Archive of Our Own

Peter Parker and Jean Grey were a couple, something that few people, if any at all, had seen coming.

If someone had told them a few months earlier that they would end up together, they probably would have laughed at the idea, although for completely different reasons; Peter would have thought it was impossible for someone like Jean to be interested in him, while Jean would have flatly denied that she was developing feelings for the man who insisted on turning every serious conversation into an opportunity to make a joke. However, after everything they had been through together, their relationship had ended up happening in the most natural way possible.

And although they had only been a couple for a relatively short time, there were certain things that had appeared almost immediately. One of them was a small habit that neither of them had planned and that, without realizing it, had become a sort of unspoken rule: whenever they said goodbye, they kissed. It didn't matter if Peter had to leave for hours to patrol New York, if Jean was simply going back to her room, or if they were parting for five minutes because one of them had to go get something; there was always a kiss before saying goodbye.

One afternoon, Peter was on the roof of Xavier's Mansion, fully dressed as Spider-Man and ready to return to New York. The sun was beginning to descend over the horizon, painting the distant buildings orange, while the wind gently stirred the leaves of the trees around the property; Peter had spent most of the afternoon with Jean and now had to return to the city before his night patrol began. After quickly checking that everything was in order, he raised a hand and shot a web toward a nearby structure.

"Well, see you later, okay?"

Peter was left hanging upside down, swaying slightly in the air as he raised one hand to wave goodbye. Jean, who was several feet away, watched him for a few seconds with a small smile; there was something absurdly funny about seeing her boyfriend dressed as Spider-Man saying goodbye as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Then she remembered something.

"Wait."

Peter barely had time to turn his head.

"What?"

Jean smiled.

"I almost forgot something."

"What?"

Jean didn't answer immediately. She simply raised a hand and used her telekinesis to gently hold him by the head, pulling him downward until she brought him closer while Peter began to sway slightly from the tension of the web. The white lenses of his mask narrowed in pure confusion, and for a few seconds Peter tried to figure out what Jean was doing as she calmly approached him.

"I almost forgot your goodbye kiss."

Peter blinked behind the mask.

"My what...?"

Jean didn't give him time to finish. She carefully took hold of the bottom edge of his mask and pulled it down just enough to reveal his mouth, then leaned closer until her lips met his.

Peter froze completely.

Even his white lenses seemed to widen in surprise. He was still hanging upside down, one hand still raised and the other uselessly holding onto the web, while Jean kissed him with all the calm in the world.

When they finally parted, Jean pulled his mask back up and let out a small, satisfied smile.

"Goodbye, boyfriend."

She turned around and began walking toward the mansion as if nothing had happened. Peter remained hanging upside down, completely motionless, staring in her direction. He said nothing, didn't move, and didn't even seem to remember that he was suspended above the roof.

"How the hell am I supposed to proceed after that...?" he finally muttered.

From below, Jean burst out laughing.

On another occasion, Jean woke up in Peter's apartment after spending the night there. For a few seconds, she remained lying down, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember what time it was, until she heard several noises coming from the kitchen: a frying pan, dishes, the coffee maker, and something that sounded suspiciously like a toaster fighting for its life. Jean slowly sat up and left the room, still somewhat groggy.

She found Peter in the kitchen.

He was wearing an old, slightly stretched-out T-shirt, sweatpants, and completely messy hair, while moving back and forth trying to keep too many things under control at once. A frying pan was on the stove, the coffee maker was running at the same time as the toaster, and Peter was trying to take something out of the oven without letting something else burn.

Jean leaned against the doorframe.

"What are you doing?"

Peter turned his head.

"Breakfast."

Jean looked around the kitchen.

"This looks like a war zone."

"The kitchen is working perfectly."

At that moment, the toaster released a cloud of smoke.

Peter looked at it.

"Well... almost perfectly."

Jean started laughing.

Peter pointed at the toaster with a spatula.

"Don't laugh. It's under control."

"It's smoking."

"That's part of the process."

"Peter."

"Trust me."

The toaster made a strange noise.

Peter slowly lowered the spatula.

"Maybe don't trust me."

Jean eventually walked up behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Peter immediately smiled when he felt her against his back and relaxed his shoulders a little, resting one hand over hers while continuing to try to save breakfast with the other.

"Good morning," Jean murmured.

"Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

Peter paused.

"Although someone takes up a lot of space in bed."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Someone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Peter smiled.

"A redhead who, coincidentally, has the ability to read my mind."

Jean tightened her embrace slightly.

"I can make you forget you said that."

Peter immediately adopted a serious expression.

"I take back everything."

Jean laughed again.

They didn't need to be doing anything extraordinary. Sometimes they could simply share a quiet morning, argue over who had burned the toast, steal food from each other, and end up sitting together on the couch watching a movie that neither of them was really paying attention to. Peter could talk about some silly thing that had happened to him during patrol, and Jean could tell him about something ridiculous Jubilee had done, and neither of them needed anything spectacular to happen in order to feel happy.

The first truly silly argument came a few days later over something neither of them would remember as important. Peter had left his Spider-Man suit on a chair after returning from patrol and, although he had initially promised that he would only leave it there for a few minutes, considerably more time had passed than he cared to admit. Jean had been staring at it from the other side of the apartment for several minutes, becoming increasingly convinced that she was about to have to ask him for exactly the same thing again.

"Peter, I told you not to leave that there."

Peter, who was sitting on the couch looking at something on his phone, raised his head.

"I was going to put it away."

Jean pointed at the suit.

"You've been saying that for twenty minutes."

"Because I was busy."

"Doing what?"

Peter opened his mouth.

He paused to think.

"...Thinking."

Jean stared at him.

"Thinking?"

"Yes."

"For twenty minutes?"

"Very complex thoughts."

Jean crossed her arms.

"Peter."

Peter crossed his arms too.

"Jean."

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

Jean pointed at the suit again.

"Put it away."

"I will."

"Now."

"In a minute."

"Peter."

"Jean."

She sighed.

"You're insufferable."

"You started it."

"You left the suit there."

"Because I was thinking!"

Jean tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn't, and a small laugh escaped her lips. Peter tried to hold out for another two seconds before he started laughing too.

"This is ridiculous."

"Very."

Jean picked up the suit from the chair.

"Come on."

"Where?"

"To put it away."

"Didn't you say I was supposed to do it?"

"Yes."

"Then..."

Jean looked at him.

Peter raised his hands.

"Okay, I'm coming."

The argument ended exactly as it had begun: with neither of them remembering why they were angry and both of them laughing at how absurd the whole thing had been. A few minutes later, they were hugging in the middle of the apartment, and Peter ended up muttering that at least he had won the argument.

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"What argument?"

Peter fell silent.

"Exactly."

Peter had a special talent for turning completely ordinary things into dates. One afternoon, for example, he took Jean grocery shopping because they were both hungry and neither of them had had time to cook, but what was supposed to be a quick trip to the supermarket ended up becoming a several-hour walk through New York. First, they went into a bookstore because Jean saw a book she wanted, then Peter found another one that he "definitely needed," and finally they walked out with a bag full of books that neither of them had planned to buy.

"You didn't need that one."

Jean pointed at the book Peter was carrying under his arm.

"Of course I did."

"You said you had too many books in your apartment."

"I do have too many books."

"Then why did you buy another one?"

Peter looked at her.

