Reckless

The beginning of October is stressful and bizarre. Owen and Gwen never discuss the mice again, but in some weird way they're discussing it all the time. Every now and then he'll look over at her or she'll look over at him and they'll have to acknowledge in some silent, guilty way that they share the burden of this secret, this unthinkable thing that their serum did to these mice.

The true horror of it is that somehow they're still living and breathing and walking around as if nothing has happened to them. She doesn't like to look at them, even though she should be used to it by now, because it unnerves her. It's the kind of feeling Gwen walks around with all the time—this past month feels like it has left her just as lopsided, like all her insides are mush, too. She still isn't talking to her mother and hasn't visited home in two weeks. The imposter Spiderman is still wreaking havoc on the streets every other day, with attempted bank robberies and even a hostage situation, and even though he may be an even match for Peter it sure doesn't seem that way on the news. The imposter is far too willing to go to extreme, malicious lengths to stop Peter from interfering with his plans.

But Peter is alive, that much she knows from the broadcasts, and from MJ, who reported somewhat sourly that Peter finally started posting on the discussion boards and that if Gwen wanted to keep him around it was fine by her. She even suggests a double date at some point when Richard visits on a weekend. Gwen cringes at the idea of Richard and Peter in a booth at some diner together between the two of them and decides it's best to nip that idea in the bud.

"I'm not dating Peter Parker," Gwen protests after MJ brings this idea up for the third time.

"Mmmhmm," says MJ. "He was just naked, in your bed—"

"Fully clothed! Let's not rewrite history here!" Gwen exclaims, looking around wildly to make sure nobody on the street heard them.

"You never did explain what he was doing there."

Gwen fiddles with her chemistry notebook. "He's my neighbor," she says.

MJ raises her eyebrows and Gwen can sense the oncoming sarcasm before she even opens her mouth. "Oh, that makes sense then, I totally get it now."

Gwen rolls her eyes. "He was tired, is all. We were hanging out and he was tired."

"And I guess he couldn't make it down the hall," says MJ. "Gee, I bet he had no ulterior motives there."

Gwen's cheeks burn. "You don't know him, he's not like that." Nobody knows that better than Gwen, she thinks to herself, somewhat miserably.

"He's a boy, they're all like that," says MJ, waving her off. "Anyway, let me know when you two are ready to fess up. It's about time you got a boyfriend, and I know all the cutest date places near campus. Finally I can be the one who tutors you in something!"

Gwen cracks a smile. She can't lie to herself—she has wondered if she were more aggressive, more effusive, more like MJ, if Peter would have caved into her a long time ago. She has considered all sorts of scenarios. Just marching up to him on campus one day and grabbing him and kissing him. Showing up at a party he's at, getting wasted and using it as an excuse to pretend she doesn't know any better. The kind of thing that bolder or slightly less mature girls would do.

It isn't necessarily that Gwen has standards too high for this kind of behavior, but she is a terrible actress, and could never pull off this kind of fearlessness that she doesn't possess. She will always be uncertain and reading way too far into everything Peter says and does. So she lives in these unrealistic fantasies, these places where she runs into Peter on campus or at a party or places that she'd never actually see him, and does things that she'd never actually do.

A few days later she finally takes Owen up on his request to get coffee by stopping at the café in the student bookstore, which is the most casual location she could think of. Gwen orders some new-fangled iced tea and Owen gets a scone and they sit there for a little bit and pointedly discuss everything except for their jobs at OsCorp. With some relief she notices that most of his weird little quirks around her have all but disappeared, and he seems to have accepted the idea that she doesn't want anything more than a friendship with him.

They're discussing the school's new policy on student club formation when she sees a tuft of familiar brown hair about ten feet away, standing in the café line. It's been almost a week since she has seen Peter and she can't help the lurch of relief in her stomach at the sight of him.

He hasn't seen her yet, she can tell by the way he's slouching and staring up at the menu with his mouth wide open unselfconsciously. When his head turns a bit to the side she sort of lifts her hand, wondering if she should wave, but then Peter's face perks up and he gestures happily over not to her, but to Owen.

"Pete!" Owen calls. "Whatcha doing here, man? It's been like a month."

"Hey," says Peter, ducking out of line. He starts walking over, sees Gwen, and stops short. "Oh—Gwen!"

She decides to wave after all. "Yeah, hey," she says, watching as Peter looks between her and Owen, a confused half-smile on his face. She pats the open seat at their table, gesturing for him to join them. "I guess you two know each other?"

