Variant Strain

- - -

Cletus didn't bother to slow down. The van smashed through the wooden double doors fronting the building without any trouble at all. The cement support column just twenty feet behind those doors on the other hand was another story.

Peter only had a vague impression of the next minute as he was hurled into the back of the passenger-side seat. The dog meanwhile floated smugly right next to him as he came out of his daze.

"That sucked." Peter declared after a moment.

"You suck." Cletus groaned back.

The front of the van wrapped around the column and was a complete wreck. Cletus reclined his seat and had to shimmy up by his shoulders and elbows because the engine block had been jammed into the driver's side compartment, leaving him no room to actually leave. Peter was amazed his legs hadn't been crushed. The passenger side on the other hand was a complete loss. Just as well Connors was gone, because if he hadn't been this probably would have done it.

Well... this was all in their heads. Perhaps they couldn't be done in that way. If they kept themselves together in the face of whatever else they would be confronted with, that probably wouldn't be an issue. That gave him a bit more hope for Cain and Donna.

The dog gave him a long look and he briefly got the impression of Connors face overlaying the dog's and it spoke in the man's soft, deadpan voice. "Hurry."

Peter blinked. Odds and ends. The dog was the psychic impression of what was left once his body was through with what he had consumed mashed together with whatever strange instincts his new form held. That made some sort of sense. He scrambled out the back seat following Cletus.

Cletus no longer looked like he was flaking rust. Perhaps the stint in the murder van had let him reassert his own self-image over Hank's Oz themes. If anything he looked almost like a normal person now. If one discounted the badly blood-spattered work shirt and jeans. The axe had gotten trapped in the wreck, but as he scrambled out after Peter, he pulled out a claw hammer that had managed to stay on the pegboard through the crash. After a moment's hesitation he grabbed the silver handled razors from off the van's floor as well and slipped those into his back pocket.

The dog dropped back down to the ground and chirped happily in that soprano, "At last, my arm is complete."

Cletus glared at the dog and aimed a kick at it, which it nimbly dodged and responded to with a babbled, "Lok bada. Bada Cleee-tus."

Peter glanced over his shoulder and snapped, "Knock it off." He was sure Cain had been right about being close to waking.

Everything was taking on a dream-like quality. Things seemed... less solid. The yellow Brick road continued down the building hallway, leading to a set of double doors made from heavy metal with small frosted glass windows.

There was a wooden sign above the door in heavy block letters that flickered back and forth between "Biology" and "Wizard"

Below it, in smaller letters was written, "Proceed with caution."

Cletus walked past him, taking long strides until he was right in front of the door. He raised his foot and sharply stomped on the lock. An act which caused him to hop back, clutching his foot and cursing luridly.

Peter caught up after a moment and tried the knob.

The door swung open easily.

Cletus gave him a sour look and said, "That just worked cause I loosened it for you."

Peter shook his head and walked in.

The dog gave a nasty little snigger then followed.

The inside looked vaguely like the chamber Peter had spoken to Hank in. The Inner sanctum. A cathedral of flesh, but this time done in tones of green. It was more a quality of the light. Peter and Cletus both seemed to have their own colors washed out and vaguely green tinted.

The longer he stared at the walls and structures in the room, the more he realized it wasn't simply rippling blank flesh as it had been in the chamber. The lines in the material converged and merged forming bodies. One moment it was simply shadows in the curves of the material... the next he could make out entire bodies, all pressed up against one another, like one of those magic eye pictures where the patterns interlocked. He couldn't make out any heads among all the bodies. Necks ended in the folds between other bodies, hiding anything past that point, but all the bodies seemed to be smoothly interlocked. Differing skin color grouped together in patterns forming intricate, swirling designs on the walls. Like human shaped Penrose tiles.

At the far end of the room was an immense raised platform of twisted flesh above which Hank's face floated. It was his original face, expanded to the size of a pick-up truck and wearing an expression of weary exasperation.

It looked a great deal like Hank in his own memories, but the blonde hair looked thinner and his hairline was visibly receding. Or that could just as easily have been a trick of perspective, given how huge the head was. The eyes blazed green and was giving everything the surreal green color to everything in the room. That struck Peter as strange, since Hank's original eye color was blue and all the other infected that had glowing bits always simply glowed red.

Granted, this was all in their collective head. If he wanted his eyes to glow green, Peter supposed it wasn't too terribly strange.

