As soon as he pulls away, I regret saying anything. Why couldn't I have just said yes? Why couldn't I have let myself enjoy something for once?

Though, there are multiple reasons why a kiss between Peter and I in this situation would not be the wisest of decisions. It would over complicate our friendship with one another and would form questions on whether there are romantic feelings. It would over complicate the professionalism of our time spent together- if we are both officially promoted to be members of the Avengers, it would make things unprofessional. It would be a lot easier to keep everything the way it is. And besides, we've been stuck in this vault for what feels like forever, I'm sure we're both just turning slightly demented from the colour grey.

His hands untangle from my hair, "I'm so sorry, Bonnie. I didn't mean to-"

"No, Parker, it's fine. Don't stress. I was leaning in, too."

With this, our moment is officially gone. No lingering tension between us- nothing. It's just a little awkward- not really knowing what to say to each other.

He turns away and pulls himself to his feet, mumbling under his breath about finding something to help us open the door. I sit alone by the truck, while he searches through the boxes, running through what just happened between us, and how something like that can never happen again. I think after this weekend, I never want to see Peter Parker again. There's too much there; too much familiarity, too much knowledge, too much feeling. Just too much, when there should really be nothing at all. My main focus right now should be on trying to get out of here, getting this weekend over with so that I can go back to New York and attempt to get my abilities under control while we move upstate. There isn't any time leftover for beautiful boys in spandex.

My lips are still tingling from the slight graze of his breath hitting my skin. I rub at my mouth with the back of my hand and attempt to forget what it felt like to have him so close to me. No use.

"Whoa, whoa! You mean, we've been carrying around a bomb?"

"What?"

He comes sprinting out of the van, stumbling over boxes and crates of technological materials. "We... need- we need to get out of here. We need to call Ned." His body is pulsating with nerves. He rushes over to the door, which is definitely not opening any time soon, and his against it with his fists, desperately hoping that someone will hear his cries.

I fumble around in my bag until I manage to grasp hold of my cell phone to call Ned. I'm sent to his answering machine at least fifteen times- he doesn't pick up. I send him various desperate text messages to tell him of the purple glowy-thing's true nature, and to find a way to get Peter and I out of this vault. He doesn't reply. He doesn't even read the text messages.

While I resort to attempting to use my abilities to pry apart the doors, Peter tries to override the time-lock of the building with only a calculator and a notepad. I think about offering him some help, before deciding that it'd be more beneficial if I just stuck to trying to get us out myself, utilising my abilities.

Nothing happens.

I curse.

I call Ned again.

Radio silence. He's completely M.I.A.

I think I begin to lose all sense of time around the 115th attempt Peter takes at trying to override the lock for the door, as my head resumes its pounding again, this time a lot more aggressive and to the point where I cannot keep my eyes open for more than second at a time.

I hardly think about anything else aside from returning home to New York while I rummage through the boxes in search of anything that would aid getting this door open, and I drag myself around the vault in the shell of my body; too disconnected to care. Whether it's the head injury, blood loss, exhaustion, or just being stuck in here with Peter after telling him everything that I did, I'm unsure, but I feel non-existent. As far as I'm concerned, this is all some strange fever dream and when I wake up I'll be back in bed at the compound with Wanda beside me and old re-runs of Friends playing on the TV. There'll be shattered glass in a trash can near the door; where I put all of the broken lightbulbs, and I'll feel safe.

How on earth did I let Peter Parker convince me to go to Washington? A month or so ago, I never would have taken up the offer.

I run my hands through my hair, desperately trying to think of some solution to our issue. Finding out that Ned is unknowingly and accidentally carrying a bomb component is only adding to the stress and to the problems that Peter and I need to sort out. Even if I never want to see him again because I'm too mortified from telling him about my past, I still care about him and Ned nevertheless, and I want them to stay safe.

"Peter," I yawn, "I swear, this is possibly the one thousandth attempt. It's almost eight in the morning, we're never going to make it back in time for the decathlon." I could almost smash my head against the encapsulating walls, as I'm sure the sweet release of death would be much more liberating than being trapped in this vault for any longer.

