Dark Matter

Peter wakes up with an absolutely killer headache. Actually, he went to bed with it. It just followed him into the morning, through his morning routine, his subway ride, bus ride, and into school. He sits at his desk in class, half of it covered by Tim’s frighteningly obsessive notes and theories on Spider-Man, massaging his temples and trying to force back an oncoming migraine by sheer force of will.

It’s not really working. A steady frustration is starting to build inside of himself, and he has to clamp down against it. Hard.

“You okay, Peter?” Duke asks. His voice is a bit froggy, but he’s on the tail end of whatever sickness Tim is still struggling through himself. The three of them are a sight: Duke with his arm in a cast half covered in doodles, Tim radiating fever and all but shaking from drinking too much coffee, and Peter, pale and withdrawn, squinting at everything as if being awake is the worst mistake he’s made in his life. No wonder everyone in school is avoiding them today. Even Steph is keeping her distance from them, though she does walk with them between classes.

“Headache,” he murmurs. “Maybe a migraine. We’ll find out if I start seeing static again.”

“A fascinating description for a concussion leading into unconsciousness,” Dr. Strange remarks.

Duke gives him a sympathetic look, then digs into his backpack and hands him a bottle of ibuprofen. “Take a few of these. They usually stop my migraines cold.”

Peter takes eight. He needs to; anything less, and it just wouldn’t work for him at all. And that’s probably half of the dose he really needs.

Duke stares at him. “Uh. Maybe don’t take anymore today after that.”

“We’ll see,” Peter says, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

* * *

His headache does fade after he takes the medicine, much to his own surprise. That’s a lucky break. Usually he needs something much stronger to chip away at his headaches. He’ll take it. He’s overdue for some good luck, frankly. By lunch time, the pain is gone, and the simmering anger from the morning has ebbed away, melting back into the background of tension that’s followed him since he first came to Gotham.

He piles his tray high with food and sits down with the rest of the Wayne Club. Steph is texting someone on her phone, Duke is dozing above his own lunch, but looks up and smiles at Peter when he gets close. Tim is surrounded by books, notebooks, his phone, and--for some reason--a map of Gotham. Peter sits down next to Tim, frowning at him.

“Uh, hey, Tim,” he says. “What’cha got there?”

“Spider-Man’s movements and patrols since he first came to Gotham,” Tim says, distracted. He hands Peter one of his notebooks. "He doesn't stick to a particular pattern, and he seems to know where and when a crime is going to occur. Normally I'd dismiss that with a police radio, but most of the time he gets there before the police are even called."

“Where are you even finding these extra notebooks?” Peter asks, paging through the notebook with a small amount of alarm. “I’ve seen your locker. There’s nothing there. And your backpack is practically empty.”

“Bought them from the school store.”

“Those things are like ten dollars a piece,” Peter says, aghast. There are at least five on the cafeteria table. Peter would sooner die than spend money like that. Literally; he wouldn’t be able to feed himself if he did.

“Yeah,” Tim says, blinking up at him. “I need them. This is important.”

Peter shakes his head and starts in on his lunch. Tim shrugs and goes back to whatever it is he’s working on, and the table eases into a comfortable, companionable silence. Despite the general noise and ruckus in the cafeteria, Peter feels himself relax; part of it is the food, sure, but a larger part is the company. Patrol is a little less lonely these days, but he can’t actually call someone like the Spoiler or the Red Hood his friend. Not yet, at least. Maybe not ever.

The peacefulness lasts for about five minutes before Peter is shaken out of his thoughts by a sudden arrival at the table.

"Hi," a beautiful girl says to him, appearing beside him seemingly out of nowhere. Her hair is pure blonde, nearly white, her skin is a deep golden brown, and her green eyes sparkle with intelligent mirth. "I'm Felicia."

"Uh, I’m sorry?" Peter replies, half panicked, wondering why on earth she's talking to him. A second later, his brain fully engages and he’s quick to correct himself. "Peter! I’m Peter. Hi."

Felicia raises her eyebrows at him, surprised, but her smile only seems to grow. Peter wants to crawl under the cafeteria table and die. Forget starvation, freezing to death, Tim’s stalking, or getting killed while on patrol: he’s going to actually die of embarrassment right here in the middle of Gotham Prep.

“Jesus, kid, you literally took down a crime syndicate last week. The lady just said hi to you,” Bucky mutters.

“This is kind of adorable,” Hill says.

“Don’t tease him, he is already nervous,” Wanda adds.