"Hello, Peter." It was the pleasant baritone again, but this time with the volume cranked up to an intimidating, though not brain breaking degree.

Cletus spread his hands and challenged, "What am I, chopped liver?"

Peter simply continued to walk up to the platform.

"I must admit," Hank continued, "I didn't expect to find anyone else in here."

"Connors thought you figured out I could consume minds." Peter replied in a level tone, not slowing at all.

"My understanding was that the dominant mind would simply take apart the weaker ones and take what knowledge they possessed. Precisely as your mother did to Ed Whelan. What you in turn did to him." Hank replied mildly. His immense head inclined slightly, "As I will now do to you."

"Like hell." Cletus replied grinning savagely.

"You tricked me." Peter snarled.

"When I asked you to kill me, Peter, I was sincere. I fully expected to die by your hand. Being in your body is a new opportunity. One I cannot allow either of us to waste."

"It's my body."

"No, it isn't. No more than it was Ed Whelan's. Or Cletus Cassidy's. This body is your mother's creation." The blazing green eyes roamed the room, "It is an incredible feat that she's accomplished here. I hadn't even realized she'd unlocked the Richard's cipher. There's so much knowledge in your head that you can't even see."

"It is still my head!!" Peter replied hotly, "I am still fighting against her--"

"You are not ready. You can't possibly be. Not without becoming something other than what you are. Unfortunately, you are far too strong willed for that." Hank continued in his mild voice. "Peter, you simply aren't ready to kill the way you will need to. You can kill in extremis. Or when pushed. But Jessica... she herself will never push you that way. You will end up trying to save her, but Jessica can't be saved Peter. She will always seem an innocent caught up in things outside her control, but the only way to stop her is to kill her."

"Maybe that's how you see her. I'm not you. I can deal with her. I don't need you in charge."

"No. You can't, Peter. I'm in our mind. I see you for what you are. You're a good boy, Peter Parker. Perhaps you could have become a good man if things had gone differently. But this is beyond you. I can take this burden from you."

"It's my body!" Peter snarled once more, coming within ten feet of the platform.

"And I will take good care of it." Hank replied mildly. "You need to stand down."

Bodies, their skin tainted green from the light began detaching from the floor and walls. At first they really had no heads. Simply long, cables of flesh that reached from where they had removed themselves. The cables snapped and the stub on the neck molded itself into the faceless heads they'd seen outside.

The dog barked suddenly, in Cain's voice. "Danger! We're in danger!"

Peter snarled back, "I can see that!"

"Not from him!" The dog called out. "Scenting gun powder. Gun oil. Reflexes are kicking in."

Peter didn't know what to make of the dog's declaration and simply began dodging between the faceless bodies.

Cletus was swinging his claw hammer wildly at the onrushing faceless.

Peter didn't feel the reflexes in this body. This one... this mental image of himself moved exactly as he wished, lighter and faster than his real one, but the effortless reflexive combat skills weren't there. Worse than that, his strength seemed to be of no use. He swung a fist at one of the faceless beings, only for his hand to meet little resistance and get caught in the jello-like material.

Cletus gave a disgusted sound and grabbed hold of Peter's shoulders, then kicked the faceless thing off his arm, before following it up with a vicious swipe of the claw end of the claw hammer which somehow tore the thing's head off.

The ingrained martial arts reflexes Peter had called on and had already begun to instinctively rely on in the real world simply weren't there. He couldn't change his form. He also realized why he couldn't do anything to the faceless things. He didn't really want to hurt them... so he couldn't.

Cletus on the other hand, gleefully tore into them with the hammer and razor and feet and teeth.

Much as he hated to admit it to himself, he didn't even really want to kill Hank. Just get him out of the driver's seat. Granted, his body and mind would then digest what was left once he had control back, but that felt less direct.

The dog turned to him and replied in a drawl, "He still ends up dead. You just won't feel so guilty."

Everything in here was still part of his mind. Some part of him... the part that Cletus was covering up for... did want to kill. Wanted to do it happily. Reveled in it.

Blood was splattering everywhere now. The faceless things were ignoring him, but they were beginning to dogpile Cletus as he was the real threat.

He could feel his temper and frustration rising once more and the surreal dream-like quality heightened. The dog... or Cain... was right. There was danger. The tang of those scents was filling his nose and even as he moved he could feel he was also lying down.

Hank's expression remained mild, but there was obvious triumph there. The edges of the scene seemed to be getting fuzzy.

