Re: Marvel hospital: Gwen & Peter
"Yeeep," she said of Aunt May liking her more. It wasn't true, of course, but it was habit, teasing back when he raised his eyebrows like that and teased first. She had a lot of pictures in her tiny studio in Gramercy, old things that were curling at the corners. Memories on little squares, because he'd carried his camera everywhere then. It had driven her a little nuts at first, that he was always looking through the lens, but then she'd gotten used to it, and now she was glad she had that old box of pictures. It helped her remember that things had really happened the way she remembered, and it helped her know she hadn't made it all up in her head. It was easy to think time had caused her to make more of their relationship than it had actually been; that happened.
No, letting things go wasn't something she was good at; he could blame her dad for that, for the Stacy stubbornness that kept her from ever doing what anyone else told her to do. Now it was her turn to raise her brows, because he asked how she knew he wasn't blaming himself, and come on, bug boy. Her look of disbelief was blatant, and she smiled a little when he relented. "You're blaming yourself a lot." He shrugged, and she touched her fingers to his shoulder fleetingly, reassuring before remembering that touching was probably not okay anymore. "Flash wouldn't want anyone getting hurt to save him." And she couldn't help but think that he would've gone if it wasn't for the awkward thing with her, but saying that wasn't going to help; he'd just start absolving her again.
But then he was frowning about Jason, and she shook her head. "He's just not all frigid like I am. He was affected by the thing," she said of the wish, and she waved a little hand nervously, all wrist and cheeks going red. But her sad expression didn't brighten at all when he said they hadn't planned it out, and she didn't know about bathrooms and steam but, no, that wasn't innocent at all. She didn't look up or say anything until he said he didn't want to date Mary Jane, and she reached over and plucked the bag of chips from his hands, thinking that might make him look up. She didn't really want to talk about this, but if they were going to do it, they should do it right. Right?
"It doesn't matter that you didn't plan it, Peter, and it doesn't matter that you were just hanging out and it happened." Actually, maybe that was a little worse, but she didn't think that would add anything to a conversation that was already making her eyes water conspicuously. "You stopped because you're a decent guy, and you aren't just going to sleep with a girl without being involved with her," she clarified, in case he didn't know himself all that well. "It doesn't have anything to do with me," she added, cheeks going redder, because that was embarrassing to say aloud, but better to have this super mortifying conversation about how everyone desired Mary Jane once, and then not have it again. "You said you weren't interested in her, and that nothing was going to happen. You said a lot of things," she added with her own little shrug. "I've heard it for years, Peter. I heard it from Harry, and I heard it from Jason, too. 'No, Gwen. You're crazy and insecure, and I wouldn't ever do anything with Mary Jane. I'm not interested in Mary Jane,' but everyone ends up messing around with her or sleeping with her or falling in love with her. Everyone." She didn't sound angry, not even a tiny bit; she sounded resigned, sad. "I'd just started to maybe believe you a little, that's all."
And then there was Flash, right behind that door, fighting for his life, and he was saying it wasn't fate. All of this was fate; why couldn't he see? "If I did the math and came up with the probability of someone losing both of their legs, Peter, the number would be infinitesimal, but Flash did. Add in Harry turning into Goblin, when we deliberately kept all information about the serum from him in order to keep history from repeating, and I don't think the number would even be big enough to measure," she added, and she set the bag of chips aside with trembling fingers; this was almost like being told you had some terrible and terminal disease, and she didn't want it to control her life.