"Because this one is different."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"How?"

Peter looked at the cover.

"I don't know yet."

Jean burst out laughing.

Afterward, they ended up buying a milkshake because Peter insisted that a large one was "too much for one person." That turned out to be a fairly obvious lie, because Jean ended up drinking practically all of it while Peter watched her with a mixture of indignation and amusement.

"You have ninety percent of it."

Jean kept drinking.

"Because you took too long."

"You were stealing from me!"

"I'm sharing."

"That's not sharing."

Jean handed him the cup.

"Of course it is."

Peter looked at it.

There was approximately ten percent left.

"It's unilateral sharing."

Jean started laughing.

"Exactly."

In the end, they sat on a bench watching people pass by. Jean rested her head on Peter's shoulder while he wrapped an arm around her waist, and for several minutes neither of them said a single word. There were no villains, no chases, and no major events; just two people enjoying a completely ordinary afternoon, something that meant much more to both of them than either of them would have imagined.

Another argument began because Peter had arrived late at the mansion after a patrol. Jean was waiting for him, still awake, in one of the lounges and, although she knew perfectly well that Spider-Man's nights could get complicated, she had been watching the clock for quite some time and growing increasingly worried. When she finally heard the door open and saw Peter walk in, she immediately noticed that he was tired and that there was a small tear in his suit.

"You're late."

Peter took off his mask.

"Yeah."

Jean crossed her arms.

"You could have texted me."

Peter held up his phone.

"My phone got destroyed."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Again?"

"It was a very fragile phone."

"Peter, it was a phone."

"Exactly. It wasn't prepared to take a hit from a guy with metal arms."

Jean tried to keep a straight face.

She couldn't.

A small smile appeared on her face.

"You're an idiot."

Peter smiled.

"But a living idiot."

Jean stepped closer and hugged him.

"Just let me know next time."

Peter rested his chin on top of her head.

"I will."

"Promise."

"Promise."

Jean remained hugging him for a few more seconds before pulling away.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious."

Jean looked at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

"Peter."

"Okay, maybe a little."

"Peter."

"But I'm fine."

Jean sighed.

"Come on."

Five minutes later, they were sitting in the kitchen arguing about what to order for dinner.

"Pizza."

"No."

Peter's eyes widened.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Because we've had pizza three times this week."

"That's a made-up statistic."

"It's not."

"Do you have proof?"

Jean pointed at the pizza box that was still sitting on the table.

"That's from yesterday."

Peter looked at the box.

"...Okay."

Jean smiled.

"Chinese food."

Peter grimaced.

"That sounds suspiciously healthy."

"You don't even know what we're going to order."

"I have experience."

Jean shook her head.

"You're impossible."

Peter smiled.

"But you're in love with me."

Jean fell silent.

"Unfortunately."

Peter smiled even wider.

"That's what I thought."

Over time, Peter discovered that Jean could be incredibly affectionate, but she could also get quite jealous when someone openly flirted with him. One afternoon, while Peter was talking to a young woman in a store, Jean remained a few feet behind, watching the conversation with an expression that Peter recognized almost immediately. The girl was asking him something about a product, but she was also smiling a little too much and leaning slightly toward Peter whenever he answered.

When they finally left the store, Peter walked alongside Jean for a few feet without saying anything. Then he glanced at her.

"You're jealous."

"No."

"Jean."

"I'm not jealous."

"You're making that face."

Jean frowned.

"What face?"

"The 'if that girl looks at you one more time, she might accidentally end up going through a wall' face."

Jean stared at him.

"I wouldn't do that."

Peter smiled.

"Of course you wouldn't."

Jean paused for a moment.

"Probably."

Peter burst out laughing.

"I knew it!"

Jean ended up smiling too and took his hand.

"Just remember something."

"What?"

Jean intertwined her fingers with his.

"That you're mine."

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Does that mean I have permission to say that you're mine?"

Jean smiled.

"Yes."

Peter gently squeezed her hand.

"Then that seems fair to me."

They walked a few more steps.

"Although..."

Jean looked at him.

"Although?"

"Now I'm curious."

"About what?"

"What would have happened if that girl had kept flirting?"

Jean smiled suspiciously calmly.

"Nothing."

Peter waited.

"Probably."

"Jean."

She burst out laughing.

"I'm kidding!"

Peter shook his head.

"One day I'm going to learn not to ask you questions."

"No, you won't."

"No."

Jean rested her head against his shoulder.

"Because you love it."

Peter smiled.

"Yeah."

But not all their arguments were silly. One night, Peter returned from patrol after having fought several criminals, and Jean discovered that he had hidden a fairly serious injury to avoid worrying her; he had tried to act normally, but the blood that had begun seeping through his shirt eventually gave him away. The argument began as a conversation and ended up becoming something much more intense when they both touched on wounds they still hadn't learned how to handle.

"You can't keep doing this."

Peter looked up.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine!"

"Jean, it's not that bad."

She pointed at his shirt.

"You're bleeding!"

"It's someone else's blood."

"That doesn't make it any better!"

Peter tried to take a deep breath.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Jean took a step toward him.

"That every time you walk out that door, I don't know if you're going to come back."

Peter fell silent.

"And when you finally come back, you act like nothing happened."

"Because normally nothing does happen."

"Something happened today!"

Peter lost his patience.

"I don't need you to treat me like I'm made of glass!"

Jean took a step back.

"And I don't need you to act like losing you couldn't destroy me!"

The silence that followed was worse than any shouting.

Peter took a deep breath, but he was still furious. Jean's eyes were filled with tears, and he could immediately feel that he had said something he shouldn't have, but his own fear was still too raw for him to admit it.

"I need to get out."

Jean lowered her gaze.

"Then go."

Peter grabbed his jacket.

"Fine."

"Fine."

The door closed, and neither of them felt any better.

The following days were horrible. They didn't call, they didn't text, and they didn't look for each other; both were too proud and too hurt to be the first to reach out, although neither could stop thinking about the other. Peter tried to convince himself that he needed space, while Jean did exactly the same, but they both knew that the distance wasn't solving anything.

Peter continued patrolling. Jean continued with her activities at the mansion. They both talked to other people. They both pretended to be perfectly fine.

And both failed miserably.

Peter found himself checking his phone every few minutes, hoping to find a message he knew probably wouldn't come. Jean, for her part, could be reading a book and automatically end up looking toward the door whenever she heard footsteps, only to remember that Peter wasn't going to appear.

Until they finally saw each other again.

Peter was standing in front of the mansion entrance when he saw Jean approaching. She stopped when she saw him, and they both remained motionless for a few seconds, separated by barely a few feet that suddenly seemed much farther apart.

Neither said a word.

Jean took a step.

Peter took another.

And then they both ran toward each other.

They hugged so tightly that they almost lost their balance. Peter immediately buried his face in Jean's hair, and she wrapped both arms around his neck, holding him as if she needed to make sure he was really there.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

The words came out at the same time.

They both fell silent for half a second.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Neither should I."

"I was an idiot."

"So was I."

"I missed you."

"I missed you so much."

The words began spilling out one after another as neither of them wanted to let go. Peter buried his face in Jean's hair, and she hugged him even tighter, both of them laughing and crying at the same time over how ridiculous it had been to spend several days apart.

Finally, Peter pulled back just enough to look at her.

"I don't want to do this again."

Jean shook her head.

"Neither do I."

