She sank into the Parker home's ancient couch, curled up in a throw blanket and leaning into the arm rest. The soft, worn cushions were strewn with baby toys and books.

The muffled scream of the kettle on the stove came from just around the corner. The sound seemed to bleed into the walls; half-covered in a fresh coat of olive paint that took up the window side of the room. Gwen glanced at the gray bucket in the corner, flanked by a small stack of olive-stained brushes. Old copies of the Bugle littered with little olive handprints were lined along the wall to protect the carpet.

The faint chemical stench and the shriek of the kettle began to claw at her senses. Gwen brought MJ's mug of chamomile tea to her lips, taking a desperate sip at its warmth. Dressed in her sweater and shorts, it almost felt like a hug from a big sister she'd never had.

She only noticed the sound of the kettle had subsided when Peter turned the corner, smiling his tired smile and cradling his own mug of tea. "I NY" was branded onto the chipped white porcelain, the heart shape filled by a familiar red mask. Gwen took a moment to examine hers; all-red with the Spider-Man logo emblazoned proudly on both sides. She mentally rolled her eyes as she felt the rickety frame of the sofa shift under his weight.

"Admit it," she heard coming from the other end of the sofa. "You're jealous."

Gwen scoffed. "Of what? Your doofy merch?"

Peter took an exaggerated sip of his tea. "Correctamundo, kiddo. I mean, I don't see a dime from it, but it's nice to be appreciated."

Gwen scrunched her eyebrows. "You don't get any of the money? How's that fair?" Peter shrugged.

"It's not like I ever copyrighted the mask. Besides, how would you cash a check made out to Spider-Man?"

Gwen smirked and shrugged, taking another sip of tea. Peter did the same and, for a moment, they sat there in silence. The faint scent of resin came back into focus, and she found herself staring at the lamp in the opposite corner of the room; the only light in the house that wasn't coming from the kitchen behind her.

"I heard back from the others," he said, breaking the silence. "No signs of Miguel picking up on our trail yet. No sign of the Spot yet, either."

Gwen stared down into her mug, eyes swimming in the golden puddle at the bottom.

"What about Miles' parents?" she asked. Peter nodded in reassurance.

"Hobie says they're alright. Remember, we've still got a day and some change according to LYLA's model."

Gwen nodded, taking her eyes for another walk around the room. Another short pause fell over them.

"Do you think he's okay?" she asked suddenly. It came out shakier than she'd hoped, like a child asking if there were monsters in the closet. She heard his mug connect with the coffee table, and looked over to see him leaning into his knees.

"MJ said it was mostly cuts and bruises. Nothin' a night of sleep and some food won't fix." Peter chuckled and fell back into the couch, which creaked against the impact. "Trust me, for as long as I've been doing this, she's been patching me up. He'll be alright."

A not-so-subtle sniffle brought his eyes to the teenage girl to his right, who seemed to shrink into the blanket wrapped tightly around her. Peter felt his heart drop to his stomach. He scooted over next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Gwen?"

Another sniffle and a soft hiccup rattled her before she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Peter let his hand warm her shoulder, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered against another sob. Peter shook his head, and gently squeezed his hand against her arm.

"Hey, hey, hey, come on now," he said softly, moving the empty mug in her hands to the coffee table. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

A glassy pair of eyes looked up at him, her ears red and her nose scrunched up in distress. The older Spider-person sighed.

"Right…I know," he muttered. "Well…me too, okay?" He gave her a gentle shake. "But listen to me. Right now, he's right upstairs, asleep in the guest bed. He's here, he's safe, and we've got time to regroup."

Another gentle squeeze against her shoulder.

"We're gonna make things right. Okay?"

Gwen sniffed and wiped her eyes again. She let the blanket relax out of her grip.

"Okay," she mumbled before taking a deep breath. "Okay…I'm okay, Peter. Thanks."

He nodded, giving her a warm smile. She returned a short smile of gratitude as he gave her shoulder one last squeeze and gathered pillows from the other side of the couch, placing them next to her.

"The others will be back in the morning," he said, groaning as he rose from his seat. "Try to get some sleep until then. The chamomile's supposed to help."