The fuzziness collected right above the platform where a beam of light shone down on Hank. Ludicrously, where the light touched on the top of Hank's head began to inflate, the receding blonde hair disappearing until the top of his head began to resemble a hot air balloon and the rest of his face was turning into a gondola where a human-sized Hank, dressed in a top hat and a green suit was waving to him.

Donna's voice came from the dog now. "That's it! He's waking up. You need to wake up with him or we're going to be trapped."

They needed to get past the crowding faceless. He didn't have the powers he normally would have... but the dog did.

He focused his attention on the dog. The dog was part of his mind too. His instincts. His own self-image seemed solidly that of... well... a normal teenager. It had worked for him so far. He'd managed to stay sane. Sort of.

But now... although he had fought them tooth and nail, he knew on some level he had needed them to in order to survive. He was going to have to trust his instincts.

He would need help from the dog.

Some of the faceless surged once more, closing in on him. With Cletus completely surrounded, they could spare the attention now. Peter danced back, away from their grabbing hands. He'd need them off his back first. Then he'd need to catch up to Hank.

The hot air balloon was closing in on the circle of light. Dream logic. Peter knew that was wakefulness without knowing how he knew. He had to get there.

The dog eagerly bounced in front of Peter, defiant and tiny in front of the faceless horde. It suddenly took a deep breath and its body swelled immensely. Peter was vaguely reminded of a frog, but then it's lower jaw split open, distended and unfolded. Ed Whelan's face superimposed itself for a moment.

There was a disturbing noise that was somewhere between a cough and a sickly wet gurgling noise. Like how Peter imagined it would sound for someone coughing up a chunk of lung.

The dog spat through it's bifurcated lower jaw, expelling an immense, bilious yellow glob that smashed into the approaching faceless.

It resolved into a humanoid form as the yellow fluid dripped clean revealing what was unmistakably Cain. He looked far less like a Hunter and more human now, but his form was still huge and hugely muscled. Now he was actually dressed in a Gentek security uniform. The mane around his shoulders was gone as well and instead he sported a head of leonine brown hair.

The dog barked and spat again, producing another glob that slid to a stop on the ground in the form of what seemed to be Donna, except her features had evened out somewhat. She looked less like a patchwork woman and simply one who had a multi-ethnic heritage. She was also dressed in a Gentek uniform and sporting a large, unfamiliar pistol which she began using on the Faceless.

"The whole noble sacrifice thing doesn't work as well when you just get bits recycled back." She said brightly, then shot a Faceless point blank where it's mouth would have been.

Cain barked, "Go. Now." He grabbed the nearest faceless by its ankle and began using it as a club to smash aside the others, clearing a spot around Peter.

Donna took a shooting stance, now that she had the space to actually take proper aim and shot at the balloon several times. Peter saw visible leaks where the canvas material tore where she'd hit. The balloon's rise was slowing, but not enough.

That needed to stop. Peter looked at the dog and concentrated on that thought. The dog's jaw had folded back to normal once more, but it took another deep breath, then opened it's mouth wide aiming up at the still rising balloon.

A red light erupted from the mouth, flaring briefly and sending Peter stumbling back when the light was followed by a thunderous crack of sound.

That was followed by another red glow around the dog as the floor underneath it cracked as though under a tremendous weight.

From the dog's mouth, a cable of flesh stretched out, tipped with a blade that had sunk deep into the gondola under the hot air balloon. Hank could only watch incredulously as he realized that the dog had anchored the balloon.

Peter leaped up and ran on the thick cable of flesh holding the balloon in place. Perhaps he couldn't make talons of his feet, but here he was still sure-footed. His balance was still perfect. He could move as he wished.

And he wished to run up the cable to get to Hank.

Hank didn't bother trying to talk any further.

Hank began climbing the ropes securing the gondola to the balloon itself. Peter realized he was faster than the former Hive. That made sense as well. He hadn't needed to know anything about physical movement for decades. His sense of self probably wasn't used to thinking in these terms.

The dreamscape battleground was actually less advantageous for Hank. He wasn't used to being something other than architecture and a big giant head. While awake the battle was purely in the abstract. Straight will against will without the maneuvering that imagination could bring to bear.

Peter ran faster, bounding up the anchoring cable and leaped, catching hold of the net of ropes that secured the balloon. Hank had clambered up and was almost to the top. From there it would only be a matter of stretching up to touch the light in the ceiling.