“What are you doing tonight, Peter?” Felicia asks, somehow determined to continue a conversation with him despite his utter failure at communication. If anything, she seems charmed by it. At the very least, she’s amused.

Peter blinks at her, confused. “Um, nothing?”

That’s not true. He probably has some kind of Bat training set aside or something. The Bat crew are very cagey about telling him what they’re up to; it’s almost as if they want him to figure it out himself, as if they’re leaving little clues out for him to find. For right now, he doesn't have anything planned.

She takes his hand, snatches Tim’s pen out of his fingers, and uses it to write out an address on Peter’s palm. “Swing by my place at seven, then.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Peter says dumbly. “Seven.”

“It's a date," Felicia grins at him, then hands the pen back over to Tim. She pauses to look at his notebooks and hums. “Spider-Man, huh? You know, he was always my favorite back home.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks, quirking a brow at her.

“Yeah. He saved my life once,” Felicia says idly, tapping one of Tim’s notebooks before walking off.

Peter frowns. He doesn’t remember saving Felicia. And he would. She’s drop dead gorgeous, and doesn’t seem the type to live in Crime Alley. She doesn’t have the perpetual scowl or pinched, stressed look of the sort of people who live in that area of town, at least. Or she’s very, very good at hiding it.

Felicia leaves, winking at him before moving off. Peter stares after her, baffled. When he turns to face the Wayne Club kids, all of them are smirking at him. With the exception of Steph, who is beaming at him with both thumbs up.

"What just happened?" he asks.

"You just got a date with one of the most beautiful girls in school," Duke answers. “But, honestly, it almost looked like a kidnapping.”

"Congrats," Tim adds. "You're the only person she's shown interest in since she started going here."

That makes absolutely zero sense. What on earth could she possibly see in him? The only girl that's given him a second look is Steph, and she doesn’t even eat lunch with them half the time.

“We’re going to have to work on your game, kid,” Sam says.

"Also Edison Bright has a total crush on her," Steph says helpfully.

Great. Just what he needs. Peter glances over at Edison Bright’s table. The teen is scowling at him, fists clenched, practically scarlet with fury. Peter sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and deeply considers faking his own death and fleeing Gotham entirely. Why is his life like this?

“Wonderful,” Peter mutters.

Tim absently pats his shoulder comfortingly.

* * *

The rest of the day passes by quickly. Peter hauls himself into the fire house and idly tosses his backpack over in the vague direction of his bed. And then he begins to pace, first along the floor, then along the wall and ceiling.

A date. Right. Okay. He can totally do this. Except the last time he went on a date, he ended up getting her dad arrested and sentenced to life in prison. So that’s not a great track record.

“You did what,” Bucky says.

He’s caught somewhere between nervous excitement and vague panic. The first thing he does is check his savings. He has around twenty dollars he can spare for the date; they’re not exactly going to eat like royalty during this, apparently. He can’t even afford two tickets to a movie with that much. He crouches on the wall, thinking.

There’s Gotham Park over in Old Gotham, where Tim and Duke had taken him after their pizza party. He knows there’s an observatory there, a concert hall, and a skating rink. Maybe she’d like to go skating? The tickets won’t be too expensive, and he’d have left over for hot chocolate at the nearby cafe afterward. That wouldn’t be bad, would it? Not thrilling, but not terrible.

“That sounds perfect,” Shuri says. “She’ll like that.”

“Don’t forget flowers,” Bucky adds.

“Dude, no one does that anymore,” Sam says.

“Nobody has class anymore, you mean," Bucky retorts.

“Which of us has successfully dated in the 21st century again?” Sam asks.

Peter paces, half listening to some far away conversation. There’s a flower shop on the way. May always went on and on about Ben bringing her flowers on their first date. And she’s the smartest person he’s ever met. So really, the decision is already made. Hopefully it doesn’t make him look like a massive dork.

Although, frankly, if Felicia thinks he’s cool then someone needs to stage an intervention for her. Nobody even thinks Spider-Man is cool, and he’s the best part of Peter. Peter on his own just oozes geek aura.

“Gross,” Quill says.

Well, decision made. He showers and gets dressed. Jeans, a faded band t-shirt he picked up from the thrift store--it looked vaguely like something Tony had worn around him at some point--a sports coat from the same thrift store run, and the sunglasses the man on the subway had given him a few weeks ago. Peter’s not sure a migraine will hit tonight, but he’s not taking the chance. He runs a hand through his hair, frowns at the length, and sighs. He checks to make sure the mice in the firehouse haven't chewed holes through his clothes, and starts for the door.