Gwen nodded, earning one last tired smile from her friend before he crossed the floor, flicked the lamp off and trudged into the kitchen, where another flick sent the living room into darkness.

She listened to him climb sluggishly up the stairs before taking another deep breath and arranging the pillows against the armrest. She collapsed against them, wrapping the throw blanket tightly around herself.

That was the last thing she remembered before her eyes pried themselves back open.

A stream of warm light poured into the living room from around the corner. The kitchen.

Gwen propped herself up on her hands, swung her legs over the side of the couch, and dragged her hands up and down her face. She rose from her makeshift bed with a grunt and stretched her back out before shuffling towards the orange glow.

She expected Peter, maybe MJ, but the kitchen was empty except for an ever-lingering scent of coffee and sage. There was a wet glass by the sink. She fumbled for it through a haze of melatonin and filled it with the tap. She drank long and slow til it was empty before placing it gently into the sink. Eyes half-shut, she turned on her heel to head back for the couch, flipping the light switch on her way out.

A yawn escaped her as she maneuvered back through the darkness. She glanced out the window of the door that led to the backyard, and froze in her tracks.

He was standing out in the middle of the grass, his back turned to the house and his dark curls shimmering in the moonlight.

Almost involuntarily, she began edging closer to the door. There was a sudden uptick in her heartbeat. Her fingers curled in anticipation. Even though she'd just taken a drink, her throat felt uncomfortably dry.

Suddenly, her face was inches from the glass. She took a few quick breaths and moved for the doorknob.

A part of her screamed to stop; what was she thinking? She could barely get a word in on Earth-42, and not for lack of trying! What was she supposed to do now, at this ungodly hour, after everything that had just happened, dressed in MJ's clothes and almost certainly with bedhead?

She pressed herself up against the adjacent wall, her fingers still clutching the faded brass of the doorknob. Her eyes burned, and it felt like there was a rock lodged in her chest. She shut her eyes and drew a slow, steady breath.

It was all such a mess.

But she had to try.

In a day, they'd be fighting for the fate of the multiverse. In a few hours, everyone was going to be back and they'd still be on the run from Miguel and everything would be happening all at once and there wouldn't be time for something like this again!

Another deep breath.

You have to try.

She turned the doorknob slowly, creaking the door open as quietly as possible. The cool air of the night swept into the house, sending a shiver through her as she stepped out. Miles remained still in a sea of dark chlorophyll and silver moonlight.

She shut the door gently behind her and inched down the rough wooden steps, her determination rising with every soft creak beneath her feet.

She could do this. It was Miles, after all. She could talk to him. She was his friend. They knew each other. They understood each other.

Do we, though?

She descended down the final step into the grass, her bare feet melting into the cool, damp earth. Miles finally turned his head, and his body followed when his peripheral vision caught her.

He was wearing Peter's clothes. A pair of those signature sweatpants, with the drawstrings tightened low in front of his legs to make the waistband fit. The faded blue of an old New York Mets t-shirt covered his bandaged torso. Gwen could make out a pattern of gauze through the baggy neckline.

Eventually, she made her way up to his face. A square patch of bandage nearly enveloped his left cheek. His left eye was slightly swollen, and his hazel gaze shimmered when it met hers.

There was a moment where something indescribable hung in the air. Something stale and tense. Whatever it was, she felt like neither of them was enjoying it very much.

Miles tore his eyes away to the ground, his fists clenched. Gwen felt a hot flash of shame as she wrung her hands together anxiously, her eyes darting around the yard in a panic. She took a hard swallow to push down the fear and made a small step forward.

"Um…how are you feeling?" she started, her eyes tracing his bandages. Miles' eyes rose slightly, but she couldn't get them to connect with her.

"I'm fine," he breathed. "MJ patched me up and gave me some medicine. Nothing serious."

She let out the nervous breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and nodded awkwardly.

"That's…that's good," she mumbled, not even sure if Miles could hear her. There was another pause, and Gwen found herself fighting for something else to say.

"Miles…" was all she could manage. At the desperate sound of his name on her lips, his hesitant gaze came up to meet hers, and she felt something unpleasant well up in her chest.