Peter got as good foothold as he could on the net of ropes surrounding the slowly deflating balloon and launched himself at Hank, just as he stood and reached up.

The circle of light blazed.

- - -

His eyes opened slowly.

The scent of gunpowder, gun oil, metal and waffles filled his nose.

He itched to move. There was a taste of danger in the very air.

There was a cold metal circle pressed delicately to his throat.

He froze.

In the dim light that filtered down to the Stacey's basement, highly adaptive eyes shifted to see clearly in the dark.

MJ Watson's pale face stood out in the darkness. Her expression curiously blank and empty save for her eyes which blazed with anger. He could see the barrel of Gwen Stacey's shotgun extending out from him to the stock which was pressed into her shoulder.

"What did you do to Peter?" She asked in a harsh whisper.

"MJ... wha--" Hank began to ask, trying to put as much of Peter's confused tone into his voice as he could manage. The boy seemed to revel in sounding confused.

"No." She snarled, pressing the shotgun barrel harder into his throat. She had it aimed right in the hollow of his throat, right at the soft tissues. Unexpected calculations ran through his mind telling him that at that distance, if she so much as twitched her finger, the spray of shot would go up through his head, unhindered by any bone and into his skull, shredding delicate neural tissue. The body might be able to survive that... in fact experience had shown that it probably would... but it would also necessitate some time incapacitated. During which time anything could be done to him. This body was tougher than his old one in some ways, but it was not invulnerable.

She continued through his silence, her voice furious, despite the placid non-expression in the rest of her face. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you do not get to call me MJ. Peter calls me MJ, but you aren't him."

Hank forced himself to stay still as a fierce, giddy joy suddenly ran up his spine. A wordless, amused sensation that could perhaps only be put into words as, "That's my girl."


"Why do you think I'm not me?" Hank asked slowly, trying to gauge if he could move his head out of the way faster than she could pull the trigger. He did not like the answers that came back.

The wordless amusement in the back of his head continued.

"I saw you in the bathroom." MJ replied. "I went after you to make sure you were okay. I saw you talking to yourself in the bathroom mirror."

Something in his expression must have betrayed his surprise because her eyes hardened. "What did you do to Peter?" Her voice remained flat and hard. Hank was having issues keeping her scent from distracting him. It was almost as bad as Jessica...

"You saw me in the bathroom and you waited until now to confront me?" His body's internal clock warned him that hours had passed. He had been sleeping for some time. He tried to press the absurdity of her statement, but Peter's voice just simply didn't carry the same tone of gentle, chiding tone he could manage with his old voice. It came out with an unmistakable whine.

"I didn't want to upset everyone else." She replied.

"I am Peter." He insisted, "You did the exact same thing that first night we really met. Except you've traded the baseball bat for a shotgun. Does Gwen know you have that?"

"She's letting me borrow it." Her jaw tightened for a moment and there was a flash of teeth.

He tried his luck with something else from Peter's memories, "Is the safety still on?" He asked in a sly tone.

He expected her to check, but she never wavered. "I checked before I came down here, thanks." She replied coolly. "I know Peter can get memories from what he eats. Telling me something only the two of us knew about? That's not going to convince me. And you're trying to distract me by talking."

"What do I need to tell you to convince you I'm me?" Hank snapped.

"You already convinced me you aren't him. Even if I hadn't seen you earlier," She said carefully. "Peter would've made some sort of bad joke by now to cover up his nervousness. Not you. You're too cool. You keep trying to push my buttons. Peter wouldn't do that."

Hank asked carefully, "Are you sure? You've only known me a couple of days."

Her expression changed only slightly and the furious anger in her eyes blazed briefly across her face. Her voice turned harsh and ugly. "I know Peter Parker. You aren't him."

She's right. You're a lousy me.

Hank recoiled internally as Peter's voice came across clearly in his mind.

MJ shoved the shotgun barrel harder against him, her expression no longer controlled. Hank saw murderous fury there as she continued speaking, her finger about to tighten on the trigger. "Peter loves me. Peter would never hurt me. You aren't him."

She's... kind of terrifying, Hank admitted.

Yeah, she is. It's also kind of cute.

She'd be shooting you too, you know. This body's seat of consciousness is in your head. She damages that, there's no telling if either of us is going to wake up in charge. You need to help me convince her not to shoot.

Give me control and I'll see what I can do. Peter hedged.

