Dying to meet you? What an odd phrase.

That was all Lena had time to think before she was engulfed in Aunt May's arms, in a hug that felt like home. Her energy was open and readable, radiating a warmth that Lena had never felt before. May Parker could be easily manipulated, but the sweetness of her smile made it practically impossible for Lena to even consider that (she also could not picture a scenario where that would be necessary, but that was besides the point). She could feel where Peter got his kindness and compassion; it was radiating off May's fingertips and thrusting into the air like a perfume made of joy. Likewise, she smelled sweet, the way she pictures the flowers in The Wizard of Oz smelling.

"It is nice to meet you," Lena smiled out of a new found happiness that she had never felt before, and she could feel Peter becoming elated with tenderness behind her. It was the same way he had felt when she was being introduced to Ned, as if his heart was sitting on a cloud.

They spoke for a while, which was difficult, but Lena navigated her way through it. By the time May announced she would be making dinner, she felt like she was in mental overload, having formulated so many words at once, so Peter showed her to his room, notifying her that he would be making the top bunk for her.

It was a bed with two levels, smaller than what she was used to. To her left was a desk, cluttered with a large computer, and gadgets scattered across the top. To her right sat a disorganized bookshelf, and clothes were littered across the floor. Peter's name was written all over the organized chaos that was his bedroom.

They sat on his bed, listening to the ruckus that May was creating in the kitchen. Lena's head was resting on his leg, and his fingers were weaving their way through her hair, winding through it like they were stuck in a maze. By this point, they were able to communicate quickly and smoothly through both thought and spoken word. Anyone attempting to listen in would be confused by words being skipped over and spoken fragments of sentences.

"What's it like?" he asked after a brief moment of silence. Living in the ocean.

Her eyes went misty, clouding over with the memories of what once was. Five months ago she was swimming aimlessly through the Atlantic, without any hope for anything in her life. Nothing had meaning, and nothing had purpose. She wished with her whole being that she could say that it was all perfect. In her time away from the sea, she had romanticized what it used to be like. The nightmares that accompanied her sleep were stark reminders that she never could return.

"It was…" she was contemplating, needing to say precisely how it felt, terribly wonderful.

He did not reply. She felt the words reverberating off of the walls of his head. She could tell he knew she purposefully chose an oxymoron, but he was trying to figure out why.

A set of chills went down the back of her spine as his fingers brushed through her scalp.

"There is no place like the sea," she whispered, Its endless depths and smooth waters could be heavenly if it were not home to…

"To them."

If she closed her eyes for too long, she could see them. The creatures that haunted her nightmares, the creatures that destroyed her from the inside out, her tormentors. Her…

She could not call them sisters.

You have betrayed us.

She flinched, physically jerking, her legs wanting to cling to her chest. On the crook of her arm she felt Peter's hand touch her gently, longing to know if she was all right. The memories of those times were so painful that they never wanted to leave her, aggressively hitting her at random. It had been five months and she still could not shake her abusers from plaguing her brain. She had started to wonder if this was a part of their curse.

The smell of burning filled their noses, and May knocked, Lena sitting up straight.

"The recipe had to have had a mistake in it," she was fanning her nose, "Pizza? Takeout? I'm all right with anything."

"Lena has a small appetite, so go ahead and get whatever you want, May,"

Apparently, it occured to Peter that Lena had never had a 'slumber party' before, murmuring something to May about being homeschooled and not having many friends. It was almost comedic how May's open energy was highly aware Peter was lying, but she entertained Peter, nonetheless. The woman understood the kid inside and out; she had practically raised him as her own son. She knew he had a reason behind everything he did, and trusted him more than he knew. Lena made a mental note to tell him that sometime.

She pulled her hair over her shoulder and sat down where Peter instructed her, upon a pile of blankets he had meticulously laid out himself. What they had called 'pizza' sat in front of them, the box open to reveal a round, delicious smelling food item that she had never had eaten before.

"We got cheese because I heard you refuse to eat meat," Peter said, sitting down next to her and crossing his legs, "I think you'll like it."

Like sleeping, eating had become a mandatory chore. She was not used to the odd human rituals that humans were forced to partake in to get their energy. It was only reasonable that she was doubtful she would like this food, but when she took a bit, the cheese hit her taste buds, and she all of a sudden knew why humans could be so obsessive over the food they digested. She nodded at him, showing him her approval as a string of cheese fell down her chin.

