A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to Chapter Nineteen, in which some... *ahem* stuff happens. Yeah. Anyway, please read and review, and thank you all for your continued support and enjoyment of the story.

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Marvel.

Chapter Nineteen

Peter walked quickly down the hall, the soles of his bare feet silent on the tile, even when he crossed onto the wall to avoid the glass. He marched over one of the doors, and Jessica opened it seconds later. She called after him, but he kept moving, dropping back onto the floor. He turned the corner and nearly broke into a run, but the aching tightness in his back wouldn't let him move any faster.

He opened the door to his quarters and stripped out of the t-shirt and pants he'd just put on, then grabbed his costume out of his closet. He knew he shouldn't be web-slinging with his injuries, but he couldn't think of any other way to get out of there.

He paused after pulling the blue pants on long enough to look at himself in the full-body mirror. God, Peter, what the hell were you thinking?

Before he could start putting anything else on, there was a soft knock at the door. Carol called his name from the other side, and it sounded like music. He reached out for the door handle, his fingers twitching; he stopped once, but steeled his resolve and opened the door.

She stayed in the doorway, first looking him up and down, then past him, noticing his Spider-Man shirt and the web shooters on the edge of the bed. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Peter turned back into the room and snatched up his shirt. He wanted to rip the damn bandages off his back, the itching was driving him mad. "I need to go see Aunt May," he said, trying to work himself into the costume and failing miserably. "She's probably going crazy with worry, and besides, if the city never sleeps that means crime doesn't either…"

The door clicked shut as Carol followed him in, and she reached out to grab his hands. She pulled them down and he dropped the shirt onto the floor. "Peter," she said, her voice soft, "Where are you going?"

He plopped down on the edge of the bed, bouncing the web shooters onto the floor, and Carol eased herself down next to him. He hung his head between the triangle his arms created with his torso, his elbows resting on his thighs. "I was gonna kill him," he said.

Carol looked at him, silent, her eyes never leaving his face.

"I know what Steve said," Peter continued, "But I also know myself, and in that moment, I…" he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes cracked red, "I wasn't gonna stop until that helmet was full of soup."

"I don't believe that," she said, taking his hand. "I know you, too. Steve was right, you're no killer."

Peter snapped up from the bed. "I nearly killed the Goblin after Gwen died," he said. "Did you know that? Same thing with Doc Ock when he killed her father. I've come within inches of murder so many times I've lost count."

"But you've never done it," Carol said, her voice even. "You've never taken a life."

Peter scoffed, his eyes turning to the floor. "If you knew me at all, you'd know that's not true," he said.

"Stop saying that!" Carol shouted, rising from the bed. The air was hot in her throat, and the words hitched there for a breath before she could speak them. "I do know you."

"What do you know?" he asked, spreading his arms wide. "Tell me, please."

"I know how brave you are, and how intelligent," Carol said, taking a step closer to him. "I know how much you hate to see other people suffer. I know how much you sacrifice." She took his hands in hers, and smiled that smile again. "I know how compassionate you are. I remember you telling me about a boy named Tim…"

Peter smiled at the memory. "The Boy Who Collected Spider-Man," he said.

Carol nodded. "I've never heard of any of the rest of us doing something like that. Not without it being arranged by some foundation or another. You just went and visited a dying boy because you knew it was right."

Peter looked away from her. He tried to step away, but she held onto him. "Carol," he said.

"I'm not finished," she replied. "I know how much you've done for me, for this city, and never asked for anything in return. I know how much you hurt, Peter, and I know how much I want to make it stop."

He wanted to look away again, but he couldn't; it was like her eyes were bound to his, and he realized he would be perfectly content to just stare at them for the rest of time.

"But most importantly, Peter, I know how you feel."

Her words snapped him out of his reverie, and this time she let him take a step back. "Carol, I…"

"And I know that it's not just you," she said.

Peter's brain shut down. He didn't know how to process what he was hearing. She… had feelings for him? He had to be mishearing, misunderstanding her somewhere. But even if she was telling the truth, even if he wasn't wrong…

"Carol," he said, "I can't."

"You can't what?" she asked. "You said that in the hospital room, too. What can't you do?"