"I've almost got it."

I know what needs to be done and I'm not sure how much time we have left, but I know it's not a lot.

I utter a few words of doubtful encouragement under my breath and pull myself to my feet and out of the truck, trying with everything inside of me to keep a straight face and to focus. Just focus on the issue at hand.

I'm slightly hopeful; my head no longer pounding, my body no longer as delicate as glass. I inhale deeply and try to settle some of the anxiety inside of my pulsating chest, shakily lifting my arm to the locked door.

I don't think Peter notices me, though I don't allow myself to cast too much thought to him. My arm jitters as a familiar orange glow erupts from my fingertips. I almost flinch as I catch sight of it- but I will not let my own fear control me, especially when Peter and I are in need of pretty much a miracle right now. The glowing tendrils lace together and intertwine as they reach the doors, pushing itself in between.Instantly, my other arm shoots out upon realising the heaviness of the doors, as I pry them apart with all of the strength within me. My body begins to drain of energy. My blood boiling. My skin burning.

"I did it! I did it! I— holy shit!" I hear Peter shriek. My eyes screw shut as my face crumples due to the concentration. I give the door one last heave, before my body turns limp. Freezing air immediately sweeps into the room; I've managed to open the door, to get us out. I collapse onto all fours and break my fall with my palms. The ground beneath my hands instantly turns charred; the concrete is burning from the sheer temperature of my skin.

No.

No.

I have to stay cold.

"Bonnie? Oh my— fuck. Are you alright? Come on, we gotta go." Peter rushes over to me and I immediately jump away from his outstretched hands.

"Don't touch me! My skin... I'll burn you."

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me," Peter whispers as he tries to catch hold of my arm. "You're fine, I promise. You're not hurting me." His grasp lingers on my forearm, before he slowly slides down to my palm and takes hold of my hand. "You're okay."

"W-what? But, the ground-"

"The ground? There isn't anything there, Bonnie." Peter's voice floods with concern, and I'm sure that if he hadn't been wearing his mask I'd be able to see the worry written in his eyes.

"What?"

He's right. There isn't anything there. Though I could have sworn it. I could have sworn that I was burning up again. I shake my head aggressively and expel the thoughts from my brain, making a mental note to return to it at a later date, and remembering the issue at hand.

"Whatever, we need to get to Ned, Peter."

He nods his head firmly and pulls me up from the ground, before grasping onto my waist yet again and swinging us out of the vault and to Ned's aid.

"Ned, Ned, Ned! Where's the glowy thing?" Peter stutters as he finally manages to get in contact with Ned. I push my ear up against the other side of his cell phone so that I can hear Ned.

"Don't worry it's safe, it's in my backpack."

"No! Ned listen, the glowy thing, it's dangerous-"

"Ned! Listen to me, dipshit! You need to-" I shriek.

He cuts me off, "Hey, is that Bonnie? You both missed decathlon, I had to cover for you but everyone is kinda suspicious. We're at the Washington Monument-"

A familiar voice joins the conversation and Peter frantically attempts to sound as chilled and as relaxed as possible. Obviously, with being so close to his chest and with being able to feel his pounding heart-rate, I know that he is neither of those things. As am I.

"Peter, is that you?" Liz.

Peter launches us off the bus as we reach the monument, though this time I stick my hands out and break my fall so that we don't end up tumbling together down the street. As Peter continues to try to reason with Liz, we sprint over to the entrance.

I almost choke on my breath as the realisation hits. "Peter! The x-ray... the glowy thing."

"I know!" he screams at me in desperation.

The monument shakes slightly as rubble cascades down the bricks and tumbles to the ground. The foundations of the building have been damaged, possibly to a catastrophic extent.

"Fuck! Okay, okay," I gasp. "I'll go in— you go up."

Peter nods before flinging himself onto the side of the building and clambering up. I think I hear MJ call my name as we race past her, though I hardly allow it to pass through my thoughts.

