The cafe noise seemed to fade the moment Peter slid into the booth across from her.
Felicia didn’t say anything.
She just looked at him — really looked, her eyes moving over his face like she was checking, cataloging, making sure every piece of him was actually still there in one piece.
Then she looked back down at her coffee and said nothing at all.
“Hey,” Peter tried, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
Nothing.
“Felicia, I—” She didn’t even glance up.
Just wrapped both hands around her mug and stared into it like it held something far more interesting than him.
Peter sat with the silence, feeling it stretch out heavier with every second that passed.
He’d braced himself for yelling.
He hadn’t braced for this — for the sheer, deliberate weight of being looked through.
A full minute passed.
Maybe two.
The espresso machine hissed somewhere behind the counter.
Somebody’s chair scraped against tile.
Felicia said nothing.
Finally, Peter exhaled and let his shoulders drop.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I’m really sorry, Felicia.” Something in her finally shifted.
She looked up at him, and her eyes were glassy, rimmed red like she hadn’t slept — or had cried more than she wanted to admit.
“So you know you did something wrong,” she said.
Flat.
Not really a question.
“I know.” “And?” Peter hesitated, and he could feel the honest answer sitting heavy in his chest, could feel how much she wasn’t going to like it, and said it anyway because he owed her that much.
“And I’d do it again.” Felicia’s jaw tightened.
She looked away for a second, blinking hard, and when she looked back her voice had dropped, quieter now, stripped of the sharp edge she’d walked in with.
“I know you would,” she said.
“That’s the whole problem, Peter.
I know.” She wrapped both hands tighter around her mug, like she needed something solid to hold onto.
“I’m happy,” she said slowly, like each word cost her something, “that you wanted to save me.
I am.
I’m not — I’m not saying I wish you hadn’t.” Her voice cracked slightly.
“But I don’t want to live in a world where my life comes at the cost of yours.
I don’t want that trade.
I never asked for that trade.” “Felicia—” “The whole time you were under that rubble,” she pushed on, faster now, like if she stopped she wouldn’t be able to finish, “I kept thinking it was my fault.
That you were down there because of me.
Because you saw me standing there like an idiot and you didn’t even think, you just—” Her voice broke completely, and she pressed a hand briefly over her mouth, steadying herself.
“I kept thinking, if I’d just moved.
If I hadn’t frozen.
If I’d just moved—” “It’s not your fault,” Peter said immediately, leaning forward.
“Felicia, it’s not — none of that is on you.
I’m the one who decided to run in there.
I’m the one who wanted to save everyone, help everyone, and honestly?” He gave a small, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“I was way over my head.
I know that.
But it was still my choice.
Not yours.
Never yours.” Felicia shook her head hard, like she could physically shake the words away.
“Peter, stop.” He stopped.
“I know,” she said, quieter now, but firmer, meeting his eyes directly.
“I know you’re going to do the same thing every single time.
I know that about you now.
I’ve known it since the second you pushed me out of the way.” She took a shaky breath.
“But I can’t just — I can’t stand that thought.
Even if you sit there and tell me a hundred times that it’s not my fault, my heart doesn’t listen to that.
My mind knows you’re right and my heart says something completely different, and I don’t know how to make those two things agree with each other.” Her eyes were shining now, tears building right at the edge, and she blinked hard like she was furious at her own body for betraying her.
“So here’s the deal,” she said, her voice unsteady but pushing forward anyway.
“Next time — and I know there’s going to be a next time, because that’s just who you are — you save me again.
I’m not going to sit here and be a hypocrite and tell you that you shouldn’t.
I’m not going to ask you to be someone you’re not.” A tear finally slipped free, and she wiped at it fast, almost angrily.
“But you look out for yourself too.
You don’t just — throw yourself away like you’re nothing.
Because you’re not nothing, Peter.
You’re not expendable.
Not to any of us.” The last few words came out barely above a whisper, and then she wasn’t holding it together at all anymore — her shoulders shook, quiet sobs breaking through the composure she’d walked in wearing like armor.
Peter didn’t think.
He reached across the table and pulled her gently into a hug, awkward over the edge of the booth, one arm wrapped carefully around her shoulders like he was still afraid of his own strength, still afraid of breaking something that mattered this much.
“I’m here,” he murmured against her hair.
“I’m okay.
I’m right here.” Felicia let out a wet, half-laughing sob against his shoulder.
“You’re an idiot.” “Yeah,” Peter said softly.
“I know.” They stayed like that a moment, and when she finally pulled back, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jacket, Peter cracked the smallest smile.
“For the record,” he said, “if you ever tell Harry I made you cry, I’m blaming the concussion.” Felicia let out a startled laugh — wet and hiccupping, but real.
“You’re the worst.” “I’ve been told.” She laughed again, swiping at her eyes properly now, some of the tension finally bleeding out of her shoulders.
“Okay.
Okay, I’m fine.
I’m fine.” She took a breath, composing herself, and something like her usual self slowly resurfaced.
“You’re buying me a drink, though.
A real one.
Not whatever’s cheapest on the menu.” “Deal,” Peter said, relief flooding through him at the shift in her tone.
She picked up the menu with theatrical seriousness and scanned it, landing with a satisfied little smirk on the most elaborate, expensive drink the café offered — some absurd multi-shot caramel monstrosity with a name longer than the receipt.
Peter’s stomach dropped as he did quick math against the twelve dollars folded in his wallet.
“…Felicia.” “What?” she said innocently, batting her eyelashes.
“I don’t think I have enough for that.” Felicia stared at him for a beat, and then burst out laughing — a real laugh this time, bright and unguarded, the first genuine one he’d heard from her all day.
“Oh my God, your face.” She wiped at her eyes again, this time from laughing instead of crying.
“Fine.
Fine, I’ll have a normal coffee, you cheapskate.” “I have a concussion,” Peter said solemnly.
“Be gentle with me.” “You have gloves on in a heated café,” she shot back, nodding at his hands.
“What’s that about?” “Cold,” Peter said quickly.
“Started this morning.
Very mysterious.” Felicia raised an eyebrow but let it go, shaking her head as she flagged down the waiter.
They ordered — her coffee, his tea, splitting a slice of something sweet neither of them really wanted but both reached for anyway — and for the next half hour, they just talked.
About nothing important.
About Harry’s dad being insufferable, about a teacher’s terrible pop quiz, about anything at all that wasn’t rubble or gunfire or a body count on the news.
It was, for the first time since the ceiling came down, something close to normal.
Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted gold through the branches of an old oak tree across the street, its light catching on a sleek Black cat perched motionless on a low branch.
The cat’s tail flicked once, twice, its eyes fixed intently on something just above it — a spider’s web, thick and elaborate, strung between two higher branches, its architect sitting patient and still at the center.
Neither Peter nor Felicia noticed it at all.
The cat’s ears twitched.
And somewhere above, the spider waited.
ps : thanos meme “Fine i will do it myself”