Peter pointed toward the door. "I need you to go," he said. "I need you to be the strong one, Carol. Like you always are."

Carol took a step back and shook her head. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I need you to be the strong one," Peter said. His eyes pinched together, and she saw him working to fight back tears. "I need you to turn around and walk out that door, because I can't."

"Can't what?" Carol shouted.

"If you stay," Peter said. "If you stay, I can't… we know how these things go, Carol. We've had plenty of examples: Clint and Bobbi, Wanda and Vision, Tony and damn near anyone, hell, even me and Black Cat or you and Simon."

Carol's eyebrows shot into the air, setting the smallest wrinkles into her forehead, and she couldn't stop the smile creeping onto her face.

"Somehow, somewhere down the line something will go south, and then things will get weird, and I'll end up quitting the team because I do that like, every other Tuesday…"

Carol took another step forward, her smile getting wider.

"So I need you to be the strong one and walk out the door, because if you stay," Peter said, his eyes focusing on hers again, "I can't… I won't be able to say no to you."

Carol nodded, and swallowed hard once. "You're absolutely right, Peter," she said. "I could turn around right now and walk out that door and never look back." She put a hand to his cheek, felt his muscles relax into her palm, his shaky exhale on her wrist. She pulled him close and leaned down, her lips centimeters from his. "But why on earth would I want to?"

She feathered her lips against him, a half-second of electricity. Her eyes fluttered open and looked into his soul. "Do you want me to go, Peter?" she asked.

His head shook lightly, and she put her other hand against his face. She heard a click sound in the base of his throat, the beginning of her name, before she breathed him in. His lips were her new wine, a taste she knew she would never have enough of. She felt him hesitate, only for an instant, before his hands were on her, cupping her face again. His fingers were on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and he breathed a sigh out of his nose.

Peter started moving, pushing her backward; his mind was on fire, a million and one thoughts racing in every direction, and he didn't want to catch a single damn one. Carol floated a few inches off the ground, easing the move, and the pair crashed into the wall. They broke apart long enough to laugh into each other's mouths before coming together again.

Carol started playing her hands up and down Peter's torso, running her fingers over every inch and curve like she was blind and trying to memorize him. She caressed his arms, careful of the stitches in his left bicep. She moved her hands to his chest and abs, feeling every contour of the ridges of his muscles; she felt heat radiating off his skin, the throbbing of his pulse beneath her fingertips. He was like living stone, a beautiful Michelangelo brought to life by her kiss.

They pulled to the side, into the corner behind the door. Peter grabbed her hands, intertwining their fingers, and pushed her arms against the wall, above her head. He moved his lips from her mouth and onto her jawline, and Carol threw her head back, letting out a quick breath. She jerked her fingers free of his grasp and tugged her shirt over her head, dropping the white cotton behind him as she threw her arms around his neck. Floating up a bit, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing herself closer to him, gripping tight the hair on the back of his head. She'd completely forgotten that his hands were still on the wall.

He started to climb.

"Oh!" Carol said in surprise. She tried to think of something else but couldn't manage it, her mind occupied with Peter's lips at her throat.

He pushed her against the ceiling, and she let gravity pull her closer to him. Peter leaned away from her and looked into her eyes. "Did you want the spider?" he asked. "Is this too much?"

Carol put her hands to his face and smiled at him. "I just want you, Peter," she said. "I just want you. Man and spider and everything in between." She plunged her mouth onto his neck, and he lost his grip on the ceiling. They fell for a second before Carol slowed them, guiding them down toward the bed. She flipped herself onto her back before hitting the sheets, sliding a bit until her head was on a pillow.

Peter pushed up from her, and her ankles unlocked from around his waist. He looked into her eyes and saw that fire, but not the same as before. This one wasn't angry; it was hunger, ready to devour. He turned his eyes from her, shook his head. "Is this too fast?" he asked. "I don't want to do this wrong, Carol. I don't want to make any mistakes."

Carol leaned up on her elbows and stuck her arms behind her back. Peter's eyes dilated as he heard three telltale plastic snaps. "Peter," she said. "I love your mind, but please stop thinking."