"But I also don't want us to think we can't argue."

"We can argue."

"A lot."

"Probably too much."

Peter smiled.

"I already knew that."

Jean let out a small laugh.

"Don't ever do that again."

"I won't."

"You promise."

"I promise."

Jean pulled back slightly to look him directly in the eyes.

"And if we argue again..."

Peter nodded.

"We talk."

"We talk."

"Even if we're angry."

"Even if we're furious."

"Even if you're right."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Even if I'm right?"

Peter paused.

"Well, let's not promise impossible things."

Jean burst out laughing and hugged him again.

"Idiot."

Peter wrapped both arms around her.

"Your idiot."

And they stayed like that for a long while, without needing to explain anything else.

Because they had learned something important.

Loving each other didn't mean never arguing. It didn't mean they were incapable of hurting each other, nor that every disagreement could be resolved with a kiss or a joke.

It meant learning how to come back.

It meant remembering that, even when they were furious, even when pride kept them from talking, and even though they both needed space from time to time, on the other side of that argument was still the person they loved most.

And that was something neither of them was willing to forget again.

Over time, those moments accumulated until they became a relationship that was completely their own. There were stolen kisses in the hallways, calls during patrols, nights spent watching movies, ridiculous arguments about food, hugs after difficult days, and moments when they simply sat together without saying a single word.

Peter was still Spider-Man, and Jean was still Jean Grey, with everything good and everything complicated that entailed. But when they were together, they didn't need to be heroes, saviors, or perfect people; they could simply be two young people in love, trying to figure out how to build a life together.

However, that didn't always mean everything was sunshine and roses. After all, Peter still had a very dangerous job as Spider-Man, which meant that he ended up getting hurt more often than Jean cared to count.

The first time happened just a few days after that argument. Peter arrived at Jean's apartment around midnight, still wearing his suit, walking with a slight limp and desperately trying to act as if nothing was wrong; Jean was sitting on the couch reading and looked up as soon as she heard the door open. She watched him silently for three seconds before noticing the blood running from his eyebrow down his cheek.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Jean slowly closed the book.

"Peter."

"Well... technically, something happened."

Peter dropped onto the couch.

"Some guys decided they wanted to rob an armored truck."

Jean approached him and knelt in front of him.

"And?"

"And I decided I didn't want them to."

"And?"

"And one of them had a bat."

Jean raised an eyebrow.

"A bat?"

"A pretty big one."

"And he hit you with it?"

Peter pointed at his eyebrow.

"Right here."

Jean sighed as she grabbed the first-aid kit.

"And you still say nothing happened?"

"Well, I'm still alive."

"That's not the standard I want for you."

Peter smiled.

"What is?"

Jean began cleaning the wound.

"That you come back in one piece."

Peter winced slightly when the cotton touched the cut.

"Ouch!"

"Don't complain."

"It hurts."

"Good."

Peter looked at her in surprise.

"Good?"

"Maybe that'll remind you to be careful."

Peter chuckled.

"You're a terrible nurse."

"And you're a terrible patient."

Jean finished bandaging his eyebrow and gave him a small tap on the forehead.

"Next time, try not to get hit by the bat."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"It doesn't seem like you're taking this seriously."

Peter smiled.

"Because I have a girlfriend who knows how to patch me up."

Jean tried to keep a straight face.

She failed.

"Idiot."

The second time was after a fight against a group of criminals who had managed to steal experimental technology from Stark Industries. Peter appeared at Xavier's Mansion at dawn, with his suit partially torn, one eye blackened, and one arm hanging in a way that immediately made Jean get up from the table. Peter tried to greet her as if he had just come back from buying milk, but Jean didn't even let him finish the first word before grabbing him by the wrist.

"Sit down."

"Good morning to you too."

"Peter."

"I feel like I'm being interrogated."

"Sit down."

Peter obeyed.

Jean began examining his arm.

"Can you move it?"

"Yes."

"Move it."

Peter made a small movement.

"Like this?"

"More."

"Like this?"

Jean looked at him.

"That's enough."

Peter smiled.

"See? I'm perfectly fine."

"You have a bruise that looks like a map of Europe."

Peter looked at his arm.

"I've always wanted to visit Europe... Without a lunatic trying to kill me, of course."

Jean sighed.

"Don't make jokes."

"It's my defense mechanism."

"Your defense mechanism needs therapy."

Peter raised a finger.

"I've been told that too."

Jean began wrapping his arm.

"Who did this to you?"

"A guy in armor."

"And how did you defeat him?"

Peter shrugged.

"I threw a motorcycle at him."

Jean froze.

"You threw a motorcycle at him?"

"It was a pretty sturdy motorcycle."

"Peter."

"What?"

"One day you're going to give me a heart attack."

Peter smiled.

"But not today."

Jean stared at him.

"Don't joke about that."

Peter's smile immediately disappeared.

"Okay."

Jean finished the bandage and placed a hand against his cheek.

"I just want you to come back."

Peter covered her hand with his.

"I always try to."

"Then keep trying."

"I will."

The third time was much more ridiculous. Peter arrived at the mansion with three small cuts on his face, a split lip, and a T-shirt completely covered in dust, the result of stopping a fight between two gangs that had decided to turn an entire street into a battlefield. Jean was talking to Ororo in the hallway when she saw him walk in and, without even saying goodbye to her, walked directly toward Peter.

"What happened to you?"

Peter pointed behind him.

"A truck."

Jean blinked.

"A truck?"

"Yeah."

"Did it hit you?"

"Not exactly."

"Peter."

"I stopped it."

Jean closed her eyes.

"Of course you did."

Peter smiled.

"It worked."

"And why is your face covered in dust?"

"Because the truck decided it didn't want to stop."

Jean shook her head and led him to a chair.

"Sit down."

"This is starting to become a tradition."

"Yes."

"I like it."

"You shouldn't."

"I like it because you're the one taking care of me."

Jean stopped for a moment.

Peter smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing."

"Yes, you are."

"Shut up."

Peter let out a small laugh.

Jean finished cleaning his face and, before he could stand up, gave him a quick kiss on the forehead.

Peter blinked.

"What was that?"

"A reward for not complaining."

"Can I get another injury?"

Jean looked at him in horror.

"No!"

Peter started laughing.

"I was joking."

"You'd better be."

The fourth time, however, Jean didn't laugh. Peter arrived at the apartment after a particularly brutal fight against an enemy much stronger than him, and although he tried to hide it, Jean immediately sensed that something was wrong. Several of his ribs were aching, he had a deep cut in his side, and he was having trouble taking deep breaths, yet he still insisted that he could walk perfectly fine.

"No."

"No what?"

"You're not okay."

"Jean..."

"Take off the suit."

Peter raised both hands.

"That sounded much more romantic than you probably intended."

Jean glared at him.

"Peter."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jean waited until Peter removed part of the suit so she could examine his side.

Her expression immediately changed.

"This needs medical attention."

"I can go to Hank."

"I already texted him."

Peter blinked.

"When?"

"While you were trying to convince me that it was 'just a scratch.'"

Peter sighed.

"Betrayal."

Jean sat down beside him.

"I'm not angry because you got into a fight."

"I know."

"I'm angry because you were hurt and decided to come here pretending nothing was wrong."

Peter lowered his gaze.

"I didn't want to worry you."

Jean took his face in both hands.

