18462/A Safer House

A Safer House
Date of Scene:	28 June 2024
Location:	Felicia's Safehouse
Synopsis:	Peter and Felicia are hiding out in the Safehouse while they figure out what to do with Peter's four extra arms. What they never could have predicted was an unannounced visit from Felicia's mother.
Cast of Characters:	Felicia Hardy, Peter Parker

---

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Then she raises her own mask, slipping it over the top of her head and then sliding it down into place so that it rests on her nose. Her lips, below it, are still curled into that tempting, come hither grin. "I've got all night."

When she tugs on that mask, at least in part, Peter flashes her that familiar grin before reaching up to fit it into place properly. Then, with the ridiculous ability that comes so easily to him he manages to propel both him and her up from that seated position, landing smoothly on that ledge before setting her back down. "All night huh? I kinda like the sound of that too."

...

All night had turned into some pretty fun adventures.

The the last of them -- or what was _supposed_ to be the last of them -- for the night, was Felicia leading Peter to the Tenderloin District. It's not her East Side penthouse, but it is a rooftop with a rooftop access door.

Where are they, Peter might ask?

"Somewhere a little more discreet," Felicia would explain with a wink. "...Another option."

With that, she tapped in a code, passed the biometrics, and they were through the rooftop door, descending the stairs into a quaint, two bedroom apartment that's little more than a glorified storage space (one whole bedroom of which is cluttered with things that look valuable... a few paintings, some museum crates with ambiguous markings in different languages). It's no penthouse, to be sure, but it looks a lot more 'lived in'.

A strange mixture of 'loft' and 'attic', a narrow stairs behind a very sturdy door leads down into the building it rests upon while another secure door provides rooftop access to a patio and the city skyline. Within, the slant of the roof encroaches just about everywhere but the ceiling is high enough so one isn't likely to bump their head unless they get too close to the walls.

The main area is a living room and kitchenette occupying the space, with a large couch and coffee table in the former. There's no real dining or work space, so a little table for two has been set up next to the one big window for dining purposes. A small desk is pushed into the corner, too, with room for a laptop but little else.

It still doesn't look like a 'home.' Not by the definition of anyone that's ever grown up or lived in a real home with love and family and permanence. But there are a few more personal effects here. There are even a couple of black cat plushies, some pictures -- one what's definitely a mid-teenage Felicia with an older woman who looks a lot like her, and one of an eight-year-old Felicia with both of her parents.

Felicia descends the narrow stairs all the way into the main living room, setting her mask on the corner of the desk next to what is presumably her laptop.

"Welcome to my... home away from home. Given the situation, I thought it might be wise to make sure you knew all of options available. I'll make sure to add you to the locks here, too. Just in case you -- or we -- need a reason to lie low for a while."

Then she turns, planting a hand on the corner of the desk and lifting her eyebrows with a challenging little smile.

"I presume I can trust you not to go running to the authorities, at this point?"

Peter Parker has posed:
It is pretty much a given that things rarely go in a perfectly straight line when it comes to the two of them. Why should this night be any different in the respect?

While Peter might have recovered a modicum of balance and perspective, there is no getting around the fact that the night has had more then it's fair share of trauma. Physically, he is a little tired and a little sore -- as he probably should be given that a quartet of new arms have burst their way out of his sides. That's not the sort of thing that you just get over.

Emotionally he has pretty much been through the ringer as well. While he might not be borderline manic over the whole thing any longer, it is still a lot to take in and while he is starting to cope with the changes with that certain natural aplomb that he manages, it's still a process.

So while it made sense to call it an early evening, the fact of the matter is that there were concerns -- both practical and otherwise -- that needed to be addressed.

If Pete is to just drop out of his existing life for a time, he at least needs to pick up a few things from home first. Which meant making the trek out to Queens.

On the plus side, it's not as if he needs to load up on a whole lot of clothes, and what he does gather is mostly of the older, more easily sacrificed variety. Punching four extra arm holes is a little rough on the wardrobe and certainly the sleeveless look is a choice.

But fashion isn't his single biggest concern right now.