You're... I can tell you're trying something. No.

Hank murmured hurriedly, "Think! Think about what you're doing! If you shoot me... what are you going to tell everyone else when they come down here and find you standing over my body?"

MJ shook her head, the expression draining from her face, but her aim never wavered. Her voice had come back to cold and dead from its earlier murderous heat. "I tell them Peter was infected. I'll be crying and traumatized. I just tell them you tried to attack me. I had to protect myself."

Hank blinked, appalled that she'd already considered that.

"No one will doubt me. Especially not once your body starts twitching and moving after I take your head off. I'm sure they'll be happy to help me douse you in gasoline and set you on fire. Gwen's dad has a huge barbecue pit in the back yard."

Hank swallowed nervously. Unfamiliar emotions running through his mind and sending strange impulses through this body. The Hive body didn't have all these messy hormones. None of this instability or uncertainty. He turned his mental attention to Peter, frustration and fear evident in his mental tone.

Make her back off.

Let me talk and I can. Peter assured him.

One moment he had been sitting right behind the eyes, watching helplessly while Hank had control. The next he could feel his face again. And feel the shotgun pressed into his throat. He was mostly numb from the neck down and could only assume that Hank had kept control. That was fine. He could work with that. There were still threads of control and whispers of sensation. It would have to be enough.

"MJ--" Peter began to say, but she cut him off.

"Stop calling me that. What. Did. You. Do. To. Him?"

"We really have to stop meeting like this." Peter said, giving her a sickly smile.

She frowned, the blank expression on her face giving way to confusion. "Peter?"

He licked his lips and spoke hurriedly. "It's Hank. He's in here with me. You need to get out of here. Get everybody and get out. You'll be safer away from me."

She relaxed. Just a tiny bit. A fraction of a second's hesitation. That was enough.

His hand blurred, catching hold of the barrel and tearing the gun away from MJ.

She stumbled back, falling off the bed with a yelp of surprise.

The gun was in his hand now, tendrils of flesh from his arm had spread into the gun's plastic stock and grip. He had the weapon aimed carelessly with a single hand at MJ's head.

The arm began to tremble.

"Let her go." Peter roared and the hand dropped, but couldn't let go of the shotgun since it was half-melded into his arm.

"What are you doing?!" Hank's voice, suddenly snarled out. "She's a danger to us. She needs to be dealt with. All of our instincts are screaming for it."

"You were scared and humiliated by a teenaged girl. Let her go. Let them all go." Peter's voice was level and sounded far more self-assured than he felt.

"Peter... you're in there with him?" MJ asked softly.

"Yes," He ground out, still fighting against Hank's control of the rest of his body. Violent twitches began running all over their shared form. Somewhere in the process, the rest of the shotgun had vanished into his arm, but the barrel and other metal bits had fallen to the floor.

"No. I'm going to kill her. She has to die, so I can deal with Jessica." Hank's voice had lost its smooth control. There was hunger now and feral rage. "Dammit, Peter. Stop fighting me! We cannot afford the distraction!"

Peter snarled wordlessly, but finally he spoke, his voice remained tightly controlled. "I'll make you a deal, Hank. Get them out of here. Get them somewhere safe and I stop fighting you."

"You'll let me have control?" Hank asked incredulously.

"It's that or I fight you tooth and nail for every inch of this body." Peter replied coldly. "You didn't manage to bury me in the dreams. Your every moment is going to be spent trying to keep me from taking my body back." Their head tracked slightly and glanced at MJ, the expression in the eyes was definitely Peter’s. "If they're safe, I won't care anymore. That's all I want. You can do whatever you want. You can consume my consciousness."

MJ rose to her feet, her expression stricken, "No, Peter! No!"

"You should have told me sooner." Hank's voice came from Peter's mouth. "Deal. It will take one phone call."

Peter watched in fascination as his palm blurred and unfolded, leaving his cellphone to push free of his flesh. That moment of his distraction was enough for MJ.

He toppled onto the bed as MJ suddenly launched herself at him, tackling him, with her hands on either side of his neck.

Before either mind could formulate any sort of response, she'd already moved to the next part of her assault.

She kissed him.

Hard.

Hungry.

Desperate.

Delicious.

The body began to respond, but it also began to unfolding tendrils, blurring black and red gliding over her body, flicking across her skin. Reflexes kicked in with no conscious control.

Delicious.

Feed.

