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Peter Parker was terrified.
It wasn't Spider-Man who was afraid, not exactly. Spider-Man had faced aliens, armed criminals, monsters, supervillains, and things Peter preferred not to explain; but beneath that mask was still the same man who could feel his heart sink into his chest whenever someone important to him was hurt.
One of the advantages of being close friends with a telepathic mutant like Jean Grey was that, in a way, it made you friends with the X-Men too. They didn't know who the man behind the mask was, but they had learned that Spider-Man treated them as equals without even calling them "mutants," because to Peter, that word had become far too derogatory coming from too many people. Yes, he had clashed with them from time to time, mainly because his sense of humor wasn't exactly to everyone's liking, but Peter found it very difficult not to grow fond of them.
So, when he accidentally ran into the X-Men while they were investigating an abandoned factory in New York, he didn't hesitate to help. Cyclops, Jean, Rogue, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Kitty Pryde, Jubilee, Wolverine, Beast, Storm, and Angel were following the trail of Mister Sinister, a man obsessed with human evolution who intended to experiment on mutants, starting precisely with Jean and Scott Summers. Peter, meanwhile, had arrived there following a different lead: Aleksei Sytsevich, Rhino, had been kidnapped days earlier, and Spider-Man wasn't willing to ignore someone's disappearance, even if that person happened to be one of his enemies.
During the confrontation, Peter confirmed that both problems were far more connected than anyone had imagined. And when Mister Sinister launched a surprise attack and Jean used too much of her power, everything changed within seconds: a brutal blast sent her crashing through several walls, leaving her unconscious and injured.
"Jean!" Spider-Man shouted, immediately leaping toward her.
Peter ran toward Jean without even thinking. There was no strategy, no sarcastic remark, none of those jokes he usually made even when he was about to get beaten to a pulp; he simply rushed toward her, knelt among the rubble, and carefully took her into his arms. His heart was pounding against his ribs so hard that it almost seemed to compete with the noise of the battle, but then he felt something that allowed him to breathe again: a pulse, weak but steady.
"Jean..." he murmured, leaning toward her. "Come on, come on... wake up."
Jean's head fell slightly against his chest, and Peter felt a shiver run through his entire body. He had seen terrible injuries, had held dying people, and had arrived too late more times than he wanted to remember, but that feeling was different because he knew exactly who was in his arms. She wasn't a stranger or just another victim, but the girl who had arrived at his apartment crying, the one who had trusted him when she felt like she had no one.
"Please..." he continued, gently stroking her hair. "Don't do this. Not you."
Behind him, footsteps began approaching through the remains of the factory. Mister Sinister slowly emerged from a cloud of dust, watching the scene with a satisfied smile, as if he had just found another interesting piece for his collection. Scott immediately raised his visor, while Logan narrowed his eyes and readied his claws, but Sinister paid no attention to them; his eyes were fixed on Spider-Man.
"How touching," he said with a mocking smile. "The great Spider-Man, reduced to holding an unconscious mutant in his arms."
Peter remained completely still.
"I suppose compassion is a rather common weakness among humans," Sinister continued. "Although I must admit I expected more from you. She is, after all, nothing more than extraordinary genetic material. A piece of flesh with powers that can be dissected, studied, and used to understand something much greater."
Peter's fingers slowly curled into fists. Jean didn't move. Her breathing remained weak.
And then Sinister made the mistake of continuing.
"I don't understand why you care so much," he added. "She's just a mutant. A tool. If she dies, I can always find another."
Peter stopped stroking Jean's hair.
For a second, no one understood what had happened. Spider-Man simply lowered his head and remained motionless, still holding Jean in his arms. But when he slowly raised his face, it was clear even behind the mask that something had changed.
Something inside Peter had broken.
It wasn't hatred or contempt; it was fear. The same fear he had felt when he had believed for a few seconds that Jean had no pulse. The same fear he had experienced every time someone important to him ended up hurt and he arrived too late to stop it.
Peter carefully laid Jean down on the floor, then stood up and turned around at inhuman speed.
