accounted for,"

Scott smirked. "Not your fingers and toes you should be worried about with Logan, dude,"

Peter shifted on his feet. "Ah. Ok. Noted,"

"Wait, sorry. Peter, this is Scott. He's one of the X-Men. Scott, this is Peter. He's uh-,"

"Judging by the gymnastics," Scott said taking mercy on Maren. "You swing around Manhattan for fun, right?"

Peter nodded. "I like this guy. You're quick, man,"

Scott said, "Thanks. I try,"

A puff of black smoke on Peter's right, and Kirk appeared. Peter yelped.

"Guten abend!" he said cheerily. "I'll take the bags upstairs for you," another flash, and he disappeared.

With wide eyes, Peter turned to Maren, "MJ? Did he have a…uh?"

"A tail? Yes. Yes, he did. That's Kirk. He makes a killer omelet,"

In awe, Peter pointed to the staircase, "Did he go-?"

Kitty's head appeared from the closest wall. "In a puff of black smoke. Also yes. Keep up, Spidey," she waved at Maren. "So," she emerged from the wall, hooking her arm through Maren's. "The whole MJ thing is out now, huh?"

Scott nodded, smiling, still talking to Peter, "Yeah, probably. He has a weird sense of hospitality. I think it's a European thing. He took the bags to the room. Yours is on the… You know what, never mind. I'll just show you to your room. Follow me,"

With reluctance, Peter released Maren to Kitty. He took the steps two at a time, keeping the pace Scott set.

"Don't worry. I'll walk her to her room later. It'll just be a minute,"

"Is everything ok?" Maren asked once Peter was out of earshot. "Did you find anything yet?"

Kitty shook her head. "Nothing like that. What about a midnight hot chocolate? For old time's sake? Since we're kinda old now?"

Maren smothered a smile. "Do we have cinnamon?"

Kitty squealed in delight.

-O-

Kitty slid Maren her ornamented hot chocolate covered in whip cream, cinnamon dust, and chocolate shavings across the breakfast table. Aside from a few new dings on the wall, nothing had changed. Decor was still stuck in the 90s, but it smelled like home.

Maren took a long sip of her hot chocolate nearly moaning at the flavor.

"Good?"

Maren nodded, "Perfect, thank you. You still got it, man. You could make a fortune off these in the city,"

Kitty slid uncomfortably close to Maren. "So…" she said with a smile.

"Oh no,"

Kitty took a sip of her over-sugared hot chocolate, asking with feigned innocence, "What!?"

"You brought Peter here?" she waggled her eyebrows.

"Uh. Yeah, no. I did not bring Peter anywhere. He said he was coming with me, and I didn't feel like arguing,"

Kitty scoffed, "Since when?"

"Since I jumped from a 30-story building tonight!" she argued. "I am allowed near-death experience anxiety too,"

Kitty waved off her argument. "Whatever. Like it's the first time that's ever happened. I'm talking about the fact that you never bring a date home,"

Maren glared from overtop her glasses. "Your point?"

"So, this is a big deal. And I'm proud of you. You haven't gotten close to anyone since you left the school. And I don't care if it's a boyfriend or just a friend. Its something. I have worried about you for actual years,"

Maren softened. Reaching across the table, she patted Kitty's hand. "Thanks, Kitty. You know you don't have to worry,"

She grumbled, "Well, someone has to,"

"I know. Glad it's you," she said, bumping her shoulder against Kitty's. "You make it look easy,"

Kitty perked up, "I do, don't I?" she looked at Maren's outfit. "Is there a reason you're still wearing the stained shirt he clawed you in?"

"Don't judge me. I didn't have time to change," Maren looked down. "Is it that bad?"

Kitty grinned overtop her mug. "I don't think your company'll mind,"

"Really? Dude?"

Kitty shrugged. "Hmph. Whatever,"

"I know you haven't been here long, but have you found anything about the list?" Maren asked, leaning her elbows against the table.

"I talked to Scott earlier. The professor was already in the bed," Kitty grew grave, shaking her head. "As far as we know, all those lists haven't been digitized. They would be in the subbasement archives,"

"I was afraid about that. The filing system is terrible,"

"Blame Hank,"

"We'll need him down there,"

Kitty nodded, "We told him. Well, told Storm. She's his wrangler these days,"

"The whole getting married thing probably has something to with it,"

"Nuance,"

"Tomorrow?" Maren asked.

She sighed. "Tomorrow. We'll go through it tomorrow. Go get some rest."

Maren slid out of her chair, rinsing her cup.

Kitty continued, "Y'know, no one ever took your room,"

Maren smiled tiredly, pleased. "Really? Everything's still there?"