"Peter, worrying about you is part of loving you."

He remained silent.

"You don't have to protect me from knowing that you're hurt."

Peter slowly nodded.

"Okay."

Jean gently kissed his forehead.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And now you're going to stay sitting down."

"How long?"

"Until Hank gets here."

Peter sighed.

"This is a dictatorship."

"Yes."

The fifth time happened after a chase through all of New York. Peter arrived at the mansion around three in the morning, completely exhausted, with one hand hastily bandaged and a huge smear of soot across his suit. He found Jean asleep on one of the couches in the lounge, but the moment she heard his footsteps, she opened her eyes and looked him up and down.

"What happened?"

Peter smiled tiredly.

"Nothing serious."

Jean sat up.

"That's what you said last time."

"And it worked."

"It didn't work."

Peter dropped down beside her.

"A laboratory exploded."

Jean's eyes widened.

"A laboratory exploded?"

"Yeah."

"And you were inside?"

Peter paused for a moment.

"Technically."

"Peter."

"But I got everyone out!"

Jean sighed.

"Of course you did."

Peter rested his head on her shoulder.

"Are you mad?"

Jean looked at his bandaged hand.

"Very."

"Can I stay like this?"

Jean smiled slightly.

"Yes."

Peter closed his eyes.

"Then it's worth it."

Jean ran a hand through his hair.

"Rest."

"Are you going to lecture me tomorrow?"

"Very much."

"Perfect."

Jean let out a small laugh.

"Sleep, idiot."

And Peter fell asleep against her shoulder only a few minutes later.

The sixth time, Peter showed up with something much worse than an injury. He had taken such a powerful hit that his mask was split along one side and he had a huge bruise around one of his eyes, along with several cuts on his arms. Jean saw him walk in, and her expression went from surprise to concern in less than a second.

"Peter."

"Hi."

"What happened?"

"A fight."

"I can see that."

Peter placed his mask on a table.

"He was pretty strong."

Jean carefully took his face in her hands.

"Can you see properly?"

"Yeah."

"Does your head hurt?"

"A little."

Jean frowned.

"How little?"

Peter made a gesture with his hand.

"Like... a three."

Jean stared at him.

"Peter."

"Five."

"Peter."

"Eight."

Jean sighed.

"Hank."

Peter raised both hands.

"I don't need a doctor!"

"Yes, you do."

"Jean..."

"Peter."

They stared at each other for several seconds.

Peter finally sighed.

"I hate it when you're right."

Jean smiled.

"You're getting used to it."

Peter leaned toward her.

"Only because you're pretty."

Jean rolled her eyes.

"That's not going to save you."

"It worked a little."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Jean tried to remain serious.

"Completely."

Peter smiled.

"Then I'll have to try again when I'm less injured."

Jean shook her head as she adjusted his hair.

"You're impossible."

"But you're still here."

"Always."

The seventh time was the one that finally made Jean realize that this had become a routine. Peter arrived at the apartment on a rainy night after stopping a group of criminals, soaked, exhausted, and with several scratches on his face; he didn't even bother coming up with an excuse when Jean appeared at the bathroom door with the first-aid kit. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, let his head fall back, and waited as she began cleaning a wound above his eyebrow.

"How many?"

Peter thought for a moment.

"What?"

"How many hits did you take?"

"I don't know."

"More than ten?"

"Probably."

Jean sighed.

"More than twenty?"

Peter smiled.

"Maybe."

"More than thirty?"

Peter fell silent.

Jean looked up.

"Peter."

"I don't think there's an official number."

Jean shook her head.

"One day you're going to scare me to death."

Peter took her hand.

"I don't plan on it."

Jean finished cleaning the wound.

"Promise me."

Peter looked directly at her.

"I promise."

Jean held his gaze for a few seconds before smiling.

"Good."

Peter raised her hand and gently kissed her knuckles.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

Jean caressed his cheek.

"I'll always take care of you."

Peter smiled.

"Then I guess I'll have to keep coming back."

"Yes."

"Even if I'm completely beat up?"

"Yes."

"Even if I have twenty injuries?"

"Yes."

"Even if I destroy another phone?"

Jean sighed.

"That has nothing to do with the injuries."

Peter burst out laughing.

Jean finished bandaging his eyebrow and then sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Peter wrapped an arm around her waist.

It didn't matter how many times he walked out that door, how many criminals he faced, or how many times he came back with a new bruise, cut, or ridiculous story to tell. There was always someone waiting for him at the end of the night.

And perhaps that was what kept Peter coming back.

This time, however, Peter could barely manage to land on the grass outside the mansion.

He had several deep cuts across his chest, staining his torn Spider-Man suit with blood. His left arm hung completely useless at his side because of a shoulder injury caused by a piece of metal that had pierced through it, one of his mask's lenses was cracked, and he could barely breathe. On top of that, one of his feet had an open wound that might already have become infected, despite the injury still being very recent.

But he forced himself to climb the mansion wall anyway, using the only arm that still worked. If he was going to collapse, he would do it in front of the person who wouldn't hesitate to get him help, even if doing so was cruel to her.

Peter made it to Jean's bedroom window barely knowing how he had managed it. He had climbed a good portion of the Xavier Mansion's wall using only his right arm, digging his fingers into small cracks in the stone while every movement sent pain through him that threatened to make him lose consciousness. His breathing was becoming shallower and the cold night air could barely clear his head, but he kept moving because there was one thing he knew for certain: he had to get to Jean.

He finally managed to brace himself against the windowsill and, with an enormous effort, managed to pull himself inside. His feet touched the floor, but his legs immediately gave out; he had to lean against the wall while trying to regain his balance. The upper part of his suit was torn to shreds and covered in blood, one of his mask's lenses was completely shattered and the other barely let any light through, but Peter was still trying to remain conscious.

Jean had her back to him, sitting at her desk while organizing some books and documents. She hadn't heard Peter enter yet, so she continued what she was doing, completely unaware of the condition he was in.

"Another rough night?"

Peter tried to answer, but no sound came out. Jean smiled slightly as she continued facing away from him.

"Let me guess. You got hit, did some heroic stupidity, probably saved twenty people, and now you're going to try to convince me that you only have a scratch."

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Jean let out a small laugh.

"You know? I'm starting to think I should keep a first-aid kit permanently next to the window."

Peter took a step, feeling the world beginning to tilt.

"Although I could also just put up a sign that says: 'Spider-Man, if you're bleeding, don't try to lie to me.'"

Peter managed to take another step, but that was when his legs stopped responding. The dull thud of his body hitting the floor made Jean freeze completely. For a second, she didn't understand what had happened.

Then she turned around.

"Peter?"

The sight made all the color drain from her face. Peter was lying on the floor, completely unconscious. His body was partially on its side, and one of his hands was still clenched, as if he had tried to hold on to something even as he fell; blood had soaked large portions of his suit and was beginning to form small stains on the floor.

"Peter!"

Jean rushed toward him and dropped to her knees beside him. She turned him over with extreme care, supporting his head as her eyes desperately scanned each of his wounds. Then she saw the deep cut across his chest, the shoulder pierced by the metal fragment, the injured leg, and that amount of blood that simply didn't seem compatible with Peter still being alive.

"No..." Her hands began to tremble. "No, no, no, no..."

Jean pressed two fingers against Peter's neck. She felt his pulse, weak, but it was there.