The first punch landed before Sinister could even react. The blow struck him directly in the face and sent him flying several meters backward, crashing through a metal table that ended up bent against a wall. The thunderous impact left everyone present frozen for a moment.
Peter advanced toward him. He didn't need a mirror or to see his reflection anywhere to know that his eyes had turned black... and the truth was, he didn't care. Sinister had barely managed to get back on his feet when another blow slammed into his chest. The sound was dry and brutal. Sinister lost his balance, and Peter grabbed him by the collar of his coat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed absolutely nothing.
"What did you say?"
Sinister tried to respond, but Peter hurled him downward. His back slammed violently against Spider-Man's knee before Peter smashed him into the floor and hit him again, and again, and again.
Each blow was faster than the last. Spider-Man didn't make jokes, didn't make sarcastic comments, didn't say any of the lines Peter usually threw out during a fight.
Just punches.
"You...!"
Another punch.
"...will..."
Another.
"...not..."
Another.
"...touch her..."
Another punch.
"...ever..."
Another blow landed.
"...again!"
The next punch snapped Sinister's head violently to the side.
Peter raised his fist again. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how much strength he had. For years, he had learned to measure every punch, calculate how much force he could use, where he should strike, and when to stop. There were people he could take down with ease, but he always held back because he knew perfectly well what would happen if he forgot to.
Peter Parker could kill a person with a single punch. That's why he almost never used his full strength.
But this time, he didn't want to hold back.
Not because he wanted to kill Sinister, but because he was afraid. Afraid that Jean wouldn't wake up, afraid that this man had managed to take another important person away from him, afraid of experiencing that feeling of helplessness he knew all too well.
With every punch Peter threw, his gloved hands became stained with Sinister's blood. Peter felt every bone in his hands creak and scream each time he connected a punch with Nathaniel Essex's face, but he didn't care. At that moment, he just wanted to make sure the bastard who had hurt Jean and called her a tool would never get back up, that he would never be able to lay a finger on her again.
Peter raised his fist once more, but then...
"Spider-Man!" Wolverine shouted.
Two people grabbed Peter by the arms and pulled him away from Sinister. Scott and Logan appeared behind him and held him back to stop his punches.
"That's enough!" Scott said, making an enormous effort to keep him still.
Peter was breathing heavily.
"Let me go."
"No."
Peter slightly turned his head toward Logan.
"That son of a bitch has to pay for what he did to Jean!"
"He already got what was coming to him," Wolverine growled. "And Jean needs you more than he deserves your attention."
Those last words managed to break through the rage.
Peter looked at Sinister for a second. The man was lying among the rubble, completely defeated. Peter could have finished it, he could do it... but then he remembered the weak pulse he had felt beneath his fingers.
Jean.
His hands slowly lowered, and he immediately felt his eyes return to their usual brown, even though no one saw the change in the first place because he was wearing a mask.
"...Okay."
Logan and Scott loosened their grip.
When they released Peter, he didn't look at Sinister again, not even once. He simply turned around and saw the alarmed expressions of the others. Kurt, Ororo, Jubilee, and the others watched the scene in complete silence, utterly bewildered by what they had just witnessed.
To them, Spider-Man had always been the wisecracking hero, the guy who made jokes in the middle of a fight, the one who seemed incapable of taking anything completely seriously for more than thirty seconds. They had never seen this. They had never seen that fury. And, above all, they had never seen Spider-Man lose control like that over someone.
Peter didn't care what they thought of him at that moment. All his attention was on someone else, someone who needed him.
He ran back toward Jean and knelt beside her, taking her into his arms again and carefully resting the young woman's head against his chest.
"Hey..." Peter brushed a strand of red hair that had stuck to her face. "It's over."
His voice had changed completely. There was none of that fury left, only concern.
"I'm here, okay?"
Jean remained unconscious. Peter swallowed hard.
"You don't have to get up yet. Just... stay with me."
A few meters away, Logan watched in silence. He had seen Spider-Man fight many times. He had seen his strength, his speed, his reflexes, and that almost absurd ability to keep making jokes even when things got ugly.