More importantly is gathering up his spare costumes and web-shooters -- some of which aren't necessarily spares for the time being but instead just a part of his new-look arsenal -- along with the chemicals and equipment he needs to continue to make his webbing forumla as the need arise.

Suffice to say that by the time he left, that backpack might have been bulging just a little bit.

Then of course there was the need to try out that new look performance, and while it might have taken a little time to get going, having the advantage of six hands on the go at any one time certainly seems like it could be promising as far as being Spider-Man goes.

So when it is time to finally head 'home' for the night, Peter is only a little surprised when it isn't the Upper East Side that they head towards, but the Tenderloin District instead, and while he might tilt a curious look her way with those too expressive eyelets, he doesn't question her when she offersup that they are headed somewhere more 'discrete'.

When they arrive on that otherwise unremarkable rooftop, Pete does start to get an inclining of what might be up and he heads in just a step behind, taking it all in with a certain undeniable curiousity. While nowhere as elaborate as her penthouse, he can't help but notice that it feels a little more real, a little bit more like her and as he tugs off that mask and tucks it into the edge of his waist, the grin on his face is pretty plain.

Whether intended to or not, she has managed to take his mind off his own troubles once more and he almost immediately makes a beeline to those photographs -- he's not just avoiding the room full of questionable items, honest -- to take a look at those pictures. "Well, you look like you were quite the heartbreaker even back then," he says, shooting a grin her way.

That expression quickly turns wry at the last comment though, one brow arching above his eyes. "As much fun as a conjugal visit sounds, I think I would much rather have you with me," he points out with a faint smirk, turning back towards Felicia and taking one of her own in his.

"Besides, you're not wrong. Having somewhere discrete that no one else knows about is probably a good idea right about now."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
"What, did you think I had some 'blossoming into the woman I was meant to be' moment? All coke-bottle classes and braces until I turned seventeen and the popular boy took pity on me -- taught me about contact lenses and hair styles?"

Felicia's fingers slip easily into his, the smile on her lips warm and sensual, and she slips right up into his arms -- all of them -- with that oh-so-familiar magnetism.

Her free hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers lightly trailing on the side of his neck as she looks briefly over to the side at those pictures. They're all happy. Genuinely happy. At least there's that.

"I'm afraid it was always designer labels, professional stylists, and finishing school for me, Spider."

For her, the story was turned on its head. She didn't blossom from shrinking violet into the woman she was meant to be. She was beautiful, radiant, and pure in those pictures. But the woman looking at them now hides so much behind walls upon walls, behind masks, and in safehouses. The girl in those pictures wouldn't even recognize the woman in Peter Parker's arms.

Something happened.

Maybe a lot of things happened.

She didn't talk about it. She certainly didn't volunteer it, even to Peter.

"_Speaking_ of conjugal visits..."

Blue eyes are back on him, and she gives a little nod of her head towards the stairs, where the master bedroom lay in wait.

"You should put your stuff down. Unpack. Maybe we can order in some takeout. Slip into something a little more comfortable..."

Arching against him, her eyes sweep down him and then back up again.

"...or maybe nothing. It's been a long night. Why don't we just plan on figuring out what our next move is tomorrow, after we've had a chance to... decompress, and maybe even get a few hours of sleep?"

Peter Parker has posed:
the details are always in the journey, more so then the destination.

The photos scattered about this loft style space tells Pter far more in a few short moments then that elaborate but highly non-personal penthouse apartment could have possibly suggested to him.

About who Felicia is as a person. About the sort of life she has lead, the sort of background that she came from. And while he might have pried a few small details out of her, this is still so very enlightening.

And personal.

Sharing her penthouse is certainly one thing, and Peter is certainly grateful that she was willing to do that. While they might not have been actually 'living' together per se -- or at least they hadn't been formally -- this all feels much more intimate. This is her real space.

Listen to her muse on growing up, that her childhood, her teen years were not necessarily the transformational sort that he went through, he still smiles at her own unique twist on things as those fingers lace with her own. Far less self-conscious then he was just hours before. A little more at ease. Largely because of her.