"Backstreet Boys poster and all,"

Maren chuckled. "Goodnight, Kitty,"

"Hey, MJ?"

Maren paused at the doorway, turning over her shoulder, "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back,"

"Y'know what? Me too,"

-O-

Maren climbed to the top floor of the mansion. She loved her room while she had been here. No one wanted a room on the top floor because it was hot during the summer and freezing during the winter. She never had to share a room with anyone. Walking to the end of the hallway, she ran her hand over the textured floral wallpaper. The subtle vibration of running water and the heat pump thrummed through her fingertips.

She thought about what Kitty told her, about her not being alone anymore. The photos of the missing kids flashed through her mind. She wondered if they believed they were alone, with no one caring to look for them. Her heart dropped. She wanted to reach out to them; it was like a cut wire in the back of her mind fizzled. She hoped Stryker and Cornelius felt every piece of burning metal against their heads as their labs collapsed around them. A broken telepath was every bit as useless as…

Reaching the last door, she turned the knob, shaking away her last thought. She couldn't do anything until tomorrow. Tracing a paper trail didn't need a telepath but a data analyst. That role she could fill.

Kurt had placed her bag on her bed, leaving the bedside lamp on. She knocked her last painkiller back into her mouth, wanting to slip into her pajamas and into unconsciousness if possible. She unzipped her bag, digging out her t-shirt and shorts. Wanting to put off taking her shirt over her head, she took her pants off first, folding them, tucking them back into her bag.

She looked around her old room. Not much had changed. No one had taken this room apparently. Her old posters, a few knick-knacks that she hadn't taken, some books stacked in the corner. She spotted the hot chocolate stain on the corner of her duvet and smiled. She had started on the buttons of her shirt when her door opened behind her.

She whirled around, her fingers still fixed on her top button. Peter stood in her doorway, frozen, drying his hair with a towel. Her eyes drifted over him as he wore a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else. Her heart stuttered. She shook herself, forcing her eyes back to his. That proved more dangerous. His eyes set upon her darkly, but not in shadows of worry, moving down the lines of her, the expanse of her legs.

Face red, she asked. "Peter?"

His eyes shot up to meet hers. She couldn't tell where the brown of his iris began and his darkened pupil ended. She expected bashfulness from him, but it never came. Color flushed up to her neck.

He cleared his throat, finally looking around the rest of the room, spotting her bag on the bed. Finally, she spotted his dark blue backpack behind her door.

"I see the valet also brought your bag," he teased, reaching for his bag, and tossing his towel into the laundry basket in the corner.

She huffed a laugh. "It seems like it." her nervous energy effused her words. "I'm sorry. I should've asked where they put you instead of just…I-," she couldn't move to cover herself. She tugged the edge of her shirt further down. Instead, she turned slightly, moving to finish arranging her bag, and she watched him stop. She wondered if it was the painkiller that gave her the courage to turn sharply, asking, "Why are you looking at me like that?" her voice was a bit hoarse, more desperate and vulnerable than she meant.

Peter finished sliding his t-shirt over his head, and she didn't have time to be disappointed. His good humor disappeared. She saw when his eyes dropped again. She followed it, seeing the red stripe against her side. She knew he was calculating how far it was from being potentially lethal. Maren reached for his hand, and he tangled their fingers together.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm ok, Peter,"

The longer he remained silent the faster her heart beat.

"Peter-?"

He reached up, moving a piece of hair away from her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. She knew she needed a shower, needed to wash away the dust and grime from the evening. She stepped back, and he let her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I almost lost my MJ before I knew I had one,"

She knew he meant it to be sweet. She knew he did. She drew her shoulders back as the words found an old wound. She thought of those kids. Maren shook her head.

"I'm not what you want, Peter. I'll never be like them," the corner of her eyes burned. "I can't be her…what you deserve." she sat on the edge of the bed. He tried interrupting, but she kept talking. "I'm not who you think. I told you I was a coward. But I'm broken. I let them break me and take a part of me that should've been…" her voice cracked.

"MJ…"

"I'm sorry," she shot to her feet, rubbing the back of her neck before wrapping her arms around her waist. She pasted on a smile. "I can't lose what I have with you, y'know?" her temper flared in a wet wave. "So why do you keep looking at me like that?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Why do I keep looking-? Why do I keep looking at you like this?" He started toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"It's fine, Peter. I can…Kitty's just downstairs. I'll go stay with her. Get some rest, ok?"

She moved past him before he caught her arm. He pulled her back into his chest. His head dipped as she looked up, two fluid movements with his more intentional than hers. His lips captured hers, and she stiffened. His hand wound into her hair, tugging desperately, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer. His tongue brushed against her bottom lip, and her eyes shut as she yielded.