But he had never seen him like this.
He hadn't been fighting because he wanted to hurt Sinister; he had been fighting because he had been afraid of losing her.
Hours later, the X-Mansion was much quieter than usual. In one of the medical rooms, Jean lay resting on a stretcher, connected to monitors that constantly watched her vital signs, while a soft light illuminated her sleeping face.
Spider-Man was by her side.
He was still wearing his full suit, including the mask, sitting in a chair beside the stretcher with his elbows resting on his knees. He had refused any food, hadn't asked how long he would have to wait, and hadn't shown the slightest intention of leaving; he simply remained there, watching Jean as if looking away for too long might somehow cause something to go wrong.
The door opened softly.
"Spider-Man."
Peter immediately raised his head.
Beast entered the room with a tablet in one hand and a much calmer expression than the one he had worn hours earlier. He approached the stretcher, checked some of the monitors, and then turned his attention back to the masked hero.
"Jean is stable," Hank explained. "Her vital signs are normal, and she has no life-threatening injuries. Most likely, she'll wake up within a few hours."
Peter slowly let out the breath he seemed to have been holding.
"Are you sure?"
"Completely." Hank smiled slightly. "You've been here for hours. You can leave if you want. I know you probably have other things to do as Spider-Man. We'll let you know when she wakes up."
Peter immediately shook his head.
"No."
The answer came so quickly that Hank raised an eyebrow.
"No?"
"I'm not leaving." Peter looked back at Jean. "Under any circumstances."
Hank remained silent for a few seconds. He didn't need to be a telepath to understand what he was seeing; Spider-Man had spent hours sitting beside Jean, still wearing his suit, and judging by the way he watched every breath the young woman took, it was obvious that this wasn't a passing concern.
"Then stay," Hank finally said. "I'm not going to insist."
Peter nodded.
"Thank you."
Hank headed toward the door.
"And, Spider-Man..."
Peter looked at him again.
"Jean is lucky to have you as a friend."
Hank left and closed the door behind him.
Peter remained motionless for a few seconds, making sure he was really alone. Only then did he bring both hands to his mask and slowly remove it.
Peter's face looked far from good.
He had a cut on his lip, another on his cheek, and a small wound near one eyebrow. His eyes were red and swollen from the hours without sleep and everything that had happened that night, but even so, when he looked at Jean again, a small smile appeared on his face.
"Hi, Jean."
He got up from the chair and moved a little closer to the stretcher. Very carefully, he took one of Jean's hands between his own, as if she could somehow feel how careful he was being with her even while she slept.
"Hank says you're stable," he murmured. "He also says you should wake up in a few hours, so... that's good."
With almost absurd gentleness for someone who had just beaten a man to a pulp, he raised one hand and brushed aside a strand of Jean's red hair that had fallen across her forehead.
"I lost control a little with Sinister. Well... maybe more than a little." A tired smile appeared on his lips. "But that doesn't matter anymore."
Peter focused entirely on her again.
"What matters is that you're okay."
His fingers gently stroked the back of Jean's hand.
"And I'm not going anywhere." Peter slowly lifted Jean's hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm staying here until you wake up."
He lowered her hand again, holding it gently between his own, yet firmly enough that if Jean could somehow sense it while unconscious, she would know she wasn't alone.
"So take your time, okay?" he whispered. "I can wait."
The door suddenly opened. Peter startled and, purely on instinct, quickly grabbed his mask and put it back on. Even as he covered his face, however, he didn't let go of Jean's hand.
Hank came back in.
"Spider-Man."
Peter looked up.
"We found Sinister," Hank said. "The others are going after him."
Peter looked toward the door for a moment, but made no move to stand.
Sinister had been left exactly where Peter had beaten him to pieces. Even knowing that Sinister would recover from the attack soon, Peter simply wanted to make his position on the matter clear. And the moment he and the X-Men left without even looking at him, it was obvious that he would escape.