“Looking good, Mr. Stark,” Fury says.

Peter pauses, then turns to face the cracked mirror leaning against the wall. He does look like Tony. Or, at least, like a very pale imitation. The AC/DC shirt, the sport coat, the sunglasses and jeans, all of it is exactly what Tony would pull out of his own closet when he needs to make a public appearance somewhere. Peter can practically hear Tony preening over Peter’s accidental mimicry of his style. Right alongside that is Rhodey’s teasing. He smiles a little in spite of himself, and then leaves for the subway.

* * *

Felicia lives in Old Gotham, at an apartment complex in one of the nicer, quiet parts of the city. The kind of apartment that caters to middle to upper middle class workers; doctors, lawyers, high level office workers. The 'working class' rich, basically. That surprises him a little; it isn't precisely normal for the type of kids who go to Gotham Prep. Although he's living in an abandoned fire station in the middle of Murderville, Gotham City, so maybe he shouldn't be so quick to judge.

He finds a little flower shop near the subway and picks out a simple bouquet of lilies, roses, and orchids. They're not in the best of health, but they smell nice and look fairly pretty.

Felicia's apartment is located inside an older gothic style building, well maintained, and clean. Peter jogs up the stairs to the top floor, finds the right door, and then hesitates.

"Take a deep breath and relax, Peter," Shuri says, amused.

That's a tall order. Peter takes in a deep breath and gently knocks on the door. It opens immediately, revealing a tall, beautiful woman with short black hair and brown skin dressed casually. A black cat winds around her ankles, purring loudly.

“Uh, hi,” Peter says, nervously sticking his free hand into the pocket of his sport coat. “I’m here to see Felicia?”

She looks him up and down for a moment, makes a quiet hm sound, and then steps aside, motioning for him to enter. The apartment is warm, fashionably decorated, and playing host to at least three cats. Peter steps inside, but stays close to the door, wary of becoming too comfortable.

"Felicia, your date is here," the woman calls out. She turns to Peter and offers him one elegant hand. "I'm Selina."

"Peter. It's nice to meet you," Peter says politely.

She smiles slightly. "And you, Peter."

Peter can’t really tell what Selina thinks of him. She’s too composed, too careful with her body language and expressions. So long as she doesn’t pull a gun on him during their one-on-one time, it’ll be a massive improvement over his last date, at least.

Felicia strolls into the living room, running one hand through her platinum hair as she walks towards him. She’s dressed casually, like him, and smiles when she sees him. When she sees the flowers, that smile grows.

“Oh, a traditionalist,” she says, taking the bouquet from him. She sounds touched, if a little taken off guard. Maybe the flowers had been too much. “Hang on, let me go put these in my room.”

She admires the flowers for a moment, then leaves again. Selina tilts her head, considering him. “You’re one of Wayne’s kids, aren’t you?”

“I’m, uh, in the Wayne scholarship program,” Peter says. “So, yeah, kinda. Tim and Duke kind of made it sound like that.”

Selina hums and nods, seemingly in approval. “You haven’t met Bruce then.”

“Ah, no. Not yet. Frankly, I’m trying to stay out of his notice.”

That makes her pause. Selina watches him for a moment, then smirks, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Good luck with that, Peter.”

Felicia comes back out, grabbing her purse and a leather jacket draped across the back of a dining table. “All right, I’m all set.”

“Call if you need me,” Selina says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder briefly before releasing him. She aims a look his way, raising one elegant brow. “And don’t stay out too late. It is a school night.”

Felicia rolls her eyes, but smirks. “Noted.”

Felicia takes his arm and leads him out of the apartment with one last wave to Selina. Peter dutifully follows her out into the hall and down the stairs, jogging ahead a bit to get the door for her.

“Your mom is--”

“Not my mom,” Felicia says casually. “More of a guardian.”

“Oh. She seems nice,” Peter says, holding the door open for her. And mentally cringing at his social faux pas. He’s been on the receiving end of the same kind of comments for most of his life. He should know better.

“She likes taking in strays,” Felicia says after a moment. “So, where are we headed?”

“I was thinking the park would be nice? It’s not raining for once, and it’s actually kind of nice out, and, uh, it’s just a quick bus ride there from here so...” He trails off, suddenly out of words.

Felicia grins. “Sounds perfect.”

The bus stop is nicer than the ones Peter sees out in Crime Alley. There’s a little shelter, a bench, and a digital map marking off wait times, weather, and news updates. Not that Peter has much time to appreciate the differences. The bus rolls up to the stop within seconds of them reaching the stop.

