Hi folks, this is hopefully going to be a multichapter fic centering on Andrew!Peter working on his God complex with Gwen after he isn't there to save her one night.
MISSED CALL
6:03 PM
hey, I dropped by. are you out tonight? i brought b&j's half baked.
6:11 PM
Hi, missed this, my phone was muted.
7:40 PM
Still at the lab! Rain check? :| It was really sweet to bring ice cream.
7:40 PM
you do know you can only get intern of the month once a year, right?
7:41 PM
i saw the certificate. it has fine print
7:41 PM
You're a funny, funny man…
By the way, does the ice cream still exist?
7:42 PM
i'm only human, ish
7:44 PM
Et tu, Brute?
7:45 PM
This is tragic.
7:45 PM
so what's going on at the lab?
7:46 PM
I'm on call. Well, the new intern is on call.
7:46 PM
But Steve's panicking-long story. Things snowballed fast.
Seemed cruel and unusual to leave him alone with the centrifuge.
7:47 PM
Probably going to be a late night.
7:47 PM
if it's going to be late can you give me a call when you're done?
7:51 PM
is there a window that opens on your floor?
7:52 PM
Ha no daring rescues necessary, bug boy. It's your night off, remember?
7:54 PM
OK ugh Steve just gave me his notes…and I think we might actually need to pull an all-nighter or close to it.
We're looking for the instant coffee.
7:55 PM
yikes. so you're going to be there all night?
7:56 PM
Yep, looks like it. Wow—there are cots and mouthwash in the supply closet by the kitchen.
It's like the Room of Requirement.
7:59 PM
a promising testament to the work-life balance at this prestigious institution. seriously, cots?
8:01 PM
Mmm-huh, yeah.
Remind me, when was the last time you were in bed before 3?
8:03 PM
no comment. you want some company over there?
i make a mean instant coffee
8:04 PM
Tempting but I think you'd get in the way.
8:11 PM
ohhh really? and why's that?
8:13 PM
Kind of hard to focus with you doing that thing with your eyes.
8:14 PM
what thing? i do a thing?
8:14 PM
Maybe 3
8:15 PM
i'd like to get some clarification on that point, Miss Stacy
8:17 PM
That's for me to know. ;)
8:20 PM
I'm serious, by the way, Peter. Get some sleep, catch up with May. See you in class.
8:20 PM
just promise me you'll call me if you do end early, doesn't matter what hour.
8:21 PM
Peter, I know you get worried but I'm not in the habit of spontaneously combusting past 9 PM.
Steve and I have like the same commute home anyway so it's all good.
8:21 PM
Sweet dreams.
8:22 PM
good night, Gwen 3
8:25 PM
3:23 AM
It was as dark as it could be at a bus stop in New York City. And it was cold. Gwen readjusted her scarf and pulled on a spare pair of gloves from her purse. Her breath was misty under the streetlights, and because no one was looking—there weren't many people out at the bus stop—she exhaled a cloud into the night air for the fun of it.
Sometimes, she wondered if Peter got cold on nights like these in his spandex, or if he was overheating and fatigued from that heavy chip on his shoulder. Peter was working himself to the bone, and she was worried he'd get himself hurt. For such a brilliant mind, it was truly astonishing how little he considered his immune system. It was probably a vain hope that he'd let himself take a break tonight, but she wasn't about to risk waking him up. Especially when Steve was already coming with her part of the way home, keeping up a constant stream of loud, sleep-deprived banter. As soon as they got off the metro and Steve boarded his bus, it seemed much quieter.
morning! how was the cot? what kind of lab honestly.
7:23 AM
by the way, i'm bringing you an actual, non-instant coffee with the lid and everything. where did you want to meet?
8:00 AM
MISSED CALL (2)
8:17 AM
if you're skipping first track, I'll let Saylor know. hell must be freezing over :P
8:30 AM
your phone isn't muted again, is it?
9:04 AM
VOICEMAIL
9:36 AM
Gwen, when did you get home?
9:40 AM
MISSED CALL (3)
9:54 AM
OK I'm freaking out here, Gwen, where are you?
9:56 AM
MISSED CALL (4)
10:01 AM
5:48 PM
Gwen groaned. Her entire left side felt like it had been trampled by an elephant and there was something annoying touching her face. She tried to swat it away but there was something pulling at—in?—her arm and the other felt tight, rigid. A sharp pain lanced through her as she moved.