But that's what the X-Men wanted. They wanted Sinister to clean up his wounds and come back so they could properly beat the hell out of him in retaliation for what he had done to Jean. They wanted whatever Spider-Man had done to him to pale in comparison to what they had in mind.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Spider-Man asked.
"No." Hank shook his head. "I think if he sees you, he'll panic and won't give us a chance to make things even worse for him."
Despite himself, Peter snorted to suppress the laugh that threatened to escape.
"We'll take care of Sinister," Beast continued. "You stay with Jean."
Peter didn't even have to think about it.
"You don't have to tell me twice."
"Thank you." Hank smiled.
"You don't have to thank me."
Hank left the room again, leaving Peter and Jean alone.
Peter waited until he heard the door close. Then he looked back at the sleeping woman in front of him. Her hand was still in his.
"See?" he murmured, gently stroking her fingers. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere."
And for the first time since Jean had fallen, Peter allowed his shoulders to relax a little. He didn't know how long it would take. He didn't know what would happen when she woke up.
But he did know one thing: he was going to be there when she did.
Several hours later, Jean slowly began to wake up.
The first thing she saw was a white light shining directly into her eyes. For a moment, she didn't know where she was, but the simple glow of that flashlight was enough to send a wave of panic through her body. For a second, she was that little girl again, going from one hospital to another, surrounded by doctors trying to figure out what she was, subjecting her to tests and observing her as if she were something that needed to be understood, long before she even knew there was a word to describe her.
Jean abruptly sat up, breathing heavily.
Her eyes scanned the room as her heart pounded against her chest. For a moment, she expected to feel the straps, the restraints, that horrible sensation of being unable to move; but there was nothing. She could sit up, she could move her arms, she could breathe freely, and no one was holding her down.
Then she looked ahead. The enormous X-shaped door appeared before her eyes.
She recognized it immediately.
"The X-Mansion..."
Relief washed over her all at once, finally allowing her muscles to relax. She wasn't in a hospital, she wasn't in one of those places from her childhood and, above all, she wasn't alone.
That's when she heard a sound, a snore. Jean slowly turned her head to the left, and her eyes widened slightly as her heart gave a stupid little jump.
Peter was there.
He was sleeping in a chair beside her bed, his arms crossed over his chest and his head hanging completely backward over the backrest. He was still fully dressed as Spider-Man, even wearing his mask, and from the way he was sleeping, it was obvious that the man had gone an incredibly long time without allowing himself to rest.
Jean had no idea how long she had been unconscious. But deep down, she didn't need to know. She knew perfectly well that Peter wouldn't have left. She could feel it even without concentrating too hard. Her telepathy picked up the emotions still lingering around him: fear, concern, exhaustion... and a relief that was only beginning to appear now that she was awake.
Jean watched him for a few seconds.
This idiot.
A small smile appeared on her lips.
This perfect, adorable, sweet idiot.
Peter Parker would be capable of bringing the damn moon down from the sky if she asked him to.
Jean shook her head slightly, still smiling, and then carefully removed the breathing mask covering her mouth.
"Peter..."
She only said his name once, but it was enough.
Peter woke immediately. His body reacted before his mind had even finished understanding where he was, and the lenses of his mask reacted at the same time as his own eyes. They widened suddenly when he saw that Jean was awake.
"Jean?"
Peter practically jumped out of the chair. He stood up so quickly that he almost tripped over the chair itself. He quickly removed his mask, leaving his face completely exposed.
Jean barely had time to see him.
The cuts were still there. Dried blood remained on his lip, cheek, and near his eyebrow, marks that spoke for themselves about what had happened hours earlier. But before Jean could say a single word, Peter crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.
"You're okay!"
His voice broke.
Peter buried his face against her shoulder and hugged her with desperate strength, laughing through his tears as he repeated the same words over and over.
"You're okay... you're okay... you're okay..."
Jean remained still for a few seconds. Not because she wanted to pull away. She simply needed to process the fact that Peter was there, holding her as if he had just gotten back something he had believed was lost forever.