"Peter, look at me," she pleaded, but she received no response. "Peter..."

Jean quickly removed his broken mask, revealing his pale face covered in small cuts. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was barely perceptible.

"Please..."

Then Jean felt something. It wasn't the smell of blood or the coldness of the floor. It was a feeling, a memory.

And suddenly she wasn't there anymore.

She was no longer at Xavier's Mansion, no longer in her room. The world disappeared and, for an instant, she was back in that Department of Damage Control building on Roosevelt Island, hearing the alarms again, smelling the metallic scent of blood again, seeing the floor covered in dust and broken glass again. And there was Peter, lying in front of her.

The bullet had passed through his body, and the blood was escaping far too quickly. Jean remembered perfectly how she had tried to press her hands against the wound, how she had desperately used her powers to try to keep him alive, how she had entered his mind while her own breathing broke apart.

"Peter, please!"

Her own voice echoed through the memory.

"No, no, no, no, stay with me, please!"

Peter could barely breathe.

Jean could remember the fear she had felt then, that absolute terror of losing him before she had even had the chance to tell him how much it meant to her that he had chosen to save her despite everything she had done. But Peter had closed his eyes, and Jean had felt something inside her break.

The memory ended as quickly as it had begun, and Jean returned to the room, back to the cold floor, back to having Peter in her arms.

"Peter..."

Her hands returned to him, and this time the horror was even worse because she knew exactly what she was feeling. She could sense his mind; weak, confused, and distant. Every second, he seemed to be drifting a little farther away.

"No..."

Jean squeezed her eyes shut and used her telepathy to search for him within that darkness. She found him barely, a tiny point of consciousness, a mental breath, a heartbeat.

"I'm here." Tears began falling down her cheeks when she received no response. "Peter, I'm here... Stay with me... Please, Peter, stay with me... Don't do this to me again."

Jean desperately shook her head. Her tears fell onto Peter's face.

"You promised me you would come back." Jean rested her forehead against his. "You promised me you'd come back."

Her telepathy could still feel that mental pulse growing weaker and weaker.

"Peter, hold on!" Her voice turned into a sob. "Please! Don't leave me... Don't leave me alone..."

It wasn't long before Hank appeared in her room, and upon seeing Peter on the floor, he immediately got to work. Together, they carefully managed to lift him and place him on a stretcher. Jean didn't let go of his hand, not even when Hank began moving him down the hallway at full speed.

"Come on, Peter." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Come on."

The infirmary doors opened, and Hank immediately began working.

"I need oxygen."

A device was placed over Peter's face while Hank carefully removed the remains of his mask and then cut open the upper part of his suit so he could examine the wounds. The sight beneath it made Jean have to hold back a sob: there were deep cuts across his chest, bruises spreading along his ribs, and a particularly serious wound on his shoulder where the metal fragment had pierced the tissue.

"Pulse is weak, but present."

Hank connected several monitors. The beeping began to fill the room.

Jean remained beside Peter, holding his hand. It didn't matter that Hank needed space. It didn't matter that everything around her had become cables, machines, and lights. She wasn't going to let him go.

Hank began cleaning the wounds one by one, stopping the bleeding and closing the deepest cuts while another device constantly monitored his vital signs. He then carefully examined Peter's shoulder and leg, checking the depth of the injuries and making sure there was no internal damage that could worsen while he remained unconscious.

Jean didn't take her eyes off Peter, but she also didn't stop using her telepathy. Every few seconds, she searched for his mind and found him. Weak and asleep, but he was there.

"Stay with me..." She whispered those words as she squeezed his hand.

The memory crossed her mind again. Peter holding her hand, kissing her knuckles, refusing to leave her alone. And now she was the one who was there, and she wasn't going to abandon him.

"I'm not going anywhere." Jean gently stroked his fingers. "Can you hear me? I don't care how long it takes. I'll be here."

Hank continued working for several minutes that felt like hours to Jean. Finally, he managed to control the most serious wounds and began checking the monitors again, watching Peter's vital signs with absolute concentration.

Jean was still there, not moving, not letting go of him, never losing contact with his mind. At least until Hank finally took a deep breath.

"He's stable," Beast said, smiling slightly. "The wounds are serious, but I've managed to stop the bleeding, and I don't see any signs of an injury that's going to kill him immediately. He'll remain unconscious for several hours. He needs to rest, and his body needs time to recover, but he's going to live."

Jean didn't answer. She simply looked at Peter. His hand was still in hers. He was alive, breathing, he was here. Tears began to fall again, but this time they weren't tears of terror. Jean wrapped both hands around Peter's and pressed it against her chest.

"You're here..." Her voice broke. "You're here."

She leaned over him and desperately kissed his knuckles, then his forehead, then kissed his hand again as if she needed to make sure, over and over, that he was really alive.

"Thank you... Thank you." She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. "Don't ever do this to me again, idiot... My idiot."

A small, tearful laugh escaped her lips. Jean kissed his forehead again and didn't let go of his hand, because months ago, Peter had been the one who had stayed by her side when she was unconscious, who had waited for hours, who had held her hand and refused to leave her. Now their roles had been reversed, and Jean had no intention of stepping away from him for even a second.

"You have me, remember?" Jean smiled through her tears. "So you're going to stay... Because you still have to come back to me."

Hank watched silently as Jean held Peter's hand between hers, tears still in her eyes as she continued checking telepathically that he was still there. A small smile appeared on Beast's face as he watched the scene, because after everything that had happened between them, it was impossible not to recognize how much they had become each other's refuge. However, that smile slowly disappeared when Hank looked at Peter's wounds again and his expression became much more serious.

"Jean." Hank removed his glasses with one hand and held them between his fingers. "I think you should check the news."

Jean looked up and frowned slightly.

"Why?"

"Because I think it might explain what happened to him."

Jean looked at Peter again. Then she took her phone out of her pocket, still holding the young man's hand, and unlocked the screen with fingers that were still trembling slightly.

A notification immediately appeared.

BREAKING NEWS: Adrian Toomes, aka the Vulture, remains at large after escaping prison two days ago.

Jean felt her expression change as she opened the article.

The first photograph showed Adrian Toomes with the face she had once seen in old photographs related to one of Spider-Man's cases. Below it was information about his escape, the damage caused during the breakout, and a warning from the authorities that no one should attempt to confront him directly... But then Jean saw something else, a video.

When she opened the file, the image appeared blurry, recorded from a distance by someone who had apparently witnessed the fight from a nearby building. Even so, there was no doubt about what she was seeing: Spider-Man was on the ground, and the Vulture was standing over him. Adrian Toomes was once again wearing that mechanical suit with its enormous wings spread wide, brutally slamming Spider-Man against a concrete surface. Jean felt her stomach turn.

"No..."

The video continued. Spider-Man tried to get up, but the Vulture grabbed him and began striking him repeatedly. That was when one of the metallic feathers from his wings broke loose and violently pierced Spider-Man's left shoulder.

Jean stopped breathing. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, then she looked up from her phone to see Peter on the stretcher, or more specifically, his shoulder. The same wound in the exact same place where she could now see the makeshift bandage Hank had just placed.

"...It was him," Jean murmured, watching the Vulture in the video again.

Jean decided to close the video, but she didn't put her phone away. She remained staring at the screen as a series of memories began falling into place in her mind. Peter had told her about Adrian Toomes, and it hadn't been just once. In fact, he had mentioned the Vulture during one of those nights when the two of them ended up talking far too late, when their conversations went from silly discussions about movies to stories about their respective lives as heroes.