She relaxed her body, molding herself against him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer. She raked her nails down his neck, down his clothed back. He nipped at her lips in retaliation. She gasped into his mouth before Peter reached down, his hands running like fire against her bare legs. His hands gripped the back of her legs, lifting her up. Hitching her legs around his hips, her fingers delved into his hair. His litheness detracted from the power he carried underneath his skin. She forgot often that flipping over 18-wheelers was part of his daily job description. She reveled in the move of muscle under her fingertips as she moved her hands over his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh when he pulled away, lowering his mouth to her neck, latching on with fervor.

He rumbled against her neck as he held her aloft, "I don't need anyone else. I wouldn't give a damn if there's a million MJs out in the multiverse of I don't give a fuck." she shuddered against him. "You're the one I would find. You're the one I would always find." he pulled back to meet her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat while she felt his heart thrumming despite the resolve in his eyes. "And you're asking me why I'm looking at you like that?"

She panted, trying to think of something, anything to say. She yanked his lips back to hers, desperate to pour everything she felt into her kiss. I think I love you…Don't leave, don't leave…

He started moving, and her legs tightened around his hips. He groaned against her mouth. Her ass landed on her old desk across from her bed. He swept away any obstacles. Hot, open-mouthed kisses cascaded across her jaw, down her neck, as he leaned over her, pressing himself more fully into her, licking and sucking, finding what made her sigh, what made her pull him closer and dig her nails into his skin.

She tugged at his t-shirt. "God, why did you even put this back on?"

He smirked against her neck, and a shiver wracked down her spine. "Didn't want you to report me to HR,"

She shoved her hands under his shirt, letting her nails lightly trace the flesh underneath. "Well, get it off,"

He chuckled, "Yes, ma'am,"

Her stomach swooped. Her hands tugged her shirt above his head when she decided he wasn't fast enough. Her teeth found her bottom lip as she let her eyes roam him appreciatively. His hands slid up her legs, her waist, before framing her face. Their eyes met. She flashed him a bright grin, and he matched it. She surged forward again, sliding her fingers into his hair, her tongue coasting over his.

His hands slid down her face, her neck, coasting over her shoulders before his fingers stopped overtop the first button of her shirt. "This ok?" he breathed against her mouth.

She could only jerk her head in a nod, "Mm-hmm," before muffling his mouth with hers again. Electricity danced across her skin while her nails left trails of fire across his. The back of his hands brushed across her chest while he unbuttoned her shirt.

She laughed when he wrapped his arms around her again, hitching her legs around his waist, swinging her into his arms like she weighed nothing. He planted one knee on the mattress, lowering her down. A flush warmed her neck while her pulse thundered in her ears. She felt a shudder run across his skin as her nails dragged down his forearms. His mouth on the inside of her knee caused her to jump. He reached up, trailing a calloused hand between her breasts, over the lace of her bra, down her abdomen. She arched her back until only the crown of her head touched the bed.

She opened her eyes when his hand stilled. Peter stared at the square of white gauze covering her side as well as the red and blackening bruises across her abdomen. The room fell quiet aside from their breathing. Maren panted.

"Peter?"

He didn't look up from the bandage, instead tracing around the edge with his finger. He exhaled heavily, "Close one today,"

Maren leaned up on one elbow, ignoring the pull in her stitches, reaching for the side of his face. He didn't look away until her hand forced him. His smile didn't match the heaviness in his eyes. She pulled his hand toward her, placing it over her heart. The heat between them cooled to a comforting warmth. She slid up the bed, tugging him along with her.

"C'mere,"

He took a shuddering breath, and she pretended not to notice how glassy his eyes were. He flopped on the bed next to her before pulling her against him, making sure not to touch her bandage.

"I'm ok, Peter,"

He sighed, "You almost weren't," unusually serious.

"But I am,"

She ran her fingers across his bare chest, not complaining when his grip became desperate, when he turned on his side, tucking her head under his chin. She closed her eyes, reveling in the closeness, of his heartbeat underneath her ear. She wished she could stay here, just here, forever.

He said quietly, "You're my best friend, y'know?"

Her voice was gravelly with sleep. "That's so sad, dude," she said, and he snorted. "But, same here,"

MJ turned her head, and he leaned to kiss her again, lips moving softly against hers, threading his hand into her hair. After a moment, she pulled back, kissing his hand, replacing her head on top of his chest.

"So, is that N'Sync poster from the pre-teen MJ era, or is that just independent creative choice?"

She laughed.