He obeyed, falling back onto her, losing himself in her embrace, in her lips.

XXXXXX

Peter stood at his window, looking out into the city. It was morning, the dawn creeping overhead and casting triangular shadows onto the buildings surrounding the tower. He leaned against the sill, his legs crossed, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pajama pants. Carol approached him, and Peter saw her pulling her white t-shirt over her head in the translucent reflection in the glass. A soft smile crossed his lips.

"Hey," she said, wrapping her arms around his torso, careful not to squeeze his back too tightly. "You okay?"

He turned away from the window and looked up at her. "The stitches are sore, but I'm alright," he said. He put his mouth up to hers, still tentative, but she kissed him lightly. "What about you?"

Carol smirked at him, then pushed away. "I've got no complaints," she said. She grabbed her black yoga pants off the floor and pulled them on. She walked over to the kitchenette and poured them each a cup of coffee, then sat at the two-seater table on the side wall.

Peter sat across from her, hooking a finger through the ceramic handle. "Thanks," he said, taking a sip. The bitter liquid flowed down his throat, snapping his synapses awake, and the cup between his palms warmed him to the fingertips. He looked up at her as she drank, the steam playing off her features, molding around her nose, hiding her blue eyes behind a misty veil.

She saw him watching and smiled at him. "What?" she asked.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his eyes turned down to his cup.

The mug clinked on the table as she set it down. "Peter," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and setting her elbows on the table, "I can make up my own mind. I can make my own decisions, and I'm choosing you." She reached across with one hand and took his. "If you're asking if I'm sure about this forever, I don't know. I mean, if you asked me to marry you right now I'd run away screaming you were a crazy person." He looked up, and she smirked at him, her smile growing wider as a new one crossed his features. "But I'm sure about giving it an honest shot with you. Okay?"

Peter nodded. "Okay," he said. "We'll have to have a second date, you know."

Carol's eyebrows twitched up. "Last night doesn't count?"

He shook his head. "No, no, like and actual date. Going out and doing a thing. In civvies."

Carol rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "Do you think we could avoid gun-toting goons this time? Because…"

She was interrupted by the sound of Peter's Avengers I.D. card going off. He walked over to the night stand and picked it up.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

Peter clicked the card against his fingers several times. He was already stepping out of his pants and scanning the room for his costume. "I've set the card to ping me if there's a crime alert in the news," he said, picking his web shooters off the floor. He tossed the card on the edge of the bed and clipped the devices on his wrists. "Rhino's hitting a bank in Midtown. You want to come along?"

Carol watched him for a few seconds as he pulled on the pants and boots, then saw how much he strained to get his shirt on without stretching his stitches. "You never stop, do you?" she asked.

He turned around to face her, jerking the webbed gloves onto his hands and fitting the web shooters' spinnerets through the holes. He bent down and picked up his mask. "I can't," he said.

She stood from the table, and rings of light glowed around her, sliding up and down her body. In seconds her clothes were replaced with her Captain Marvel uniform. "Well, I can't let my new boyfriend go get himself killed on day one, now can I?" she said.

"That whole trick is terribly unfair," Peter smiled at her, then pulled his mask over his face. He crossed to the window and pushed a button on the sill. The glass slid into the side of the wall, opening the room to the slight chill of the New York morning. "After you, m'lady," he said, bowing and gesturing into the open air.

Carol sauntered over to the window, and stuck a finger underneath his chin, raising his eyes. "That's right. I am your lady," she said, floating out into the wind. "You chauvinist pig."

"Hey, that's offensive," Spider-Man said, crawling out onto the side of the tower and pushing another button, closing the window behind him. He fired a web line onto an adjacent building and swung out, Carol flying beside him as he flipped above the streets. "Pigs give us bacon."

Carol laughed. "You're so right," she said. "I apologize to the porcine population of New York."

As she flew, Peter bounced off a building and side-flipped, landing on her back. "What are you doing?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Spider-Man turned sideways, his hands stuck out to his sides. "To me, my board!" he shouted.

Carol scoffed. "Are you making Silver Surfer jokes?"

"Let us ride the waves of the cosmos, and herald the coming of the World-Devourer!"

Carol shook her head and laughed. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"