Peter had told her that Toomes had run an illegal weapons operation throughout the city for years. Not ordinary weapons, but weapons modified with alien technology recovered from the remains of the Battle of New York that had founded the Avengers in 2012. And Toomes had turned the remains of a tragedy into an extremely lucrative black-market business.

The strangest part of the whole story had been that his own family had no idea. His wife thought he simply worked cleaning up debris and on recovery projects. It was a job that paid quite well, enough to support his family, and nothing about Toomes' everyday life seemed to indicate that behind that facade was an arms dealer. His daughter, Liz Allan, didn't know either. During one stage of his youth, she had been someone very important to Peter, his former high school crush.

Jean remembered the way Peter had talked about it. Not with resentment, but rather with that strange mixture of nostalgia and acceptance he used when talking about people who had been part of his life before he became the man he was now.

Peter had discovered what Toomes was doing. Toomes, in turn, had discovered who was behind the Spider-Man mask and had threatened Peter. Despite everything, Peter had won, defeated the Vulture, and managed to have him sent to prison, where he had remained for the past thirteen years.

Until now.

Jean looked at Peter's unconscious face again. Strange's spell had made Toomes forget who Peter Parker was, but it hadn't erased his memory of Spider-Man, nor had it erased his grudge. To Adrian Toomes, Spider-Man was still responsible for destroying his life, ending his operation, and sending him to prison for more than a decade. Now he had escaped, recovered his old suit, and gone looking for Spider-Man.

Jean replayed the video for just a few seconds, more specifically the part where the Vulture struck Peter, the feather piercing his shoulder, Peter's blood spilling from his body, his fall...

Eventually, Jean slowly closed her phone. Hank watched the change in her expression, noticing that she was no longer crying and no longer looked frightened. She stood up and looked at Peter, who was still asleep and breathing with a steady pulse. That should have been enough to calm her... but now Jean had a face, she had a name, she had someone to blame, and that changed things.

She approached Peter again and took his hand between hers.

"Rest." She leaned down and gently kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand. "I'll be back. I promise."

Then she slowly stepped away from the stretcher. Hank watched as she walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get justice." Jean didn't even turn around to look at Beast.

Hank sighed. He had heard those words enough times to know that they rarely meant anything peaceful when they came from someone with Jean Grey's powers.

"Jean..." Hank adjusted his glasses. "Don't do anything reckless."

Jean remained silent for a few seconds, then turned around, and a small smile appeared on her face.

"I make no promises."

With that, Jean left the infirmary and walked down the hallway of Xavier's Mansion with an almost unnaturally calm stride. However, despite the calm she showed on the outside, a single image kept repeating over and over in her mind: a metallic feather piercing Peter's shoulder.

Jean clenched her fists as her blue eyes began to take on a barely perceptible reddish glow. The Vulture had made a mistake: he had hurt Spider-Man. But worse still, he had hurt the man Jean Grey loved.

And now Jean knew exactly how to find him.

Adrian Toomes' old hideout had been abandoned for years, reduced to little more than a skeleton of concrete, rusted metal, and walls covered in cracks. It had been one of the facilities where he had once stored and repaired his equipment, but after his arrest, no one had used it again; for Toomes, however, that place was still perfect precisely because no one wanted to go near it. The fallen beams, broken glass, and enormous areas covered in dust provided him with enough privacy to rebuild his suit without the police or anyone else being able to find him.

A portable lamp partially illuminated the interior while Toomes worked on one of his mechanical wings. Several tools were scattered across an improvised table, and different metal parts lay around it, some recovered from his old equipment and others obtained over the past few days. His suit still bore marks from the fight, but it worked, and that was all that mattered to him.

For thirteen years, he had thought about this moment. Thirteen years, to be exact. Thirteen years imagining the day he would meet Spider-Man again, remembering how that kid had destroyed his operation, exposed everything he was doing, and ultimately sent him to prison while his family slowly drifted away from him. To Toomes, it had never simply been a defeat; it had been the moment Spider-Man had taken everything from him.

And now, finally, he had managed to hit him back.

A smile appeared on his face as he remembered the image of the hero staggering after the fight, and he let out a small laugh. Spider-Man's left arm had been practically useless after one of his metallic feathers pierced his shoulder. He had watched the hero try to keep fighting even after that, had seen the pain begin to affect his movements, and, above all, had enjoyed every second of it.

But that was only the beginning. Toomes placed the tool on the table and looked at his old mask.

"Now I'm going to find out who you are."

His smile became colder, because once he had a name, once he had a face, he could find out who the people around him were. His family, his friends, anyone who meant something to Spider-Man. Toomes was willing to take everything away from him in the same way that, in his mind, Spider-Man had taken everything away from him.

Then he heard something. Slow footsteps, something that made the old man slightly raise his head as a smile immediately appeared on his face.

"Back for more? That's what I call being a masochist," he said without turning around as the footsteps continued approaching. "A few hours ago, I almost killed you, and now you're coming straight to me."

Toomes let out a laugh.

"Although, now that I think about it, you're saving me quite a bit of work." He placed the tool on the table while the footsteps continued behind him. "I can take your mask off right here, and then I'll have a name and a face. After all these years, I'll finally know exactly who I need to take everything he loves away from."

There was silence in response, and at this, Toomes frowned slightly.

"What happened? Lose the ability to speak? I suppose after the way our fight ended, you can barely stay on your feet." He began to turn around. "That explains why..."

A shockwave tore through the place.

Toomes was thrown backward, but he never hit the ground. His body became completely motionless, and his eyes widened. He tried to move an arm, but he couldn't. He tried to move a leg, but it didn't respond. He tried to turn his head, but his neck wouldn't react. He couldn't even move his mouth. Only his eyes could move, but the rest of his body seemed to have stopped belonging to him.

Toomes panicked.

What the hell...?

He tried to breathe faster. He could do that. His heart was still beating, his brain was still functioning, he could think... But he couldn't move.

What's happening?

Then a female voice spoke from the darkness.

"Scary, isn't it?"

Toomes' eyes desperately shifted toward the entrance.

"Being so helpless, so completely unable to move that you don't understand what's happening, so desperate to act and yet unable to do anything."

A figure began to emerge from the shadows, with red hair, blue eyes, and a completely serious expression.

"It's terrifying when you're on the other side, isn't it, Toomes?"

Jean Grey slowly walked toward him. Her hands were casually tucked into the pockets of her jacket. She didn't need to raise them or point at him, and she didn't even seem to be making any effort.

"Imagine how Spider-Man felt while you hurt him without allowing him to defend himself."

Toomes tried to speak, but he couldn't. No sound came out, and yet, mentally, he kept asking himself the same question, which Jean heard thanks to her telepathy.

What the hell are you doing to me?

Jean continued walking until she stopped in front of him.

"I came to see the asshole who dared to hurt my spider." Jean tilted her head slightly and smiled faintly. "And honestly, I expected more. You shouldn't have hurt someone whose girlfriend can destroy an entire city just by thinking about it."

How do you know what I'm saying?

"I can read minds." Jean shrugged. "It's like a reflex."

A shiver ran through Toomes' body.