I shove past the bustling groups of tourists and security, trying my best to see if I can find Ned amongst the crowd, before I come to the conclusion that he definitely isn't here. He's in the elevator. The worst possible place he could be.

I push my earpiece into my ear and mutter to Peter, "He's not here. He's in the elevator. Ned is in the elevator with the glowy thing."

A sign with the word 'STAIRWELL' plastered across it catches my eye and I immediately push my way over to it. I hear a few people haul curses at me and gasp in shock as I jostle past, though I'm far too panicked and far too much in a rush to care.

"Excuse me, ma'am. May I have a look at your ticket please?" I stop suddenly as a security guard towers over me. My face only inches from his chest, as I look up at him. The blinding lights shine against his bald head, and his authoritative and self-assured monotonous voice sends even more panic throughout my body.

I immediately attempt to slip past him, though he sticks his arm out and pulls me back. "I said, can I have another look at your ticket?"

"Please, I just really need to-"

"Sorry, no ticket, no entry."

"You don't understand, I-"

"Look, I don't wanna have to tell you again, dumb kid. No ticket, no entry. Got it? Or do I have to spell it out for you?"

My jaw drops open at his sheer audacity, "And I don't wanna have to tell you again- I need to go up there, asshole."

"Okay, that's it. I'm going to have to remove you from the premises." He spits viciously as he pushes me around and grasps his heavy hand onto my forearm, twisting it so that it feels as though it could pop out of its socket at any second.

I struggle against him, though he digs his fingertips even harsher against my skin, I swear they're about to poke through and leave permanent scarring.

"Do you want me to get the cuffs out?" He bawls.

"Not if it's as ambiguous as it sounds." I sneer.

"Enough!"

"This is a total abuse of power. I mean, I didn't even do anything!"

I push my earpiece further into my ear, "Parker? I'm in trouble, I can't get up." The security guy latches the cuffs around my wrists and pins them behind my back. "I've been handcuffed, I'm pretty fucked. The security caught me trying to sneak up."

"Shit." I hear Peter gasp through the miniature intercom, "It's okay, are you okay? Just make sure that everyone gets out of the building. This elevator isn't going to hold up much longer." He groans and gasps, whimpering slightly as I hear the wind whip around him.

"Hey, man! What are you doing, she's just a kid, you're scaring her." A sweet-looking college guy with a young-looking face calls from the line to the elevator, sporting a brightly coloured letterman jacket, his friends all matching like some cute school trip or their own variation of fully-grown male Girl Scouts.

"Do you want cuffed too, pal?" The security guard spits as he begins rummaging around in his utility belt for his other set of handcuffs.

"Gun!" I shriek, "He's gonna shoot! Run!"

The room fills with panic as parents frantically usher their children out of the doors and people race to safety. The chaos in the bustling crowd allows me a bit of extra time as the security guard flusters and attempts to calm everyone down. I slip past the bodies and out through the doors.

"Peter? Peter!" I call into my earpiece. He doesn't reply.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As I just reach the stairs, I feel a strong pair of hands harshly grasp onto my shoulders and I gasp in pain. They pull me around to face them- it's the security guard again. But I can't focus on him at all, all that I can focus on is Peter and the fact that he has climbed to the top of the Washington Monument. The security man sees the panic flood my face and the colour drain from my pasty complexion as he turns around to see the cause of my anxiety.

"What the fuck?" He utters as he catches sight of the blue and red boy in the sky. "Stay here." He orders before running off to find out what the hell is happening.

Then Peter disappears, flies straight through the window and inside of the monument.

"Bonnie? Bonnie, what the hell is going on? Are those handcuffs?" MJ rushes out as she runs over to me.

"I-I." I absolutely cannot speak. I cannot manage to form a coherent sentence in the slightest.