Slowly, she raised one arm and wrapped it around his back, then brought the other up to his head. Her fingers gently sank into Peter's hair and began stroking it.
Jean smiled. She couldn't help it.
Peter finally broke the hug, although he didn't move very far away. He remained in front of her, his eyes still glistening, breathing unevenly as he tried to pull himself together.
"I was so afraid I'd lost you."
Jean looked at him in silence.
"Peter..."
"I've lost too many people." His voice came out much quieter. "My parents when I was three. Ben when I was fourteen. Tony when I was seventeen. May when I was eighteen."
Jean felt her own emotions beginning to tighten in her chest.
Peter swallowed hard.
"And when I was eighteen, I also lost practically my entire life. I made everyone forget who I was to protect them. My best friend... the person I loved... Everything disappeared."
Jean could feel every one of those emotions. She didn't need Peter to explain them to her. Her telepathy sensed the pain accumulated behind his words, memories that were still open wounds inside him.
"And when I saw you lying there..." Peter closed his eyes for a moment. "I thought it was going to happen again."
His voice trembled.
"If you had died, Jean... I'm sure I would've killed Sinister right there. I almost did."
Jean said nothing.
Peter took a deep breath. A tear rolled down his cheek.
"I'm sorry. I lost control. I almost killed someone, even if that guy deserved it. But I saw you on the ground and... I panicked. I don't know what I'd do if I lost another person. I don't know if I could live like that again."
Jean felt every word, every fear, every memory, every fragment of pain. And beneath all of it, she found something else. Something warm, something immense.
Love. Peter's love for her. It was so genuine, so pure, and so intense that for a moment, it took her breath away.
Jean gently raised both hands and took Peter's face in them. Her thumbs brushed over the areas where traces of dried blood still remained, caressing them with such tenderness that Peter closed his eyes.
"Were you here this whole time?"
Peter sniffled and nodded. A small, broken smile appeared on his face.
"The whole time."
Jean tried to speak.
"Peter, I..."
"No." He took one of her hands between his own. "Don't apologize."
He lifted it and kissed her knuckles, exactly as he had done hours earlier when she was unconscious. Jean's eyes widened slightly. Peter didn't even seem to realize how intimate the gesture could be.
"I would've sat here for the rest of my life if I had to," he said. "I would've waited all that time until you woke up."
He looked directly at her.
"So don't ever apologize for that again."
Jean felt tears threatening to appear. This time, however, she smiled. She leaned toward him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Peter froze completely.
Jean enjoyed that expression for a few seconds. Then Peter smiled and hugged her again. Jean rested her face against his shoulder. And Peter closed his eyes, feeling the knot that had been squeezing his chest for hours finally begin to disappear. Jean was alive, she was safe, and she was in his arms; for the first time since he had seen her fall, Peter could breathe properly.
"Hey..." Jean murmured against his shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Did you really hit Sinister that hard?"
Peter fell silent. His mind immediately returned to that factory. Jean unconscious, Sinister laughing, and him hitting him over and over while telling him, not as a threat but as a promise, that he would never touch her again.
Peter closed his eyes.
"I thought I was going to lose you."
Jean remained silent for a few seconds.
"And the fear was so overwhelming that I couldn't hold back the anger."
There was a pause. Then Jean began to laugh softly against his shoulder.
Peter opened one eye.
"What?"
"My hero."
She said it with a tone that mixed teasing with absolute sincerity.
Peter felt all the remaining tension leave his body. He let out a laugh and broke the hug.
"Don't make fun of me."
Jean looked at him. There was genuine affection in her eyes. And before Peter could react, she leaned forward and gave him a short, tender kiss on the lips.
It lasted barely a moment, but it was enough to leave Peter completely motionless.
Jean pulled back a few inches and smiled.
"I make no promises."
Peter took a few seconds to react... then smiled.
He leaned toward her, and this time he was the one who kissed her properly. Jean's eyes widened in surprise for the first moment, but then she melted into the kiss. The world seemed to disappear for a few seconds.
When Peter finally pulled away, he remained very close to her.