"And before you try to act intimidating..." Jean's smile disappeared as she took another step toward him. "You're not as intimidating as you want to believe. You're just a bitter old man who can't accept that you're a failure."

Toomes' eyes filled with fury.

"You didn't have the guts to change careers when Damage Control was created." Jean began slowly walking around him. "There were hundreds of places in New York that needed debris cleared after the alien invasion. Hundreds. But you decided to become a disgusting, thieving rat while lying to yourself and saying you were doing it for your family."

Toomes tried to respond mentally.

I did it for them!

"Your family?" Jean returned to stand in front of him, a small humorless smile appearing on her lips. "How curious... Because your family is doing pretty well without you."

Toomes' eyes shifted slightly.

"Your daughter Liz graduated from college last year, and your wife found a better man." Jean held his gaze, her voice growing colder. "An honest man with a spotless record. Everything you could have been if you weren't a bitter man angry at life."

Toomes began struggling mentally.

You don't know anything about my family!

"I know plenty."

Stark destroyed my business!

"Tony Stark took a job." Jean moved closer until she was practically face-to-face with him, an expression of utter contempt on her face. "One job, and you decided that justified stealing technology and becoming a criminal."

Toomes tried to respond.

Spider-Man ruined everything I worked for!

"And years later, you blamed Spider-Man for exposing your dirty secrets." Jean sighed, her voice beginning to harden. "Now Iron Man is dead, so you can't get revenge on him. So instead, you decided that attacking the kindest, most generous, most selfless person in this city was the reasonable thing to do."

Jean clenched her jaw slightly.

"All so you can keep denying that you put yourself where you are."

Toomes tried to justify himself again.

He took everything from me!

"No." Jean stopped smiling. "You ruined it yourself."

Suddenly, Toomes felt brutal pressure inside his head and could no longer breathe. His lungs tried to fill, but they couldn't. His face began turning red, and when he looked at Jean, he immediately knew that she was cutting off his air simply by thinking about it.

Toomes began to panic. His eyes moved frantically, as if he could somehow find a way to get Jean off him. Meanwhile, Jean watched him for a few more seconds, enjoying the desperation and fear in his eyes, the same fear Peter must have felt when Toomes had been standing over him. Only then did she release him. Toomes inhaled violently, filling his lungs with air while his body remained completely motionless.

"You should consider yourself lucky," Jean eventually said as Toomes struggled to breathe and she lowered her gaze. "I'm being very merciful to you, because every part of me is screaming that I should kill you right now."

Her eyes met his again, then she briefly looked around at the rubble surrounding them.

"I could leave you here. I could make all of this finish collapsing on top of you." She looked at him again. "And I could walk away. No one would know what happened... But if I do that, Spider-Man would be disappointed in me."

Jean swallowed, feeling her expression change despite trying to remain angry. For the first time, there was something other than rage in her eyes: pain.

"And I'm not going to become someone he wouldn't recognize." Jean took a deep breath. "So I'm not going to kill you."

Toomes blinked.

"I'm going to turn you over to the police, I'm going to destroy your wings, and you're going to spend the rest of your sad, miserable, pathetic existence in prison."

Suddenly, the mechanical wings lying on the table began to slowly rise, and Toomes' eyes widened when he saw them. The pieces floated above Jean's head.

"And if you ever get out... If you ever try to kill Spider-Man again... If you even manage to kill him..."

The wings began folding in on themselves. The metal creaked, but Jean didn't even move her hands. She did everything using only her mind.

"Then I'll come for you." The wings compressed violently. "And I'll suffocate you just by thinking about it."

The metal was eventually crushed into a massive ball of scrap, which Jean slowly spun through the air before sending it flying away. The crash against a wall made the entire hideout tremble.

"Now you know I can do it. So you'd better pray to whatever deity is willing to listen to you that you never make me angry again."

Toomes turned completely pale, unable to respond, which slightly irritated Jean as she tilted her head.

"Was I clear?"

Toomes remained silent.

"I asked if I was clear." Jean narrowed her eyes, and when she still received no response, her voice came out even louder. "WAS I CLEAR?!"

Toomes swallowed.

Yes. You've made yourself more than clear.

A fake smile slowly appeared on Jean's face.

"Perfect. I'm glad we understand each other."

After that, Toomes suddenly felt something grab him. Before he could properly react, he was sent flying. His body slammed into one of the concrete walls with a dull thud.

Jean immediately closed her eyes. For a second, the anger began to rise again. She wanted to do it again, wanted to throw him against another wall, wanted to keep going until all that rage disappeared... But in the end, she chose to take a deep breath and opened her eyes. She decided not to do it, not because the man didn't deserve it, but because she wasn't going to destroy Peter's trust.

Toomes lay unconscious on the floor, and Jean watched him for a few seconds. Then, with a movement of her mind, she made Toomes' body rise. The man hung suspended in the air while Jean left the hideout and began moving through the city using her telekinesis.

It didn't take her long to reach the vicinity of a police station, but she decided not to approach directly; she knew perfectly well that an unconscious man suddenly appearing in front of the police would raise too many questions. So she dropped him. Toomes' body hit the pavement directly in front of the police station's doors.

Two officers who were inside immediately looked up.

"What the hell...?"

One of them ran toward the entrance while Jean watched from a nearby alley. Her hood covered her red hair and kept her face partially hidden as she remained completely still in the shadows.

One of the police officers immediately recognized the man.

"It's Adrian Toomes!"

Another officer came running out.

"Call an ambulance!"

Jean watched as the officers surrounded Toomes. She didn't smile, she didn't feel satisfaction; she simply took a deep breath. It would have been very easy to kill him, much easier than she wanted to admit... but Peter wouldn't have wanted that.

Jean lowered her gaze slightly, then turned around. But before disappearing into the shadows, she looked toward the police station one last time. Toomes was being treated, he was alive, he no longer had his wings, and he would be arrested. That was enough, it was more than she could do for Peter. Justice had been served.

With nothing left to do there, Jean adjusted her hood and disappeared into the night.

It took Jean four hours to return to Xavier's Mansion after leaving the infirmary. She had spent the first two finding Adrian Toomes, following every mental trace she could until she located his hideout; another hour had gone into taking him to the police station and making sure the police found him, and she had spent the last one simply making her way back. By the time she finally crossed the mansion grounds, the anger was still there, but beneath it, something much stronger had begun to emerge: the desperate need to see Peter again.

Jean walked through the hallways almost silently, still wearing her jacket with the hood partially covering her hair. She had imagined finding Peter exactly as she had left him, unconscious, connected to the monitors, and depending on Hank to continue watching over him while she dealt with that problem. She pushed open the infirmary door without making much noise.

And froze.

Peter was awake. Jean stopped breathing. For a second, she simply stared at him from the doorway, unable to process what she was seeing. His upper body was still exposed, several bandages covering his chest and abdomen, some stitches running across the wounds Hank had needed to close, and his left arm completely immobilized in a cast, but he was sitting on the stretcher. He was alive, and he was smiling.

Hank was standing beside him, checking one of the monitors while asking him a few questions to make sure Peter was fully oriented. Peter answered something Jean couldn't hear, and Hank nodded in satisfaction before checking one of his wounds again.

Jean felt something inside her break. Her eyes began filling with tears, and as soon as Peter looked up and saw her, his smile immediately grew wider.

"Hi."

That single word destroyed the last of her remaining defenses. Jean immediately ran across the room.

