A/N: Thank you so much everybody, for reading and reviewing. I've been writing fics for 10 years, and I've never had a story so close to having 300 reviews, I don't know what to do with myself :')

Oh yes I know! I will keep on writing things xD

FRIENDS

For a while there, Peter had really thought his running days were behind him.

As it turns out...not quite.

When your face is plastered on buildings all over the city, and you and your family have officially been declared 'Public Enemy Number One' by a bunch of disgruntled bald guys, you end up doing a lot more running.

At least this time, he's not running alone.

Unsurprisingly, he's ahead of Olivia today as they sprint through the streets; she's athletic and fast, but his legs are longer. He's not (too) worried, though. He knows she's right behind him, the staccato of her breathing loud and wheezy, a sound that is worrisome alright, but right at that instant, their asses being chased by frustrated Loyalists comes first on his Worry List.

And so he leads the way, making them take sudden turns at sharp angles to try and lose their tail; he's always been quite good at that. When he passes the entrance of a small alley, he trusts his instincts, darting into it and reaching behind him to grab Olivia's arm and drag her along.

He inwardly thanks the twisted arrangement of this part of the city, as he makes them strut and turn deeper into the thickening darkness, the bleak light of day obstructed by the tall buildings surrounding them. They only come to a wobbly stop when he believes them to be safe.

Olivia's back hits the wall, her chest heaving frenetically, and he hovers over her, keeping steady by leaning his forearm against the bricks near her head, fighting to breathe.

His entire body hurts; it feels like minuscule shards of glass are digging into the flesh of his throat and lungs every time he breathes in, the pain even worse whenever he exhales. Fucking air, with its fucking lack of oxygen. Running in these conditions makes the changes in the atmosphere that much more noticeable –and so damn painful.

Olivia seems to be having even a harder time than him dealing with this physiological problem, her face constricted in an intense grimace of pain, her breathing raspy and erratic. Instinctively, both of her hands have reached for him, her fists now twisting his shirt in a firm grip. He wants to offer her a few reassuring words, try and calm her down maybe, but he can't speak yet, still fighting his own battle. Even silent communication is impossible, as her eyes remain tightly closed.

Once again, he acts intuitively, bringing the hand that isn't splayed on the wall up to her face. He lightly brushes her rosy skin with his fingertips, seeking her attention, and nothing more.

After all, less than twelve hours have passed since they've had that 'Talk', during which they've agreed that they should try and behave as friendly as possible around each other, especially when their daughter is with them. The term 'friends' is absolutely laughable when it comes to the two of them, but Peter is so desperate to reconnect with her that he's willing to try anything.

As he had intended, Olivia reopens her eyes at the feel of his touch, her gaze instantly -and intensely- locking on his. Before he can move his hand away, one of her own lets go of his shirt, her fingers finding their way around his wrist, and she presses her feverish cheek into his cool palm.

She's still struggling to breathe, they both are, but the contact seems to ease her pain. She keeps on staring at him intently, not even blinking anymore, and within a few, adrenaline-filled seconds, Peter's entire focus shifts from their labored breathing to everything else.

Right now, Olivia is everything else.

Her skin glistens with sweat, flushed with exertion and pain, strands of hair having stuck to her damp temples; her fingers have entrapped his wrist in a steel grip, while her other hand keeps on clutching his clammy shirt. He becomes truly aware now of how very close their bodies are, so close that every rush of hot air that comes out of her parted lips scorches the inside of his palm.

She's radiating heat, mere inches away from him, and her every pore seems to be releasing a scent that is so intimately familiar to him, tugging forcefully at something deep within his guts. He fully realizes that he's in no better shape, exuding similar signals, soon causing her gaze to darken, her breathing actually deepening.

He feebly attempts to clear his mind, to maybe try and command his limbs to move so that he can step away from her. But he feels a literal tug, then, when her fingers gently and yet very purposefully, pull on his shirt.

His body responds, moving forward instead of away, until their hipbones meet, and she finds herself pressed harder into the wall; he leans his damp forehead against hers, never once moving his eyes away from hers, their heavy breaths soon melding.

Being 'friends' is obviously going to be a piece of cake.