Faster than light, there were hands gently smoothing her hands down and a soft murmur that sounded like "Hey, hey."
She cracked open an eye and winced at the bright, sterile light that was definitely not coming from her bedroom lamp. It took a moment to adjust, but then she saw Peter scooting a chair closer to her.
"Whaa?" she mumbled as she took in the hospital room. Hospital room? That didn't make sense, so she focused on Peter. His chestnut hair was sticking up in all kinds of directions, and he looked pale and drawn, with puffy, dark circles under his eyes.
"Peter?" she croaked.
"I'm here," he said, head down, picking up the hand that—wasn't in a cast? His words came tumbling out fast. "I'm here, you're here. You're awake. Gwen, are you—how...Gwen..."
Gwen looked down at where he gently held her hand in both of his. Her wrist was bruised, and there was an IV tube in her forearm. The cast on her left arm was signed with what looked like Howard's upside-down signature.
"What—what in the hell happened?"
Peter lifted his eyes up to meet hers and she saw anguish and a flash of something else in those deep brown eyes of his. He pursed his lips and seemed to be looking for words when a heavyset nurse in floral scrubs came in with a clipboard.
"Still here?" she said in a dry voice, glancing at Peter's back and rolling her eyes. Then—"Oh, Miss Stacy, you're up."
The nurse came to stand near the foot of her bed. "My name's Reggie and I'm your nurse. I've been keeping an eye on you for most of today. How are you feeling?"
Both Peter and the nurse looked at her expectantly as she floundered for a response. "Uh, okay. I'm, um, not feeling awesome?" she said. "Feel like I got the shit kic—sorry, I…mean, I'm feeling pretty sore. And disoriented."
Peter's jaw was clenched so hard it couldn't be good for his teeth.
"That's to be expected right now with your injuries. We have you on a light painkiller right now, but I can change the dosage now that you're awake," Reggie said. "I believe your mother and brothers are in the cafeteria. I don't know what you know already, but whenever you feel up to it, I'm happy to answer any questions you have and go over the reason for your stay."
"I'm okay to do it now," Gwen said, "I'm really…confused. Can we—can we go over what happened?"
"Of course, Miss Stacy. Would you like me to page your mother? Since you're eighteen, your legal g—no? All right. Now I—wait, young man, can I have you go sit in the hall while I speak with Miss Stacy here?"
Gwen reflexively tried to pull herself up, gripping Peter's hand even though it sent dull twinges of pain up her good(ish) arm. "No, no, it's fine, this is Peter, he's my boyfriend. I want him to stay. Can he stay?"
She probably should have been looking at the nurse when she asked, but for some reason, though he hadn't moved, she felt like she was really pleading with Peter not to pull away. Peter, who brought her chicken noodle soup during allergy season. Peter, who swung by her work during her lunch break to check on her, since he happened to be "in the neighbourhood." There was a distance to him right now—when she already felt small and confused and hurt—that was so unexpected and yet so familiar. It was almost like he was trying to pull himself away from her, like…like when he was the Peter who saw the ghost of her father. The Peter that couldn't communicate how wracked with guilt he was every time he was simply too late.
Peter seemed to pull himself back into the moment enough to nod, and say, quietly, "I'm here for you, Gwen. I'll stay."
"Of course, Miss Stacy, but just to confirm you are comfortable potentially sharing your confidential medical information? All right, then. I have the facts of your injuries here, but it's a little bit of a mystery right now what exactly led to your stay. Can I ask you what the last thing you remember is?"
As the reality of the hospital settled around her, Gwen felt herself getting warm—too warm—feverish, really. An uncomfortable feeling bloomed in her chest, radiating out, while her mouth started to taste like—like carbonated bubbles were fizzing on her tongue? The last thing I can remember? What is this, a telenovela?
"I, uh…I—"
Her heart was beating faster as she contemplated the question and found her memory blanked out. Some monitor that was hooked up to her began to beep faster.
"Miss Stacy?"
Absently, as though she were outside her body, she noticed that Peter was, to a trained eye, not so subtly reacting to the sound of her elevated heartbeat. He looked about ready to jump out of his skin.
But then a tentative hand whispered against her arm, before rubbing more solidly, comfortingly against her shoulder.