"You know, if that whole cat burglar thing doesn't work out for you, I think you might have a real future as a Hollywood screen writer," he suggests, the corners of his mouth starting to curl upwards. "And it's practically as good as stealing from the wealthy and corrupt. You can just target, you know, teen girls instead," he adds drily.

With that, he pulls her close once more, if only for a moment. It's not hard to tell that there is more to the story. That there is a bridge, a missing gap there to help explain how she went from the young woman in those pictures to who she is now. He has pieces, just fragments really. He'll get more. In time. He's confident enough of that.

And she's definitely worth the wait.

The smart thing to do would probably get some rest. It has been one hell of a day. But if he always did the 'smart' thing he probably wouldn't have chased after her. And how would that have played out? No, the 'smart' thing and the 'right' thing are not always one in the same.

"I do like the idea of takeout," Pete admits with a slow smile, shrugging off that rather stuffed backpack, letting it fall where it will. "But I think maybe we should reverse the order on that. I definitely have something else on my mind besides Thai food..." he adds, no longer trying to conceal that grin.

"Race you?"

Felicia Hardy has posed:
"Ugh. Where's the _thrill_ in exploiting girls who just want to believe there's a guy out there who will like them for who they are instead of trying to change them?"

Is that... praise? Or is it a dig? It's _definitely_ a significant statement. But there's so much to unpack there. On one hand, Felicia had been able to be herself more with Peter than she had any other man since college. Maybe ever. On the other, it was still a bit of a redemption arc: If Peter could just show her the error of her ways and bring her onto the side of the angels for good...

Of course, he'd never asked that, had he? All he'd ever said was for them to meet in the middle. So, maybe she is living that teenage heartthrob fantasy after all.

'Race you?'

The question makes her blink once. Twice. Her expression falls, a shade of worry and doubt passing over her features, and she slips her other hand down from his shoulder to lace her fingers with another of his hands.

It's an intimate, reassuring thing -- at once _so_ familiar (thanks to the time they've spent together) and so foreign (thanks to all these new hands).

"_Race_?" It's almost a scoff, and Felicia's eyebrows lift helplessly. She even tilts her head, shifting her ponytail over one shoulder. "_The_ Spider-Man? That... hardly seems fair..."

She blinks again.

"...does it?"

Two more blinks, and her hands squeeze tighter in his. This would be about the time that Spidey-sense of his would start tingling (even more than it almost always does around her).

"For you... I mean."

*thzzz-chk* *thzzz-chk*

Two grappling hooks go into the floor. Once from each wrist. She'd have to fix that later, but it's _so_ worth it. Because those gloves of hers just slip off of her hands, still laced with Peter's fingers, grabbing his hands like vices, and leaving Spider-Man anchored in place by a hand on either side.

"You know better than to challenge me, Spider," she laughs, trying to slip away and up the stairs, quick as a flash... or a cat.

Now, the plan would probably have worked flawlessly to stall Peter and give her a chance to get all the way to the bedroom before he decided to simply rip the hooks out of the flooring (after all, Felicia put them there.. she obviously didn't mind all that much).

However.. there's some math problems here. Because, while two of Peter's hands are definitely anchoring him in place. There are still four more. With web shooters. And that is something that Black Cat _might_ have over-looked.

Either that or she was simply relying on that 'bad luck' mechanic to help her out the rest of the way. That thing was _so_ unreliable, though.

Peter Parker has posed:
Hey, nothing says that it can't be a little bit of both, praise and a dig in equal measure.

It's not like Peter offered complete and unconditional acceptance about how she might want to live her life with nary a comment or stray look, right? Then again, that wouldn't necessarily be any healthier really. Just present a different set of hurdles. All in all, a middle ground is hardly the worst place to stand.

Encouraging, but not preaching. It could be worse. And so far at least it seems to be working for them.

While there might be a frew -- or more then a few -- details that Pete still needs to learn about Felicia, that doesn't mean he doesn't *know* her. That he doesn't know how she will react to the suggestion that even getting up to her bedroom should be something of a competition. That proverbial race.

He has no doubt at all that she will take it seriously. That she'll want to win. That she will no doubt use any little trick in the book -- or outside the book too, for that matter -- to get the best of him. He's prepared!