He’s surprised to find Lou sitting behind the wheel of the bus. The big man grins at him.

“Hey, Peter. Thought you’d be at your, uh, part time job around this time,” he says.

“I’m stealing him for myself,” Felicia says. “Gotham can survive without him for one night.”

Lou raises his eyebrows, then smirks. “That it can, miss.”

He grins at Peter and gives him a thumbs up and then pulls the doors closed. Peter gives him a weak, nervous grin back.

* * *

The bus ride is mercifully quick; within minutes, they’re at the park. It’s still early in the evening, early enough that the temperature hasn’t dropped much, the outdoor cafe is pulling in brisk business, and the chess and checker tables are crowded with people, and the ice skating rink is similarly busy. He’s a little surprised by that. Gotham is a crime ridden hell hole by almost every statistical measure, but people still go out at night. It’s impressive.

“So, uh, what would you like to do?” Peter asks, looking around the park.

“Ice skating,” Felicia says, smirking up at him. “You up for it?”

“Sure, that sounds like fun,” he says, walking over towards the ice skating rink with her. “I’m surprised it’s even open. It’s not really cold enough for anything to freeze over like that.”

“They’re using Mr. Freeze’s technology,” Felicia says. “It’s frozen solid even in summer.”

Peter has no idea who that is. He doesn’t have a chance to ask, however, as they’re suddenly at the rental kiosk. A tired man standing behind a register looks up at them and plops down two pairs of ice skates on the counter alongside keys to the shoe lockers lining a nearby wall.

“Ten bucks for an hour,” he says.

Peter inwardly cringes at the amount, but hands over his twenty regardless. Good thing he gets paid tomorrow. They take their skates, change into them and lock up their shoes. Peter wobbles unsteadily on his feet for a moment before catching his balance.

Felicia notices that and grins. “Have you gone skating before?”

“No. But I should be pretty good at it,” he says. He should, right? His balance is perfect, after all. He can orient himself while backflipping from a ceiling to a wall. That should carry over to something as simple as ice skating. He’s Spider-Man, after all.

It doesn’t.

He barely makes it a foot out onto the ice before flailing, but he manages to keep from falling. He’s certainly not graceful about his movements. Unlike Felicia, who skims across the ice flawlessly, idly circling him and giving him gentle pointers and tips as he moves. He does try to listen, but he’s fallen flat on his back within five minutes of hitting the ice, and stares up at the cloudy sky above. Maybe if he’s lucky, Thor will strike him down here and now.

“If the goal is to frighten the girl away by sheer incompetence, then you are doing an amazing job,” Loki says.

Felicia leans over him, braces her elbow against her knee and her chin in her palm and regards him with a slight smirk. She balances on her ice skates perfectly, and Peter is envious of her grace. And more than a little appreciative of it.

“Okay, so I might not be good at this,” he admits.

“I might have noticed,” Felicia says dryly, holding her hands out for him. “You should have asked for help.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’m not very good at that?” he asks, sitting up. He takes her hands and stands back up on his skates. She manages to pull him up easily, and he’s surprised by her strength.

“Oh, absolutely,” she says, steadying him when he’s back on his feet. She takes hold of his hand and tugs him along after her, moving slowly.

Peter shakily skates after her, focusing on his balance. He will get the hang of this--

Felicia lets go of his hands and skates ahead of him. She twirls, turns to face him, skating backwards. She reaches out and takes both of his hands, gently tugging him forward.

“You’re overthinking this way too much,” Felicia says. “Loosen up! Stop trying to control the blades and move with them. You can't control everything."

“Watch me,” Peter says.

But he also listens to her. He’s trying to stick the blades to the ground the way he sticks to the ground on his own two feet. It’s a subconscious habit, and one he often forgets about. Usually that isn’t an issue. Unless he happens to be ice skating, that is.

Felicia keeps hold of his hands until he starts to move on his own, matching her movements a little stiffly. She gives him an encouraging grin and gently knocks his shoulder with her own when he starts to get the hang of it. Peter is nothing if not a quick study, after all.

By the end of the hour, they’re skating beside each other, hand in hand.

* * *

After they finish skating, they start to wander around the park, walking along one of the wide cement trails crossing the park. The sun has set by now, the air has become a bit colder, but the park is well lit and still full of people.