"Yeah," says Owen, "we went to middle school together, we run into each other every now and then. How's your aunt, Pete?"

"She's, uh—she's good, just started taking some knitting classes or something," says Peter, looking a little reluctant to sit down. He swallows noticeably and says, "I don't want to—if I'm interrupting—"

"No, no, sit down," says Gwen. Peter purses his lips but decides to pull out the chair and sit with them anyway. She wonders how Peter didn't realize who Owen was back when he ran through the smoke to help Spiderman, but she supposes it was too clouded for him to see straight.

"How's it been?" asks Owen.

"Good, good," says Peter, even though Gwen can see dark circles under his eyes and blood on the knuckles of his left hand. "I've been great. How about you?"

"Same," says Owen.

There's a beat in the conversation. "How do you two know each other?" asks Peter, without really making eye contact with Gwen.

Only then does it occur to her that Peter thinks he has stumbled in on some sort of a date. She has to hide her face with a napkin for a moment to recover, and thankfully Owen answers for her, with a chipper, "Oh, we work at OsCorp together."

Peter's features seem to freeze for a second, and then he laughs a little nervously. "Oh, yeah. You mentioned … a girl you work with, I just didn't realize."

"How do you know Gwen?" asks Owen.

"We, uh—we went to high school together," says Peter to his shoelaces.

"Oh, yeah?" asks Owen politely. "That's—oh. Oh, wait."

The boys look at each other pointedly, Peter with a sheepish expression and Owen with wide eyes. Owen laughs just as awkwardly as Peter and then says, "I get it. Gwen's the girl you—"

"I'm gonna get a scone," says Peter, leaping to his feet, "because I—well—the scones are really good here, right? That's what I heard, are the scones good here?"

Gwen's a little afraid to look up at him because her face is on fire, both embarrassed that these two boys in her life have obviously been discussing her and frustrated because she is dying to know what Owen would have said if Peter hadn't cut him off. Gwen is the girl who what? She has never imagined that Peter would discuss her outside of maybe his aunt, and now that she knows that he has, she can't help her curiosity. How does he explain her to people? What does he say, how does he refer to her, and is it anywhere near the way she would describe him?

"They're pretty average," says Owen, referring to the scones.

"Oh, yeah?" says Peter, shifting uncomfortably, holding his backpack strap a little too tightly. "I guess I'll—it was nice seeing you, I'll probably go find lunch somewhere, but maybe … maybe I'll see you guys around."

"You sure, Pete?" asks Owen, but it's clear that he, too, is making an extreme effort not to look uncomfortable.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, ducking his head down as a good-bye. "See you."

"Bye, Peter," says Gwen, as if her smile could somehow smooth over the painfully awkward ordeal.

He looks up and smiles weakly. "Bye."

She waits for a few seconds after he leaves to look over at Owen, who seems to be fully engaged in the writing on their napkin holders, so much so that his eyes might as well be burning into the plastic.

"So you've known Peter a long time," says Gwen.

Owen nods without looking at her. "Yeah," he says quietly, brooding a little bit. She decides not to press the matter, because she doubts Owen will be very forthcoming about details of what Peter has said about her. If there is one thing Gwen has learned from all of MJ's impromptu lectures about her theories on men, it's that they don't like to talk about girls with other girls, and since Gwen is, in fact, the girl in question, she figures it would only double his reluctance to talk about it.

Eventually the conversation picks up again, and they part ways for the afternoon on amicable terms. Gwen checks her phone, wondering if Peter might have texted her or tried to call now that he has temporarily resurfaced, but no such luck. She considers calling him, but there is a part of her that is guiltily thrilled by the idea of him being jealous over a guy like Owen and maybe she doesn't mind leaving him in the dark about this. Let him wonder about her. It is the smallest revenge for all the years he has spent pretending she doesn't exist.

Gwen is studying with MJ late that night when she somehow dozes off sitting on MJ's uncomfortable, regulation dormitory chair. She only wakes up when MJ turns up the volume on the crappy little television in her room and prods Gwen awake.

"Mmwhat?" Gwen asks groggily.

"Look," says MJ.

All Gwen sees on the television is a raging fire at first, and then the camera pans out to focus on the firefighters and caution tape and a crowd that has been pushed far back out of the line of danger. She squints at it and rubs her eyes, trying to make sense of it, and turns to MJ because she can't see the scrawl running under the reporter with the details without her contact lenses.

"The two Spidermans are at it again, except this time it looks like the bad one basically blew up a building," says MJ.