"I love you."
Jean stopped breathing for a moment.
"And after this..." Peter continued. "After almost losing you a few hours ago... I don't want to keep pretending that I don't."
Jean stared at him. Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time the smile that appeared on her face was completely different.
"You took long enough to realize it."
Peter blinked.
"What?"
Jean let out a small laugh.
"I love you too, Peter."
This time, she was the one who kissed him.
Peter closed his eyes and immediately returned the kiss, feeling his entire body finally relax. Jean could feel the warmth of his emotions through her telepathy, that love he was no longer trying to hide; Peter, meanwhile, simply felt that after such a long time, he could finally breathe without something weighing on his chest.
When they parted, Peter slowly opened his eyes... Then he processed her earlier words.
"Wait... How long have you known?"
Jean burst out laughing.
"Peter, you're terrible at hiding how you feel. And it's even worse when the girl you like is a telepath."
Peter frowned, although a smile still escaped despite his attempt to suppress it.
"That's cheating."
Jean silenced him with another kiss, and when she pulled away, she smiled.
"If you hated it that much, you would've already asked me to stop."
Peter laughed, then carefully took Jean's face between his hands.
"Then kiss me like you don't want to let me go."
Jean didn't need to say anything else. She moved closer to Peter again and kissed him, this time with a different kind of calm, as if for a few moments they had both left behind everything that had happened at the factory. Peter felt her soft lips against his and, for a moment, all the exhaustion, fear, and tension that had built up over those hours seemed to disappear; Jean, meanwhile, noticed that Peter's lips were slightly rough, probably because of his injuries and the hours he had gone without resting, but it didn't bother her at all. On the contrary, there was something strangely comforting about feeling him that way, real, human, and completely hers in that moment.
Jean could feel his emotions with almost overwhelming clarity. Through her telepathy, she sensed Peter's relief, the happiness that was only beginning to emerge from beneath the fear, the immense affection he felt for her, and a kind of childlike disbelief at finally hearing from her lips what he had wanted to say for so long. She could also feel how much he had missed her even while standing right in front of her, as if part of him still feared that this was all too good to be true.
Peter pulled back just a few inches, keeping his eyes closed for a moment before slowly opening them. Their foreheads almost touched, and both of them were breathing calmly, but neither seemed willing to move too far away.
Their smiles remained for a few seconds, but little by little, they faded as the memory of the factory returned to occupy the space between them. Jean lowered her gaze toward Peter's hands and noticed the small cuts on his knuckles again, the marks left behind after he had beaten Sinister. She gently took one of his hands and ran her thumb over his knuckles.
"Peter."
"Yeah?"
"I want to talk about what happened."
Peter immediately knew what she meant.
"Sinister..."
"Not just Sinister." Jean raised her eyes toward him. "You."
Peter fell silent, and Jean intertwined her fingers with his.
"I don't want you to keep apologizing for doing things you think protect me."
Peter frowned slightly.
"Jean..."
"Let me finish."
Peter closed his mouth.
Jean took a deep breath.
"I understand why you did it. I know you were scared. I know you thought I was going to die, and I know that, at that moment, you probably weren't thinking clearly." She looked at the wounds on his face. "And I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you shouldn't have worried about me. I love you, with everything that entails."
Peter lowered his gaze.
"But I want you to be more considerate of your own life."
Peter opened his mouth.
"Why..."
Jean stopped him with a look.
"No."
Peter closed it again.
"Do you remember what happened a few months ago?" Jean asked. "With Rogue. When I went to your apartment in the middle of the night."
"Yes."
"I heard what you told the others at the mansion."
Peter frowned.
"What?"
Jean looked directly at him.
"That you would take another bullet for me without thinking twice."
Peter blinked.
"Well... yeah. Because it was a bullet aimed at you."
"Peter."
"Jean, it's pretty obvious why I said it."
"No."
Peter fell silent. Jean gently squeezed his hand.
"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you."
Peter watched her in silence.
