Gwen woke with a start, heart hammering like it wanted out of her chest. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, but one thin strand of webbing still clung to a blade from last night's accidental shot. She stared at it, breath shallow.
Alex was already awake—sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, watching her with that quiet, steady gaze that always made her feel seen instead of exposed.
"Hey," he whispered.
She sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. "I thought it was a dream. That maybe I'd wake up and… nothing would have changed."
He reached out—slow, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, he took her hand. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles.
"It's real," he said gently. "And it's scary. I know."
Tears welled before she could stop them. "I didn't ask for this, Alex. I just wanted… us. Normal mornings. Coffee. You stealing the blanket. Not… this."
He slid closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, forehead against his collarbone.
"I know," he murmured into her hair. "And I hate that it happened because of me—because being near me woke it up. If I could take it back—"
"Don't," she cut in, voice cracking. "Don't you dare apologize for loving me enough to stay close. This isn't your fault. It's just… life. Messy. Unfair. But still ours."
He pulled back just enough to look at her—eyes shining with something raw and unguarded.
"I'm terrified too," he admitted, voice low and rough. "Terrified you'll wake up one day and realize you're tethered to someone who keeps pulling danger into your orbit. Terrified you'll hate what you become because of it."
Gwen cupped his face, thumbs brushing the faint shadows under his eyes.
"Then be terrified with me," she whispered. "Don't carry it alone. We figure this out together. Like everything else."
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "Together."
They started training that afternoon in the KaneTech basement—reinforced, private, Aether watching vitals like a worried parent.
Alex stood across from her, no armor yet. Just him.
"Start small," he said. "Feel it. Don't fight it."
Gwen nodded. Closed her eyes. Focused on the tingle under her skin—like static waiting to spark.
She opened her eyes and shot a web strand toward the far wall. It hit clean, taut. She tugged—felt the grip hold.
Alex smiled—soft, proud. "Again. Higher."
She aimed for the ceiling beam. Web connected. She pulled—and her feet left the ground. She swung in a wide arc, laughing through sudden tears.
"I'm flying," she breathed.
"You're moving," he corrected gently. "And you look beautiful doing it."
She landed in front of him—light, sure. Then threw herself into his arms.
He caught her, spinning once before setting her down. Foreheads pressed together.
"I was so scared I'd lose control," she whispered. "That I'd hurt someone. Hurt you."
"You won't," he said fiercely. "Because you're you. The girl who stops to help strangers. Who loves fiercely. Who chooses kindness even when the world doesn't."
She kissed him—hard, desperate, full of everything she couldn't say. When they parted, she was crying and laughing at the same time.
"Show me more," she said against his lips.
They sparred—slow, then faster. Alex in light armor. Gwen testing limits. She webbed his wrist mid-punch; he broke free with copied strength. She flipped over him, landed behind, webbed his ankles. He twisted free, pulled her close instead of countering.
Pinned gently against the wall, breathing hard, she looked up at him.
"You're holding back," she accused, half-teasing, half-serious.
"So are you," he countered. "You're afraid to hurt me."
She searched his face. "I am."
He leaned in, nose brushing hers. "Then trust me. I can take it. And I trust you not to give more than I can handle."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "Okay."
She pushed—harder this time. Webs snapped out in rapid bursts. He dodged, countered, took a hit to the shoulder that sent him skidding. He laughed—bright, exhilarated.
"Again!"
They went until both were drenched in sweat, muscles trembling.
When they finally stopped, Gwen collapsed against him—chest heaving, heart full.
"I'm still me," she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it out loud.
Alex wrapped both arms around her, holding tight. "Always. Powers don't change who loves you. They just give you more ways to protect what you love."
She pulled back, eyes shining. "Then copy it. Take what you need. So we can protect each other."
He hesitated—only a second—then touched her cheek.
The interface flared silently.
[DNA Sample: Gwen Stacy – Spider Augmentation. Selective Copy: Full suite partial integration – Spider-Sense +1.4σ, Organic Webbing (moderate), Enhanced Agility & Reflexes +1.6σ.]
Alex flexed his hand. A web strand shot out—clean, controlled.
Gwen grinned through tears. "Now we're even."
He pulled her into a kiss—slow, deep, full of promise.
"We were never uneven," he murmured against her lips. "We were always enough."
They stood there—two people remade by power and love—holding each other like the world could wait.
Because for this moment, it did.
(Word count: 1004)