May sat behind them on a couch, eating a slice of pizza as well, "What are we watching?"

"Lena's never seen Tangled, and I think she would...really identify with the main character," Peter had a mischievous grin on his face that she had come to notice was his way of holding back a joke or a laugh. She brushed it off and waited for the punchline as the TV was turned on, and the opening credits started to play.

As soon as the story progressed, Lena could see why Peter had picked this movie. The main character had long hair, even longer than Lena's, and had the same exploratory nature that Lena carried with her everywhere. Rapunzel's opposite was an ambitious, chaotic thief named Flynn Rider, who didn't find himself being vulnerable hardly at all, but he made the same snarky comments that Peter had a habit of making as a part of his sense of humor.

It was not until a certain scene that May got a wonderful idea. Without hardly a warning, she dove her hands into Lena's hair, yanking and pulling, causing a mix of humor and confusion displaying itself through giggles. When she finished, Lena could not feel the waves of hair falling over her shoulders, they were tightly woven into what May called a 'braid.' It was unlike the ponytail in its scalp yanking nature. It looked like a long rope like the kind sailors used, and fell all the way to her bellybutton.

"I'll be right back, kids, I need to make some popcorn," May winked at Peter and strolled off towards the kitchen.

Peter had been gazing at her, and when she lifted her eyes, his seemed to be begging her to tell him. The secret that she had been holding onto. He knew that the bond was there, he wanted to act on it, but he did not know why.

The music in the background only heightened the magnetic pull she was starting to feel.

And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it's like the sky is new

It was a sweet ballad that fluttered her heart, and she could suddenly see the physical manifestation of the peirasmós bond that had been dragging them together since that fall evening five months ago.

And it's warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything looks different

Now that I see you.

The braid gave Peter a full view of her face, but it was not just her face that he saw. She felt him looking through her, at the rope that was holding her heart together. A lifetime of grief and anguish was swept away by the young boy she had bonded with, and the love that radiated off of him was enough to strengthen her through the painful moments when she could not go on.

Her chest felt warm, and she had not noticed the lure of his eyes bringing her in closer, their faces inches apart. It seemed like the perfect moment, the perfect song, the perfect person.

She stopped, her chin falling to her chest, his lips finding the top of her head. Now was not the time. She felt his hand inch its way over her's, begging again to tell him.

What is going on.

They did not acknowledge the moment for the rest of the night, simply carried on as usual. The movie ended happily, Rapunzel and Flynn Rider fell in love, leaving her to wonder if she would ever find the courage to do the same.

She had forgotten a comfortable set of clothing to sleep in, so Peter making a sarcastic remark about it while she pulled the gray thermal over her head. The baggy, cotton pants he gave her was probably the softest item of clothing she had worn, but looking in his mirror she looked like a grey blob. She was capsizing in fabric.

Saying goodnight was hard only because she did not want to finish talking to him, but he had school the next day, and she had to patiently wait for the test results. The next few days were about to be painfully long.

"Goodnight, L."

"Good night, Peter."

She woke up screaming.

When they attacked, their eyes turned a sickening yellow that signified their hunt. It brought out an animalistic trait that craved human flesh. Lena's eyes had never turned yellow despite the lives she had taken. Every life she had taken was a rock in the bottom of her heart. The men and women that she had been forced to kill to preserve her own life would follow her until the day that she died.

It was the same every night. It was the same time, the same dream, and same blood curdling screams that usually did not have to wake anyone. They were typically drowned out by the abyss of the Avengers Compound. One night Mr. Stark had come in to check on her, but his AI no longer sent the notification that she was screaming; like Lena, it had grown used to it.

Being in Peter's much smaller apartment, though, was a different story. She heard clicks, the sound of something coming into contact with the ceiling, and through the blurriness of her tears she could make out the figure of Peter climbing towards her, falling off the ceiling and onto her bed, encasing her tiny person in his arms.

"I've got you! I've got you. You're okay!" he sounded groggy and out of breath, but he was warm and comforting compared to the cold sobs she was used to pushing through.

It took less time for her to calm down with him wrapped around her. If she had a reason to sleep in his arms every night, she would; her nightmares were almost nonexistent with him at her side.

"Do not leave me, Peter," she was pleading with him, out of a genuine fear that he could leave and not return. What if he gave up? What if she had waited too long to tell him? How could he love someone that lied to him every day?
"I could never leave you."

In the depths of his mind where she had a bad habit of searching, she heard him tack on the word,

Princess.