The monument rumbles once again, causing a gasp from the crowd among us, including myself. My heart is in my mouth, and I swear I'm seconds away from throwing up all over my shoes. Everything falls into silence as we watch on in anticipation, the only sound being the thumping of the helicopter propellers. The naive part of my brain is expecting Peter to pop his head back out of the window alongside those trapped in the elevator and for everything to be okay, but the larger and more irrational section of my brain drowns out any of the optimism; everyone is about to die and I'm doing absolutely nothing about it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale deeply, filtering out my lungs with fresh air. Putting my nerves to hopefully good use and utilising my weaknesses as strengths, I clench my fingers into fists until I feel my fingernails pushing deeply into my palms.

Focus.

Click.

I exhale with relief as the cuffs slide from my wrists and the metal begins to rapidly heat, but I cannot feel any sense of pride or accomplishment yet, with Peter taking this mission solo. I slip through the crowd and go by unnoticed as they all watch on at the action above with terror in their eyes. My legs carry me up the staircase faster than I had imagined possible, before I fling myself through the door of the top floor of the monument.

Peter is hanging from his webs in the shattered glass elevator, which is close to collapsing, as he pushes Flash Thompson through the doors and to safety- into the arms of Mr Harrington. Ned clutches his backpack as he watches on, nervously chewing his nails. I push through the crowd surrounding the elevator just as it drops and Liz is sent plummeting. Her scream is ear-piercing and sends chills throughout my body, as I immediately leap into action and into my role as 'Trainee Avenger' and 'Daughter of Tony Stark.'

Peter winds his webs around Liz's wrist and gently pulls her up to solid ground after being suspended in air and hundreds of feet of nothing. I clasp onto her arm as she nears us and clambers into the solid ground. She shakes violently in fear, and I swear Mr Harrington has turned slightly green.

There's a moment. Perhaps similar to the one Peter and I shared at the vault- no- practically matching.

"So, is everyone okay?" Peter asks.

I know that despite his eyes being covered by his mask, he is gazing intensely at Liz, and she's gazing straight back at him. Of course, unbeknownst to her, he is Peter Parker, she believes a mystery man. The 'Spider-Man'.

It lasts only a matter of seconds, but I'm sure that everyone in the room felt it, too. It's unsettling. I'm unsure why.

Until he falls. Sent plummeting.

-

The bus ride home has one of the strangest atmospheres I've ever felt, if not, the strangest. Kids are still buzzing with adrenaline from their near brush with death hours earlier, some are too shaken to even manage a word and just sip at flasks of sweet tea while gazing off out of the window with their eyes glazed over. Flash Thompson, on the other hand, is still fucking talking.

"I almost kissed her, y'know," Peter whispers eagerly as he slides into the empty seat beside me.

"That's what you're taking away from today? Getting locked in a storage vault with me, climbing the Washington Monument like a scene from King Kong, saving your classmates from falling to their death, almost kissing Liz. Huh, I don't know, Parker. Seems like something more important happened." I reply to him as I slide the bookmark into my copy of Romeo and Juliet. "I think you're forgetting- I was there."

"Sorry, I just. Shit, I don't know," he blushes as he grins bashfully. I grimace as his lips pull into a smile at the corner and he flinches at the cut cross his bottom lip. He dabs at the blood and sighs; he's exhausted from always being covered in blood. Perhaps we just ought to be glad that it is his.

"Wait," I say as I grab his backpack from the floor and unzip the small pocket at the front, knowing exactly what he needs and exactly where it is. I pull out the small plastic box and rummage around until I find a wound closure strip.

He chuckles fondly, "Warming up to my first aid kit?"

"Shut up, or else I'll tape your lips together." I gently stick the strip onto the gash across his bottom lip and another two onto a deep-looking cut on his forehead that his hair had been covering.

"We wouldn't want that." He replies to me, avoiding looking at me directly with our faces being so close and it being relatively quiet at the back of the bus.

I pause. "'We?' Hold on, are you flirting with me, Peter Parker?"

His eyes widen and he sits up in his seat, "What? No, no. I-"

"Fucks sake, it was a joke." I roll my eyes at his reaction, before trailing off back to my seat and picking up where I left off with Romeo and Juliet, leaving Peter a mess at the back of the bus.