Gwen wipes some drool off her chin, waking up faster now. "What? When did this happen, where is this going on?"

"Brooklyn," says MJ, "which is weird, because normally they're in the city. I think it started up like a half an hour ago, but nobody's seen either one of them since the explosion."

"Jesus," Gwen mutters under her breath.

"I know," says MJ.

Gwen wrenches her eyes away from the screen. "It's late, I should head back home," she says, clumsily gathering all of her books and shoving them into her backpack.

MJ scowls at the window. "It's raining."

Gwen barely hazards a look outside before heading toward MJ's door. She doesn't know why she is leaving, because there is nothing she can do to help Peter no matter where she is, but she can't be here and watch it happening on television with MJ sitting right next to her. She is sick of trying to keep herself in check whenever something happens to Spiderman. If she has to fret for the rest of the night, she would rather do it in the quiet of her own apartment.

She is soaked by the time she gets home and deposits her shoes by the door, not optimistic about them drying any time soon. She flicks on her television but the story is no longer top news and they are running some clip about a recent salmonella outbreak. Gwen wrings out her hair in the sink and washes the dripping make-up off her face and stares at her phone, wondering if she should call him, wondering if he'll think to call her.

Someone knocks on her apartment door. Gwen doesn't really think before she opens it, and then Peter is standing at her door, battered, bruised and burned.

She can barely suck in a breath before he interrupts her.

"Are you dating Owen?" he asks breathlessly.

She stands there, stunned. "Um. No," she says.

"And you don't—want to, right?"

Gwen gapes up at him. She thinks of all the things MJ would tell her—to be coy, to be vague, to torture him a little bit by not giving him a direct answer. But Gwen has never been as self-aware or controlled as her friend, at least not in front of this boy she has loved and ached for so long.

"No," she stammers after a moment. "Not at all, not even a little."

A slightly manic grin spreads across his face, splitting his lip and making the burn across his temple look even more gruesome. He takes a step forward and Gwen's heart starts thudding so loudly that she is sure that even without his heightened senses he could hear it from a mile away.

There is so little space between them that she has to crane her neck up to look into his face. Their eyes meet, and stay there for just a beat too long to be innocent, and all of a sudden everything is electric and on fire and she is pressing her face against his and kissing him in her open doorway.

For a moment she can't even feel anything, at least not physically. There is a part of her that cannot believe that this is real, that she isn't dreaming it, because hasn't she dreamed of such crazy, unrealistic things a thousand times before? It feels like her head is swimming and her stomach is falling out of her and her toes aren't touching the floor.

Eventually the door slams behind them. He pulls away, just slightly, maybe to look at her face, but she pulls him back in, gasping, reaching, because she doesn't want any kind of distance now, not even inches—their mouths crash into each other again, chins bumping and teeth almost gnashing ungracefully, but this is it, this is what it's like, all the hype and the stories and the vapid girls who say things like "it blew my mind" because Gwen can't even think of another way to describe this.

They're moving, moving quickly, and she is touching places she hasn't touched in years, hasn't touched ever—her hand is under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the ragged way breath enters his lungs in the brief moments they come up for air. He is warm and whole and hers.

He is less aggressive than she is, his hands exploring her almost cautiously, waiting for permission, and she presses herself into him further, impatient for him to understand that there is nothing she won't give him because there is nothing she hasn't given him already.

He pulls away for a second, his eyes electric and wild and so unlike the Peter she has come to know, the Peter who is determined and controlled and would never let this happen. She almost throws her head back and laughs, but she can tell he is waiting for her to make the next move, to decide how far this will go—she grabs the sides of his shirt and presses him back toward her, and he winces as she stumbles backward toward the bed and she murmurs a "sorry," realizing that she has grazed one of the burns, but he mutters a less-than-coherent, "no, no, not sorry" and then they tumble onto the mattress and they are finished with words for a long time.

It's just really funny to me, because more than one of you commented on the last chapter asking for some action, even if it was just a little almost kiss, and I've been sitting here laughing my ass off because I've had this chapter written for almost a month, and what excellent timing!

Speaking of timing, I'm a real grown up now, as evidenced by the absentee ballot that just came in the mail for me today (first time voting in a presidential election!), AND I finally saved enough money to buy a car. A brand spanking new Honda Fit. If anybody knows something terrible about them, this would be the time to tell me, because it's actually happening on Friday. I've been saving for this car for almost as long as I've been on fanfiction ... which, in about a year, will be half of my life.

It's officially too late to be a real human, isn't it?