"Peter!"

Peter barely had time to react before Jean threw herself at him. She practically straddled his legs and wrapped both arms around his body, immediately burying her face against his shoulder as she began to cry. Peter let out a small grimace when the impact made some of his wounds protest, but he quickly replaced it with a tender expression. He wrapped his right arm, the only one he had free, around Jean and carefully hugged her while she trembled against him.

"I'm here."

Jean tightened her arms around his body even more. Meanwhile, Peter looked up at Hank with a slightly embarrassed expression, but Hank simply smiled.

"I think I can give you a few minutes."

"Thanks." Peter let out a small laugh.

Hank left the room and closed the door behind him.

Jean continued hugging him. For several seconds, she couldn't say anything coherent. She simply cried against his shoulder, breathing unevenly while her fingers clung to Peter's back as if she were afraid that if she let go, he might disappear again. Peter slowly stroked her hair with his good hand, letting her release everything she had been holding in since she had left the mansion.

"I thought that..." Jean tried to speak, but her voice broke. "I thought that..."

Peter gently rested his cheek against her head.

"I know."

"I was terrified..." Her words came out between small sobs. "I thought you weren't going to wake up... I didn't want to lose you."

Peter continued stroking her hair.

"You didn't lose me."

Jean shook her head against his neck.

"But I almost did..." Jean hugged him tighter. "I don't ever want to feel that again."

Peter let out a soft sigh.

"I know."

"I saw you on the floor..." Her voice broke again. "There was so much blood..."

Peter closed his eyes, feeling his own throat begin to tighten.

"Jean..."

"And you weren't responding." Jean slightly lifted her face, though she still kept her arms around him. "You weren't responding, and I could feel your mind slipping away."

Peter looked at her with an utterly serious expression.

"I'm sorry."

Jean hid her face against his neck again.

"I hate you."

Peter smiled weakly.

"That sounds pretty contradictory considering the way you're hugging me."

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jean let out a small sob that turned into a tiny laugh.

Peter continued stroking her back.

"I'm here." He gave her a small kiss on the hair. "I'm with you. I'm not going anywhere."

Jean finally began to calm down little by little. Her breathing was still uneven, but she was no longer crying as intensely. After a while, she pulled away slightly, sniffing as she used her hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks and then her arms to finish drying her face.

Peter watched her tenderly as Jean took his face between both hands.

"I went after Toomes."

Peter blinked.

"What?"

Jean let out a small, shaky breath.

"I found out he was the one who left you like this, and I went looking for him. I found him and psychologically tortured him."

Peter remained silent.

"Jean..."

"Don't interrupt me." Jean took a deep breath. "I immobilized him. He couldn't move anything at all. I told him everything I thought about him. I told him he was bitter, that his family was fine without him, that Liz had graduated and that his wife had found someone better."

Peter's eyes widened slightly.

"Wow."

"And then..." Jean paused and lowered her gaze. "I wanted to kill him... I really wanted to."

Peter's smile disappeared as Jean's fingers slowly caressed his cheeks.

"After seeing you like that, after seeing him in that video... I wanted him to feel exactly what you felt... But I didn't. I forced myself not to. Because I knew you wouldn't want that."

Peter took one of her hands.

"Thank you."

Jean slowly shook her head.

"I didn't do it because he deserved it." She gently squeezed Peter's fingers. "I did it for you."

Peter brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Thank you."

Jean took a deep breath.

"I was so afraid you weren't going to come back to me..."

Peter lowered his gaze.

"...I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." His thumb gently stroked Jean's hand. "The last thing I want is for you to end up caught in the crossfire because of me. I don't want you to have to see me like this. I don't want to worry you... But I also know I can't promise you that I'll never get hurt again. I'm Spider-Man. It's... pretty much part of the job description."

Jean let out a weak laugh through her tears.

"Idiot."

"I know..." Peter caressed her cheek. "But I'll always try to come back."

Jean held his gaze.

"I love you so much, Peter. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

And before Peter could respond, Jean leaned in and kissed him. Peter was surprised for barely a second before closing his eyes and returning the kiss. His good arm carefully wrapped around Jean's waist, holding her firmly without putting too much pressure on his wounds. He wanted her to be able to feel him, to feel the warmth of his body, the movement of his breathing, the certainty that he was there. He wasn't a memory, he wasn't an image, he wasn't someone slowly slipping away from her mind.

He was Peter, he was alive, and he was with her.

When they finally pulled apart, they remained very close.

Peter took a deep breath.

"So..." A mischievous smile appeared on Peter's face. "Did you really almost kill Toomes?"

Jean let out a tearful laugh.

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not teasing you." Peter wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "I'm just saying my girlfriend is pretty terrifying."

"Peter." Jean narrowed her eyes.

"My hero." He smiled.

Jean practically melted and kissed him again. Peter smiled against her lips before returning the kiss. When they separated again, Jean took a deep breath and slowly regained her serious expression.

"Anyway, I'm still mad at you."

Peter blinked.

"Oh."

"And I'm not mad because you got hurt. You can't help that, I know. You're Spider-Man." She leaned toward him. "I'm mad because you came back here barely able to breathe and passed out in the middle of my room. I don't want to see you like that again. I don't want to see you hooked up to machines, covered in blood, and not responding to me ever again."

Peter swallowed.

"Jean..."

"Promise me. Not that you'll never get hurt. I know you can't promise that." Her eyes were filling with tears again. "Promise me you'll never come back like that again. That you'll never climb through my window barely alive and then pass out in front of me. I don't think I could handle it a second time."

Peter watched her for a few seconds. Then he took her hand in his, slowly brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers, before pressing Jean's palm against his cheek.

"I promise." Peter held her hand against his face. "I promise I'll do everything I can to never put you through something like that again."

Jean finally leaned toward him and buried her face against his neck. She hugged him again, and Peter let out a small laugh.

"You're being very clingy."

"I almost lost you." Jean tightened her arms around him. "I have the right to be clingy with my boyfriend."

Peter rested his cheek against her hair.

"I suppose you do."

Just then, the door opened. Hank returned to the room with a small tray of medical instruments.

"Jean, I need to examine Peter."

Jean didn't even lift her head from Peter's neck.

"No."

Hank blinked.

"No?"

"I live here now."

Peter burst out laughing.

"Jean..."

"I'm not moving."

"I need Hank to examine me."

"He can examine you like this."

Hank looked at Peter, who looked back at him, and then Hank looked at Jean, who remained completely clinging to Peter.

"Jean, I just need a few minutes to examine him," Hank tried to reason with her.

"No." Jean stayed exactly where she was.

Peter sighed. "Babe..."

"No."

Hank slowly removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

Peter looked at him in surprise.

"Fine?"

"I've learned that arguing with you is easier than arguing with her when she's like this."

Jean smiled against Peter's neck, while Peter shook his head.

"This is ridiculous."

"I love you."

Peter smiled. "I love you too."

Hank began checking the monitors while Jean remained exactly where she was, wrapped around Peter as if she had officially decided to become part of the stretcher, with no intention of letting him go.

And honestly, Peter had no intention of asking her to leave. After everything that had happened that night, having Jean in his arms, alive, crying with relief and clinging to him as if he were the most important thing in the world, was probably the best treatment he could receive. So he simply hugged her with his good arm and smiled, because he was alive and Jean was there with him.

For now, that was enough.