All in all, Peter thinks this isn’t a bad date. He’s definitely had worse, at least. There’s no special spark between them exactly--not that he’s sure there should be one after a single date--but it’s nice. Calming. And Felicia is clever and strong, and full of gentle teasing, and Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t like that.

Felicia walks alongside him in silence for a few minutes. She looks at him from the corner of her eye. “So, where were you during the Battle of New York?”

“At home,” he replies. It’s an automatic thing; everyone knows where they were when aliens invaded New York and the Avengers came to save them. It’s the standard New York icebreaker when you’re well and truly out of topics to discuss with someone. It’s not something you’d ask a person on the street, but it might be something you’d bring up with someone you knew well. “My aunt was stuck at work and my uncle was a firefighter, so--”

He stops mid sentence and turns to face her, standing in the middle of the walking path. He blinks at her.

“Yeah, I started to wonder if you were from back home during history class a couple of months ago,” Felicia says. She takes his hand in hers and tugs him along. “Come on, you’re blocking traffic.”

Peter stumbles along with her, staring at her incredulously. She's from his New York. He has to fight off the sudden urge to cling to her the way a drowning man would to a life saver thrown out to sea.

“How do you--” he starts.

“I was at my dad’s apartment when the first aliens zipped by our window. The Hulk used my jerk neighbor’s car as a battering ram on live TV. I’ve never seen him so mad before. It was great,” Felicia says. “Hulk was my favorite after that. And the Black Widow, of course.”

Peter walks alongside her, baffled and excited and worried. “Felicia, if you’re from my universe, how did you get here?”

“Dunno. Everyone started falling apart and then this weird flash of gold hit me. I think I fell asleep? I had a dream that some guy in a red cloak talked to me. He apologized, said I was needed in a different part of the multiverse, that there was some kind exchange happening, promised me I'd go home eventually, and then he disappeared. I woke up in the middle of a street here. You?”

Peter thinks of the green tank. “Were you getting all dusty when the flash hit?”

“Nope, I just had to dive out of a cab before it crashed into someone. The cabbie disappeared in the middle of changing lanes,” Felica says, and then she pauses. “Did you ‘get all dusty’?”

“Yes,” Peter answers.

“Oh,” Felicia says. She pauses for a beat. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” he says again, softer this time.

She frowns. “I’m sorry.”

Peter doesn’t have a response to her pity. He should have something to say to it; he’s heard it plenty of times in his life, after all. Instead, he simply walks with her. A part of him is in shock, and a larger part is beyond grateful that she’s here. There are so many questions he wants to ask her that he doesn’t know where to start.

“So, how did you--I mean, you must’ve woken up in the middle of nowhere, right?” Peter asks.

“Kind of. I was on my own for a week before I got desperate and hungry. I ended up breaking into the first apartment I found to get some food. I was starving, and desperate. It was like breaking into Fort Knox. I love a good challenge, though, so I kept at it. Even forgot I was hungry for awhile there. Of course, it wasn’t as empty as I thought it was.”

“It was Selina’s apartment?”

“Yeah. Luckily, she was impressed enough to take me in, which has worked out for me pretty well,” Felicia says. She tilts her head and regards him quietly for a moment. “You don’t have a Selina, do you.”

It isn’t really a question. He rubs the back of his head. “I’m kind of doing things on my own at the moment.”

“That’s stupid,” Felicia says.

He frowns. “It’s easier.”

She tilts her head. “Judging by how tightly you’re holding my hand, I don’t think you believe that.”

He drops her hand as if he’s been scalded and sticks his hands in his sport coat. Felicia sighs, then threads an arm through his. He doesn’t shake her off, but he does sulk.

“Listen, it’s probably not my business--”

“It isn’t.”

“---but you can’t survive Gotham on your own,” Felicia says, pointedly ignoring his interruption. “It’s--this isn’t Queens. This isn’t New York. Iron Man won't come out of the clear blue sky to save you. Gotham is a completely different ball game.”

There's something pointed about the way she says that last part. "I'm not exactly swimming in options."

"Yes, you are," Felicia says. "Tim and Duke would take you in tonight if you asked them. And you know it."

"I can't get them mixed up in all this," Peter says.

"That's an excuse and you know it."

"I like her," Shuri says.

"Felicia--"

"Spider-Man might have been able to handle most things in New York by himself, but he still had the Avengers as back up,” Felicia says, stopping to face him fully. “Spider-Man doesn’t have that here.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, frowning at her.

Felicia sighs. “Nevermind. Come on, let’s go.”