Right? Yes, of course he is.

Despite that, he does hesitate for a moment at the expression that slides over her face, the way her other hand sinks to seek out another of his, fingers lacing together there.

He didn't misjudge the situation, right? He's, like, ninety-five percent sure that he didn't. Maybe ninety. Eighty-five percent sure?

No matter how prepared he might think he is, no matter how well he might think he knows her, if nothing else he is suddenly quite sure that she will still be able to find ways to surprise him. Still find ways to get the best of him.

That even with all their history, they have only begun to find new and intriguing games to play with one another.

'_The_ Spider-Man? That... hardly seems fair... ...does it?'

He knows it's coming. Any doubts he might have had are almost immediately washed away. But even then he doesn't really anticipate her willingness to leave those grappling hooks embedded in floor and ceiling, suddenly caught right in the middle of the room by those two high tensile jumplines.

"What--?" he says, instictively tugging at those bound hands and finding himself trapped -- unless he wants to rip up her floor at least -- and she's out of his reach almost before he can even think to try and grab her.

"You cheater!" he calls after her, his own laugh bubbling up from him.

But he's not out of tricks yet either. Six arms now. Six webshooters. And while two might be out of commission, that leaves him four more. One hand lifts, points... and the webshooter jams. That bad luck!

A second immediately lunges out and webbing bubbles out, almost immediately tangling. Ugh! No fair.

But the numbers are definitely on his side for a change and web-shooter number three? That one gives the customary *thwip*, the webline flying straight and snagging her back, almost immediately grabbing it with those extra arms as he starts to reel her back towards him.

"Oh no you don't! If I'm not going anywhere, neither are you Miss Hardy. And I'm definitely not above having you right here..."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
'You cheater!'

Click (Jam).

Phwwppt (Tangle).

Felicia's laughter is light and free, filling the space. She's at the bottom of the stairs in a blink, long legs bounding in preparation of clearing four steps at a time --

*thwip*

"ACK!"

That third line catches her squarely in the middle of her back and yanks her backwards, leaving her spinning like a dancer to try to keep her balance. And though that does allow her to remain upright, it also turns that webbing into a rope that winds around her waist.

No worries! She can cut through it using her steel claws!

She swipe a hand down, only to realize too late that she's left her gloves attached to Peter, and she just ends up grabbing a handful of sticky webbing that further traps her into place before she ends up back against him again.

Blinking.

She's smiling despite herself, even if her plans were foiled (or were they)? There were worse positions to find herself in, after all, and it was amusing to see Peter so... tied up, outside of his own webbing.

"You know, Spider, I was really expecting those extra hands to work more to my _advantage_..."

She's already stretching her one free hand up to touch his cheek, lengthening herself, pressing up into his lips.

Which is, of course, when there's a beep-beep-beep-beep of a code being entered into the front door, and around the corner.. just out of sight, the sound of it opening.

Immediately, an older woman's voice rings out.

A woman that sounds remarkably like an older version of Felicia.

"Felicia? Are you here?" the older woman's voice fills the space. "I've been trying to reach you..."

Peter Parker has posed:
Look at that.

He has hardly been at her place -- her real place -- for more then a few minutes and now it has two big holes in the floor and ceiling, not to mention a mess of webbing laying around or tangled around her.

Sure, you *can* invite him over to your secret safehouse. But after this why would you ever want to? Geeez.

He's totally not getting and invitation to her super secret safehouse, Pete is almost sure of that.

As that webbing wraps around her waist, tangling her up at least as good as him he can't help but grin a little. Sweet, sweet revenge. As it turns out he is not at all above that sort of thing which is probably good to know. And as her instincts kick in and she tries to cut herself free only to catch one of those hands at her waist, Peter actually lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Looks like you've been foiled by your own trick, Miss Hardy. Now you're really in for it," he says, waggling his eyebrows at her before giving that last little tug that sends her spinning into his waiting arms.

They are a tangled mess, with jumplines snaking out across the room and webbing tangled about them, some still bubbling out of that jammed up web-shooter which certainly doesn't help. But in that moment he also isn't thinking about his weird dilemma, about the difficult conversations that may ahead as he tries to adapt to life with a whole lot more of himself then he ever bothered.