"You always find a way to justify it," Jean continued. "There's always a reason to put yourself in the middle. There's always someone who needs help, someone who's in danger, someone who could die if you don't do something."
Peter lowered his gaze.
"That's my job."
"I know." Jean smiled faintly. "And I don't want you to stop doing it. I already told you, I love you with everything that entails. I don't want you to be less careful with other people. I don't want you to stop saving lives. I don't want you to stop being Spider-Man."
Jean raised a hand to his cheek.
"I want you to stop thinking that your life is worth less than everyone else's. Because that's what you do." Her voice softened. "Every time you say you'd take another bullet without thinking. Every time you throw yourself at something that could kill you. Every time you talk about your life as if it were a tool you can spend to save someone else."
Peter didn't answer.
Jean slowly caressed his cheek.
"To the world, maybe Spider-Man is worth more than Peter Parker."
Peter felt something inside his chest stop.
"But to me... Peter Parker is worth so much more." Her eyes filled with tears. "Because Peter Parker is my world."
Peter stopped breathing for several seconds. It wasn't a metaphor. It wasn't a pretty phrase. Those words simply pierced something that had been protected behind layer upon layer of Spider-Man for years.
For five years, Peter had lived as Spider-Man. Five years since the world had forgotten who Peter Parker was. Five years since he had been forced to accept that his name, his life, his friendships, and everything he had built could disappear while he kept putting on the mask every night.
He had spent the last year slowly trying to rebuild Peter Parker, talking to people again, having a life again, allowing himself to exist when he wasn't wearing the suit.
And yet, there was still a part of him that remained convinced that Spider-Man was the only thing about him that had any value.
But Jean had just looked directly into his eyes and told him otherwise.
Peter swallowed hard.
"Jean..."
His voice broke. He couldn't continue. A tear slowly rolled down his cheek.
Jean's eyes widened slightly.
"Peter..."
He shook his head, trying to hold himself together. It didn't work. More tears fell without permission, and Peter let out a small, choked laugh, almost embarrassed.
"I'm sorry."
Jean smiled tenderly.
"You don't have to apologize."
Peter looked at her for a moment.
Then he leaned toward her and kissed her. First on the lips. Then on the tip of her nose. Then on one cheek. Then the other.
Jean began laughing between each kiss, completely surprised by Peter's sudden reaction.
"Peter!"
He kissed her forehead, then gave her another kiss on the cheek, and Jean burst out laughing.
Peter finally stopped kissing her and rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply as the tears continued to roll down his face.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear someone tell me that." Peter closed his eyes. "I thought I had no one left."
Jean felt something tighten in her chest. She wrapped both arms around him and pulled him toward her. Peter didn't resist. He let himself be held. He buried his face against her shoulder and closed his eyes while Jean slowly stroked his hair.
"You have me."
Peter let out a muffled laugh against her shoulder. A small, ironic, almost disbelieving laugh. A long time ago, he had been the one to say those words, and now Jean had given them back to him.
After a few seconds, Peter slowly pulled away from the embrace. He looked at her, his eyes still wet, but there was something different in his expression now. He no longer seemed to be trying to hide the pain or pretend that everything was fine.
He was simply letting Jean see him.
Peter took her hands and intertwined his fingers with hers.
"You're my whole world, Jean."
She remained silent.
Peter smiled faintly.
"And after almost losing you today..." His voice broke slightly again. "I don't ever want to be away from you again."
Jean felt her eyes fill with tears again.
"Then don't."
Peter smiled.
"I won't."
Jean leaned toward him and placed a soft kiss on his lips. This time there was no desperation, no fear, no need to prove anything; only a small, silent promise between them.
When they parted, they remained close. Their foreheads stayed together, their hands were still intertwined, and for a few seconds neither of them said anything. There was no need.
Jean could feel Peter's heart beating strongly. Peter could feel the warmth of Jean's hands between his own. After everything they had been through, after everything they had lost, and after a night in which they had both come far too close to losing each other again, they were finally there.
Together.
And, for the first time in a long time, Peter Parker didn't need the mask to feel loved.