She was looking right into all of his exhaustion, his confusion, his fear, and his sadness. Suddenly it felt like it had been an eternity since she'd seen the smile in his eyes.

Just a day ago what they had was fun, and innocent, and a breath of fresh air after so much time apart. It was everything they'd wanted and it was so, so unimaginably good.

So what is it now?

Gwen didn't realize she'd moved just a couple steps away from him until she saw her hand reaching out to his face. She hesitated halfway in pure shock, and her eyes made the climb to collide with his.

He was wearing the same expression as when he'd said what was meant to be his final goodbye to her, tears just barely untucked from his lower eyelids.

"Miles…" she breathed again, this time much shakier. Tears fell like hot shards of glass dragging against her cheeks. She withdrew her hand to her chest.

Miles' mouth hung open for a second, his lower lip quivering with something to say. He took a short breath, and his hands relaxed.

"Gwen-"

She took two steps forward and gently wrapped her arms around his neck, her heels barely floating off the ground. Her nervous embrace quickly turned into desperate grips at the back of his shirt, lumps of fabric gathering in her fists. She pressed her nose into the smooth surface of his neck.

After a moment of going rigid, Miles relaxed against her. She felt him quiver through his next words.

"That's not fair," he managed before wrapping his arms around her. His weight crashed forward, pressing her heels back into the grass. "That's not fair, Gwen." His chest huffed with a stifled sob.

"I know," she whimpered, her lips moving against his skin. "I know. I'm sorry."

She let more tears fall, every ounce of energy she had devoted to holding him close. She had more to say, but his heat against hers made the words boil and evaporate into sobs that escaped into the chill of the night.

Eventually, Gwen pulled back, exhaling deeply in a vain attempt to calm herself. Her hands made their way up to cradle his face, her thumbs wiping away stray tears. Miles shut his eyes and shook his head gently against her palms as a quivery breath escaped him, tickling her nose. His hands came up to grip her wrists, and neither of them were sure whether or not he'd push her away.

She knew that this was the moment, and that she had to make it count.

He wasn't sure about this. About her.

But she'd never been more sure of anything in her entire life.

She used her hands to gently steer his eyes into hers, savoring his tattered glow in her palms and refusing to let this brief bridge between them waver.

"I'm sorry," she half-sobbed. "I am so, so sorry, Miles."

Keep going, keep going.

"I-I could give you a bunch of excuses…o-or try to blame it on…on somebody or something else, but…it's my fault."

She struggled to hold her gaze up, but Miles remained steady. His eyes hardened; not with anger, but with consideration.

Keep going.

"I was wrong, Miles. I was wrong about…about everything. I was wrong about Miguel, and Jess, and Spider-Society, and saving your dad, and-and canon events, and…everything. I was wrong, and I should have been there for you…"

She trailed off as a sob broke through. Her eyes squeezed shut. Miles' fingers unraveled from her wrists, and her hands fell from his face like stones.

Damn it.

She wrapped her hands around herself and felt like she was shrinking beneath his gaze, boring through her blond locks. She took a short step back.

Get back up, Gwen.

Slowly, her eyes rose to his. They were still staring back at her; waiting.

Get up.

She wiped her tears with the heel of her palm before hugging herself tighter against the cold.

"I'm sorry, Miles. For all of it."

There was a short pause where all they did was stand there, acknowledging all that she'd given in that moment. It wasn't a fraction of what she'd wanted to say, and she knew it wasn't enough, but she hoped that he at least knew how she felt now.

Miles let out a deep exhale. His hands planted themselves on his hips before trailing up to hang off the back of his neck, missing the warmth that was there a moment ago. He started pacing away from her, and shook his head. An awkward, shaky breath escaped from deep inside his chest.

"I don't know if I can do this right now, Gwen."

Gwen's nails dug into the fabric of her sleeves. She started chewing her lip.

"I'm just…I'm not here right now, Gwen. I need to go home-"

"We're going to get you home, Miles. The others will be back in a few hours to game-plan, and I promise-"

"Don't promise me anything, Gwen."

"There's still time, Miles! The model says-"

"What model?"

Miles' voice was low and stern, almost like a growl. The hairs on the back of her neck stood stiff.