She leads him further down the path. A slightly awkward silence falls between them. Peter covers her hand with his as they walk. She squeezes his arm in response, clearly trying to decide on what to say next.

After a few moments, Felicia glances at him from the corner of her eye. “You know, I always thought Spider-Man would be taller in person. And quicker to pick up on hints.”

“She knows,” Bucky says flatly. “Quit playing dumb.”

Peter pauses, then facepalms. “How do you know I’m Spider-Man?”

“You fell into a dumpster while chasing me and knocked yourself unconscious. I peeked under your mask.”

Ah. The cat burglar. He stares at her for a long moment, flashing back to her conversation with him at lunch, and the night before. “Your first impression of me is finding me unconscious in a dumpster and you still wanted to ask me out?”

“Mostly as a pretense to have this conversation, but yes. You’re kind of cute in a dorky way.”

“Great. You’re really helping out my ego here. Also you’re a thief and I want that antigrav puck back, thanks.”

Felicia smirks, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Finders, keepers.”

“You stole it--”

“Found it,” she corrects.

“Stole it off of my unconscious body,” Peter finishes, ignoring the correction completely. “Why do you need it?”

“It’s useful for leaping off of buildings and landing quietly,” Felicia says. “I’ve broken into three different labs with it so far. Doesn’t keep a very good charge though. Let me know if you ever design a better one. I could use it.”

Peter huffs. His date is a cat burglar that robbed him blind while he was unconscious. This is unbelievable.

“Yeah, about that. What’s this weird obsession with breaking into labs? I’ve chased you out of at least ten in the past three weeks.”

Felicia stops them at the end of the path. The path opens up to the outdoor cafe and chess board area. Firepits and string lights dot the area, keeping it relatively warm and well lit in the gathering dark.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to find a way home,” she says after a moment. “There’s no Tony Stark in this universe, no Wakanda University of Science doctors, no alien tech for us to steal and build a portal back home. But since you’re here, that means there’s a chance--”

“Me?” he asks, thoroughly confused.

“Yes, you,” Felicia says. “You were Tony Stark’s, like, pet genius or something--”

“Wow, okay, that’s completely wrong--”

“--and you build things like the antigrav puck out of pure junk. If I find you the right tools, the right designs, you could build us a way to get back home.”

Peter stares at her. He’s been trying to do that, of course; he still has those notebooks stashed away inside his room at the fire station, but he’s been working on it less and less lately. “What?”

“After I got here, I thought I’d never see my dad again. I gave up. Barely ate, barely slept, just laid in my room for days on end. Selina was starting to worry about me,” Felicia says. “But then I started hearing about Spider-Man. At first I thought you were just an alternate universe version of yourself, but no, it was you. My Spider-Man.”

Peter frowns, tilting his head.

“Sure, we’re kind of on opposite sides of the law, but I always liked you. You always helped out the people who needed it the most. And right now, we’re in the same boat,” she says. “Iron Man’s Spider-Man. Everyone knows he wouldn’t give you the time of day if you weren’t at least as smart as him. If anyone can get us back, it’ll be you.”

Peter stares at her, then looks past her at the cafe kiosk. His mind is a whirlwind; clashing emotions--shock, confusion, relief, and disbelief--shake him to his core. He’s speechless for the moment, trying to sort through it all.

“Don’t you want to go back?” Felicia asks after a moment, frowning at him.

He pauses, and gives voice to the fear that’s haunted him since he first appeared in that strange machine. “What if there’s nothing to go back to?”

Felicia stares at him.

“We lost,” he says. Admitting it hurts worse than he expected, and while he feels strangely detached from their conversation, he’s surprised by the hollowness of his own voice. “We lost bad. Worse than you can imagine. Whatever hit us on Titan must have hit Earth too, if you started seeing people disappear. You might have been lucky getting thrown into this universe.”

“You don’t believe that,” Felicia says after a long moment.

No, he doesn’t. Not yet. But the seed is there.

Felicia sighs, gently taking her hand off of his arm. She gives him a closer look, then leans up and kisses his cheek. It’s feather light, and surprisingly tender. He leans into it for a moment, then remembers himself and clears his throat, leaning back away. Peter hasn’t exactly been swimming in physical affection since arriving at Gotham. He shouldn’t embarrass himself in front of her. Worse than he already has, at least.

“It’s getting late,” she says. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says, automatically. “Sure. See you at school.”

Felicia gives him one last thoughtful look before walking towards the bus stop at the edge of the park. Peter watches her, lost in his own thoughts.

Well. At least he’s not alone in this universe anymore.