The scientist inside informed her she was hyperventilating. Deep breaths, right? Deep breaths. Calm down, she ordered herself, you're panicking.
Gwen took a deep breath, and then another. There was a pitcher of water on the table next to her. Peter followed her gaze and passed her a cup. Blurry images were starting to come to the surface and become clearer, and she worked to seam them back together as best as she could.
"I remember I was commuting home with Steve—my coworker—around three or maybe three-thirty? It was late, but—" Gwen paused to think about those last text messages she and Peter had been passing back and forth, when he'd been putting down some ridiculous concerned boyfriend vibes.
Why was she feeling guilty? She had every right to the night, to get home independently. It was—you know what, it was internalized misogyny and victim-blaming, to feel like she had somehow asked to get mugged by getting home alone at night.
But still, the story came out like an explanation for an embarrassing faux pas. "But Steve and I take the same train back from our lab, and it turned out not the same bus, so I was waiting. And—my stop was really deserted—except there were a couple guys who walked by the stop and seemed a little…off…so I—I guess it was a bad flight response, I should have gone back into the station, but I just started walking, and then I was running but somehow I got cornered in some... And I think they wanted my wallet and—"
Peter was tense, staring so hard at her hand that she was half surprised she couldn't feel the weight of it physically. Even though it was obvious some kind of shit had gone down, she rushed to say, "And anyway, I bet they don't look too good right now," she said. "'You should see the other guys,' right, that's the phrase? You should see my right hook." She attempted a smile, trying to catch Peter's eye.
"I don't remember much after they left with my stuff. I guess I must've passed out. Which—how did I even get here? Did—did I walk?"
"Well," said Reggie, "You were admitted here at the hospital around 11 a.m. I wasn't on shift yet, but it sounds like you had a guardian angel. You've heard of Spider-Man, right? He dropped you off at the E.R., identified you and your emergency contacts, couldn't say for sure what happened but said you needed help right away. Between you and me, that guy's brought folks in to the E.R. before, but it was almost like this one was…apologies, I'm digressing. Anyway, we admitted you just past 11 this morning, and…based on the nature of your injuries, the forensic physician on shift determined that it was appropriate to run some time-sensitive tests."
That was diplomatic. "As in…a rape kit?" she asked, tightening her hold on Peter's hand. She couldn't be sure, but she got the feeling he wasn't breathing.
"Yes, along with a full toxicology report. I'm sorry that we had to consider that possibility." Reggie looked at her with a question in her eyes, and Gwen nodded that it was okay to share the results. "We got the results in just a few minutes ago, and the gist is all were negative."
Peter exhaled shakily.
Things blurred a bit from then on. The nurse went over the injuries she had sustained, a recovery timeline, and a variety of physical and mental health resources.
After (finally) removing the oxygen tube, setting her upright on the hospital bed, and confirming she could give a statement later, Reggie left, and she and Peter were alone.
"Well, I guess I ended up in a cot after all?" Gwen said lightly, to cut the tension in the room.
"Don't."
"What?"
"Just, please, for me, don't try and joke about it."
Peter had his head in his hands.
"Gwen, I can't tell y—I can't tell you how sorry I am."
"Hey," she said. "Hey, it's okay, I ended up fine—"
"You are not fine. Don't say that you're fine. Please don't. I can't take it. Didn't you hear what the nurse said? Bruised ribs, a broken arm, twenty-four stitches, you're all black and blue—"
He shook his head and slammed a fist to his thigh.
"Hey. Peter. Don't do that, come back to me."
He looked up, and God, he looked smaller and more broken than she was at the moment. Oh boy, she thought. This has all the makings of a Peter Parker angst fest.
"This is all my fault," he whispered, trailing his hand over the bruises on her wrist. "You were attacked, and I wasn't there."
She groaned. "No. No. You are wrong. Hey—" She cut him off when he made to argue. "Look Peter. I told you to stay home and rest. Okay? Would have been kind of creepy if you hadn't listened when I explicitly told you not to come. I am an adult, and I made the decision to go home late and under my own power. And you know what? I'm not blaming anyone but the guys who mugged me, not even myself. I wasn't asking for—"
Peter looked horrified. "You think I'm blaming you?"