The shared mind could taste the material of her clothes beginning to fray apart. Dyes and cotton and spun polyesters picked apart and absorbed as the feeding tendrils went to work. Then from there to the body beneath.

Hank was momentarily frozen, but Peter knew what was happening. He understood it. He'd fought through the process before. Hank hadn't cared. Just that the body had gone into a feeding frenzy. Something... delicious. Hank hadn't had actual flavor of any sort in decades. He couldn't resist. He didn't even know how to.

Peter did.

It was a matter of seconds, but Hank was too distracted to put up a fight and Peter... Peter was much more desperate. His terror at what could happen to MJ gave him strength. Firmed his will.

He'd fought hard for his own sake, but Hank was going to carelessly allow his body to consume someone Peter cared for.

That was simply not going to happen.

He tore into Hank, ripping him away at his control. Tearing apart his sense of self... as Peter rose up so too did his instincts and his control of them. He gave the mental equivalent of a sharp tug on the collar and his tendrils folded back, recoiling away from MJ sharply, although he was mildly surprised to find that one of his hands had tangled in her hair and the other was around her waist... and he was kissing her back.

There was groan deep in his throat. A noise of denied hunger and unsated appetite. His entire body quivered, as tendrils ached to unfold once more.

Peter pushed MJ hard off of him, sending her flipping entirely off the bed with another pained yelp. He grit his teeth, breathless and panting as the trembling stopped.

There was no rush of memory as the mind was subsumed. Just the feel of his mind settling. As though the memories were easily slipping into appointed places within his mind. He could feel himself filling up with information. Knowledge pressed at his mind, eager to be called up.

He shuddered and rolled over wearily, with his head over the edge of the inflatable bed, still panting and stared at MJ who was inelegantly sprawled on her back on the floor.

He hadn't really been able to pay attention before, but he realized that she had been wearing a robe. The robe was a shredded mess. The over-sized shirt she had underneath wasn't quite as badly torn up, but she was just barely managing to maintain her modesty.

He felt some small part of him stir at that, but the rest of him was just too weary to really respond.

"Are you nuts?!" Peter growled at her. "I... God, MJ. I almost ate you!"

She was also panting breathlessly, but at his words, her face lit up. There it was again. That perfect childlike trust he'd seen on her face when he'd saved her on the stairs. That pure adoration.

"I knew you wouldn't, Tiger."

He shook his head, "You couldn't have known that was going to happen! You had no way of knowing I'd get control back."

She looked into his eyes, then shook her head. "Of course, I did, Peter."

Peter scowled down at her. "You weren't counting on the power of love keeping you safe were you?"

"No," She shot him an expression of amused exasperation. She shook her head as she sat up and took one of his hands in both of hers. "I was trusting in Peter Parker to keep me safe."

He swallowed, getting more uncomfortable.

"You promised," she said as she rubbed his hand against her cool cheek. He could see a small flush across her face even in the semi-darkness.

He sputtered, "What?"

"You promised you'd protect me." She replied quietly and kissed the palm of his hand.

She was so cold.

"That... that was it?"

She flashed a small teasing smile. "You keep telling me I'm delicious. I also know you'd never let yourself hurt me."

"Just like that." He stared.

"Just like that." She whispered back quietly. "You're strong, Peter. Stronger than anything I've ever seen before." There was something else she hadn't said, but Peter could almost see the unspoken thought in her mind. Strong enough to save me.

"MJ..." Peter choked down the rest of his objections and insisted on the main point, "I could have killed you. I could have eaten you."

"But you didn't." She said with finality. There was a long moment of silence between them, before she added. "I'm cold."

"Uh... I think I still have the blanket here..."

He barely had time to finish saying it before she'd already clambered into bed with him and wrapped herself in the blanket, but she still hadn't relinquished her hold on his arm. He was distinctly aware of how torn up her shirt and robe were as her body pressed against his bicep.

He wanted to tell her that she terrified him. He wanted to say that, but at the same time, he didn't know how to say it to her. Her complete trust in him was... unnerving.

"Um... what do we tell our aunts if they catch you down here?" Peter asked awkwardly.

He saw another flash of her teeth. "I'll just tell them I tried to seduce you, but you were being annoyingly noble and chaste."

"Well, I am pretty noble," Peter murmured. "And I did get chased around a lot today."

"See? That's the kind of bad joke I expect from you." She nuzzled into his shoulder and sighed happily. "So... how was your day?"

- - -