He's just having fun.

"There you go, assuming that you're not about to have them working to your very best advantage," he counters, leaning in to the touch of her hand at his cheek before his head dips, lips seeking out her own as those arms -- the four that are still free anyway -- start to draw her in closer.

Which is when those quiet beeps sound, when that door opens up and that familiar but not quite the same voice calls from down the hall.

Look, it could be worse. Maybe. It's not like they are naked or anything, though a couple of those hands *might* have been starting to work one some of the clasps for her new costume.

But it ain't great either. He's still at least partially in his Spider-suit, he's tangled up with Felicia in the middle of the room, bound in cables while a heap of webbing dribbles on the floor. Not to mention wrapped around her daughter.

Oh yeah. And he's sporting SIX ARMS. There's just now way that this looks good.

"That's your mother isn't it?" Peter whispers, eyes wide with sheer panic. "I can't meet your mother like this," he blurts out, voice threatening to rise there at the end as that same panic starts to creep into it.

He hasn't been dreading this moment. At least not until now. But there is no universe in which he is okay meeting the mother of the woman that he loves when it looks like they're playing some weird bondage game with him dressed in a Spider costume. And that six arm thing too.

You never get a second chance to make a first impression. And he's hard pressed to think of how he could make a worse one.

Peter has stood his ground against all sorts of threats. Faced his own death with barely a flinch.

But he doesn't even hesitate here. Those two bound arms jerk hard, ripping those grappling hooks free of floor and ceiling with a loud crack and there is no hesitation as he literally leaps off the ground, scampering along the ceiling towards those stairs, clutching her close and dragging a trail of webbing, cables and clattering grappling hooks in their wake.

A dignified exit? Not even a little.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
'That's your mother isn't it?'

"MOM?!" Felicia shrieks, way too loud to be an inch from Peter's face, lips still upturned. Her eyes are the size of half-dollars.

She was so caught off guard that it didn't even occur to her to try to _sneak_ out. But then, with a (tiny) chunk of the ceiling crumbling down (they're small, curiously strong grappling hooks, but any hole in the ceiling is still a hole in the ceiling) and a (tiny) chunk of the floor being ripped up, there's already enough nose to make it sound like there's an active fight going on.

Felicia's arm slips from Peter's cheek, around his neck when she feels his grip tighten on her, apparently already anticipating his next move and not disagreeing in the slightest. Before she even knows what's happening, she gets a front-row seat to exactly how much he was holding back during their little 'race.'

Her body's tucked between Peter and the ceiling as they go skittering across, those grappling lines still attached to him flopping across tables, counters, and railing until they too are sucked up into the bedroom with them.

Lydia Hardy, a petite older woman of perhaps sixty years old, rounds the corner from the entry into the living area just as the last of those grappling lines disappear and the bedroom door slams. With short white hair, a pink blouse, khaki pants, and a light blue ascot, she sets a big brown purse down on one of the table and sets the backs of both of her hands on her waist as she surveys the scene.

"Felicia?" she calls, using the toe of one loafer to kick at the debris from the ceiling. "Is everything okay? What happened to your ceiling?... And your floor?!"

Felicia's back hits the bedroom door as if she expected her mother to come try to break it down with her shoulder, and her hand comes up to touch her forehead. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs to Peter. "She _never_ drops by unannounced..."

This is what she gets for enacting that 'bad luck' to get away earlier. The universe _will_ rearrange itself to make the least likely, most unfortunate thing happen.

Or maybe it's just plain old Parker Luck. Either way, this was _not_ the plan.

"It's fine, mom!" Felicia calls back through the door. "Sorry! I was just..." She lifts her one free hand again in a helpless shrug. The other was _still_ tied around her waist by that webbing.

Of course, Peter still had two hands disabled by those gloves, too.

"...it was just a... malfunction! Not to be rude, but now's not really a great time. Is there _any_ chance you could come back like... tomorrow?!"