"No, no, I'm just…well. Kind of? I mean, Peter, I wake up in the hospital the day after you were all concerned about my plans getting home, and now you're all distant and tense? I know that you're worried but it's hard not to assume there's a trace level of 'I told you so' in that. You can't tell me you're not angry right now."
"Yes!" Peter burst out, getting to his feet. "Yes, I'm angry! I'm furious. But not at you!" Peter's voice cracked. "Never you, Gwen. Look at you. It's killing me—it is killing me—that I wasn't there to save the person I care most about in this world. It's killing me that I couldn't save your father, and it's killing me that I couldn't save Uncle Ben. That some—thugs—felt comfortable enough to get close to you in my city. Do you know what it felt like to call your mom and hear you never came home, to not know where you were? What it felt like to try and retrace your steps only to find you all bloody and bruised, unconscious, in some godforsaken alley? To check your pulse? God, Gwen, my heart nearly stopped." Peter stopped pacing and looked at her. "And—and I'm an asshole," he finished quietly.
"What are you talking about?" Gwen said, blinking away the moisture that beaded at the corner of her eyes.
"I'm making this about me and you're the one who got hurt. I'm sorry, Gwen. I'm just…so, so sorry. Do you want me to get your mom, or something from the cafeteria or anything? I can go if you want."
Gwen took a deep breath.
"Peter, come over here. I need you to look at me."
He slumped forward. Gwen patted the bed but her current IV set up was a little too complicated and he seemed reluctant to touch anything that might be broken or bruised on her. Peter brought the chair closer.
"I love you, Peter." His eyes were going dark and glassy. "I don't blame you for anything. How could I? You got me here, you saved me, and you respected me by listening to me. Listen to me now and don't get this twisted. Sure, you can help people who are in trouble—but that doesn't mean you hurt people when you can't."
"You shouldn't have to comfort me, Gwen," he whispered into her neck.
"You're right," she said, trying for a bright tone. "Partial credit for recognizing that. I don't have to, but I am choosing to. I do not live my life passively, and you don't get to feel responsible for me—I'm responsible for me."
"You're very eloquent for someone hopped up on painkillers, you know that?"
There was a little awe in his expression, and a smile playing at his lips. She'd choose lovestruck puppy Peter Parker over dark and twisty Spider-Man any day, but she knows that they're all facets of him, both the sweet, bashful science geek and the sarcastic, complicated badass vigilante.
"Do you think you could get Spider-Man to sign my cast?"
He laughed, a real laugh.
"Next among my demands as I recover: chocolate. Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't seen any yet. Next time I—"
"'Next time?'"
She sighed as the moment of levity faded and his brow furrowed.
"Gwen, there's not going to be a next time. Because next time I'll be there to stop it."
"Oh my God, Peter. What were we literally just—"
"I can't do that again, Gwen. I can't find you unconscious in an alley again."
"You think I wanted to be in that position? I was going about my day like a normal person and a bad thing happened, and that's awful but sometimes bad things happen. And maybe I should have just taken a cab when I was that tired and it was late, but that doesn't mean I asked for—"
"Gwen, Gwen, I'm not saying it was your fault. I'm not. I just—can't see you hurt like that. I've gotta...I gotta—"
His hands were flying through his already disheveled mop of hair when something occurred to her.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare break up with me again, not when I've just woken up from a mugging. This wasn't some mutated super villain my dad th—"
Peter cast a wild look at her. "No, no, no, no, no. God no. I mean, Gwen, uh, that's not what I mean."
"What do you mean?"
"I—sorry, I'm not making sense. I just…" He took a deep breath. "I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm freaked out, and I love you. And I need you. I just don't know how to keep you cocooned in bubble wrap and packing peanuts."
She softened a little. "It keeps me up at night, thinking that maybe you won't come home someday. So, I get it, really. I do. And look, trust me, I don't want this to happen again. It does kind of suck." She grimaced, gesturing at her cast. "I'm going to be more careful, but I need you to trust me like I trust you, and to work on that y-chromosome, caveman instinct moving forward, all right?"
Peter nodded, but he was looking down at the speckled hospital floor and she was just too tired to pursue it further.
Please note that I am not a medical professional or mental health expert and that I have used my imagination in the story's hospital procedures. If you or a loved one have experienced PTSD after a crime, please know that you are not alone and that there is help out there.