As much as I love Leonardo DiCaprio, I struggle with the actual play itself. It's unsettling and extremely disturbing once you take into consideration that Juliet was written as a thirteen-year-old girl when the play takes place. I'm only reading it because I loaned my copy of The Bell Jar to MJ for our journey home and because we're studying it in school. Peter agrees with me on how fucked up it is that Romeo and Juliet is seen as one of the most beautiful and tragic romances it is in the world of literature and in society in general.

I curl up against the window and feel the coolness of the glass against my forehead and shiver, directing my eyes up to the moon and gazing up at it until we arrive back at Midtown.

"So, Bonnie. If you were at the hotel 'sick'," Flash accuses as he heaves his suitcase from the storage space at the side of the bus, "then how did you just so happen to get to the monument at the perfect time? Did you do something to the elevator so that we would all die?"

I burst into a fit of laughter at his sheer audacity to accuse me of attempted murder. "Seriously? Flash, do you honestly think that I care about you enough to plan your murder. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, you don't even exist to me."

"A little too... convenient, though, right?" His eyes drift off to Peter as he stands waiting for May, "Never mind, you were probably just fucking Parker before you got there. Then again, how does that work? Does he pay you or do you pay him if it counts as charity work? I assume you give him the money, he could do with it right? Have you seen his shoes? Probably found them in the dumpster behind his tiny studio apartment."

"You got much experience in paying for sex, 'Eugene?' Seem to know a lot about it. Honestly, I feel bad for those girls, they wouldn't have anything to hold on to with the amount of grease in your hair."

MJ chokes on her water beside me as she hears my words out of context. Flash clutches at his slicked-back hair, claiming 'it's gel!'

He storms off to the car as his assistant beeps the horn outside of the gates. His face screws up as he sighs in annoyance and I grin triumphantly. As I watch him exit the gates, he freezes in awe at the man walking up the path beside him. Tony Stark.

Dad rushes over to me and envelopes me in the tightest of hugs, resting his chin on top of my head. He smells like ink and metal, meaning he would have been working away in the workshop earlier. He twists my curls around his finger as he holds me in the embrace, and for once, I return the gesture.

"What are you doing here? What happened to keeping everything on the down-low?" I whisper through gritted teeth.

He pushes the hair out of my face as he takes a look at me to ensure that everything is okay. "We can deal with it later. What's important to me right now is that you're alive and you're safe."

As Dad and I walk through the gates and towards the car, I turn around to see Peter and May tightly clasping onto each other. I've only met her once, but she has that sort of lasting effect on a person. You'd never be able to forget her, even if the only contact between you both was a friendly smile or a word or two on some random occasion.

I guess that keeping his alter-ego of Spider-Man from her is slowly killing Peter. They don't seem to have many things kept hidden between them or any underlying issues, they just seem to only have each other. I suppose he just doesn't want her to worry, and I don't blame him.

I slide into the passenger seat while Dad takes my suitcase from me and hauls it into the trunk. As he takes his seat in the diver's side, I click on the radio. "So, what happened? I want you to tell me everything. No secrets, Bonnie. No more."

"Shouldn't that go both ways?" I say as we pull out from the parking lot and progress down the street.

"No. I'm your dad, it's different. Sometimes I have to keep secrets, just so, I don't know, you don't go off to Washington with a teenage boy who just so happens to be a superhero and end up saving your classmates from falling to their death."

"Wow, you really hit the nail on the head there." I roll my eyes.

"Are you going to tell me what you've been up to, then?" It's not really a question; more of an order.

The digital clock on the dashboard reads 12:34am.

I let out the biggest and most unflattering yawn of my life, Dad probably would have been able to check for any cavities. "I'm actually really tired, Dad. Can we please talk about it tomorrow or whatever? I'm exhausted."

He doesn't say anything, just scoffs and drums his fingertips against the steering wheel as Led Zeppelin plays softly on the radio.