"The model that wants me to let him die?"

Tears pooled back onto his eyelids. His voice rose slowly and began to shake.

"The model that says my uncle wasn't enough?"

"Miles-"

"The model that says I killed Mr. Parker?"

"You didn't-!"

"The model that says I'm not supposed to be Spider-Man?!"

Gwen bit back a sob as Miles' voice went down to a shuddery hush.

"The model that says I'm a mistake?" He gestured to the two of them. "That all of this was a mistake?"

She closed the distance between them in three furious steps, an unbearable heat rising in every part of her body.

"Don't say that," she begged. "You're not a mistake, Miles."

As soon as his name left her lips, his eyes pierced through hers. He shook his head.

"Then why'd you treat me like one?" he questioned weakly.

All the breath in her lungs left through her mouth in one short breath. Hot tears spilled down her face. She tore her eyes away from his. His gaze was unbearable. She felt her feet slowly press backwards into the grass as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Gwen, I know you didn't want to hurt me," he said softly.

"Never," she whispered amidst tears. Miles nodded.

"I know that you were in a bad spot. And I know that you needed that place."

In what was becoming a Sisyphysian effort, she brought her eyes back up to his. It was like his hazel stones had softened under all the tears.

He wasn't angry. Just hurt, and tired.

"I thought about you every single day. You were the only person in a million universes that would understand. I wanted to be with you so badly."

His gaze shifted down to the grass.

"And then…you came back and…and I thought you might want the same thing."

He paused, still hesitating to say what he'd been wanting to say, after all this time.

"But you lied to me...it was all a lie."

No.

No no no no no.

In that moment, something that had been coiled and tense inside of her came undone. She wiped her tears away, and her fists clenched.

"Miles, I swear, for sixteen months, you are all I could think about," she declared. "I needed you so, so badly, and I couldn't stand the thought of never seeing you again."

There was a flicker in his eyes. Something that wanted to ignite and explode, but was dampened and subdued. She was fighting for a spark.

"I was in a bad place, and I did need Spider-Society," she admitted. "And I really did believe we were doing the right thing. I thought that by keeping things from you, I was doing my part, or something like that."

She took a step closer to him, craving more connection. She was losing herself in that desperation.

"But I was wrong. They're wrong. They are wrong, Miles."

She reached out and gripped his arms near his shoulders, giving him a slight shake.

"We can change things. You can change things. I've seen it."

She felt like she was burning up. Miles reached up to grab her shoulders, as if to steady her, but there was no stopping the wildfire blazing in her heart.

"I don't care what the model says. I don't care what anyone says. Not Miguel, not Jess, no one."

She took his face in her hands again. Her heart hammered against her chest.

"You're my Spider-Man. No one can take that from me."

Fireworks went off in his eyes, blossoming into colors she never knew were real. She wanted to stop and stare at them forever, but closed her eyes and took a breath, her hands moving down from his face to his shoulders.

"I won't ask you to forgive me, Miles. I know I don't have the right. But please, please let me help you. Let me do the right thing."

Miles considered her for a moment, and the fireworks died down. He took a nervous breath, almost like he was convincing himself to say whatever he was about to say. Gwen pursed her lips in anticipation.

"Ok," he breathed. "I can do that." Gwen felt her eyes sting and she nodded, her hands heating up against his shoulders.

"Ok," she repeated. The tension seemed to break a little, and after a moment of hesitation, she was embracing him. Before, it had begun stiff and uncertain, but this time they immediately melted into something safe and warm.

"I know this isn't fair," she murmured. "But please, just for a little bit." Miles responded by silently squeezing her a little tighter, making her heart twist and her eyes burn. They began to sway slowly from side to side against each other's weight.

"I'm not going anywhere until this is over," she said. "After that, you never have to see me again."

"Don't," he replied, his breath tickling her ear. "Don't go again."

Gwen would never understand how he did that. How he made her float on a cloud and shatter like glass all at the same time. She chewed her lower lip, savoring every ounce of him in her arms. She was crying again.

"I won't," she whispered into his ear. "Never again."

Miles held her close. She pressed her face into his neck.

"I missed you so much."