Downstairs, Lydia is not having it. She's at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the closed bedroom door.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ until you come down here and talk to me. I've been trying to reach you for a three days. I'll leave after we've had a cup of tea and you tell me what's really going on. Now finish whatever it is and get down here. I'll start the kettle..."

Peter Parker has posed:
If there is one small relief in all of this?

It would have to be that Felicia is every bit as panicked and undignifed as him about the whole situation. One more thing they can share. Clearly she is in no more of a headspace to want to try and explain all of this -- whatever this is -- to her mother then Peter is.

The shriek that escapes her, even so close to his ears, doesn't even phase him for a moment and neither the awkward sort of shuffle-crawl they have to do across the ceiling with her between him and it, nor the dragging webbing and grappling hooks that trail behind them like a procession even slows them down.

Honestly, Peter is not sure if he has ever moved quite so fast. And while one of those trailing hooks almost snags on the stairs just as her mother is rounding that corner, and swift jerk on the line practically sends it slingshotting past them to crash into the far wall of Felicia's bedroom, promptly embedding itself right back into it just as his white hiared hostess slams the door shut.

So it is a temporary reprieve then. Kinda. At least for a moment. Though it rather quickly becomes clear that Lydia Hardy is not going anywhere. Their hard earned reprieve is very temporary indeed. While Peter might have escaped immediate scrutiny -- unless she walks up those stairs and demands admittance, Felicia, at the very least is going to go out there. And she is still very much wrapped up in that webbing, still in her costume.

Try as he might, Peter just can't help it. The mind is a funny thing sometimes, and a moment flashes through his head, just like he was back there, living it all over again.

He is sixteen years old again. He is locked away with MJ in his room back in Queens, finally ready to tell her the truth. About the accident, about his powers, about being Spider-Man. And almost immediately after he does that, the pounding on the door starts, May's voice on the other side shouting 'Phone! Your mother's on the phone Mary!'

The next thirty or so seconds were maybe some of the most humiliating of Peter's life. May's very frank statement hoping that they were being safe. Questioning him if he knew about 'it'. Oh yes, Peter is pretty sure he's never been so embarassed in his life.

You know, at least not until today.

Then the absurdity of it all finally hits home. And it is possible that Peter titters. Just a little.

He is still there, standing right in front of her -- because they are kinda webbed together at this point -- still, just as wide-eyed as her, pressed against that door as if to barricade it, as if her mother is going to come slamming against it sending them flying. And he just can't help it.

Almost at once two of his free hands shoot up and vainly try to cover his mouth, but what suspiciously sounds like a giggle still slips through before he chomps down on his bottom lip behind those splayed fingers, eyes still locked on hers.

It's not funny. It's not funny. It's really, really, so not funny.

Peter repeats that to himself over and over again, cheeks flaming with the effort to suppress any further sounds of mirth.

It's just this day. And now this, ontop of everything else. If he is a little loopy -- and it sure seems like he is in this moment -- well, you probably can't blame a guy, right?

Finally he manages to get enough control of himself to lower his hands though it still looks dangerously like he is about to start chortling again. "Okay. Okay. We got this," he says, though just how convincing he sounds is a matter of debate. "Does she know that you're the Black Cat? Because if so there's some solevent in one of my belt compartments. It'll take a minute or so to dissolve the webbing so we'll have to stall."

The he grins, despite himself, despite the situation. "Otherwise I'm pretty stuck on you babe. Or at least your costume. So it's still gonna have to come off. Probably a whole lot quicker then either of us planned."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
(( "Are you F-ing kidding me?!" ))

As soon as Peter starts tittering, Felicia's mouth drops open, when he has to raise one of those many hands to cover his mouth to stop and actual chortle? Well, she mouths those words at him, very slowly and deliberately. Except she doesn't say F-ing.

She stares, and despite herself, she can't help the stupid grin that crawls up at the corners of her lips as she watches him start to lose it.

It's _not_ funny. She's a thirty-one year old woman that's hiding from her mother in her bedroom with a boy. It's ridiculous and childish and the first time in her life she's ever had this particular problem. But, at least she got the experience before she died, right?

"We don't 'got this,'" Felicia hisses, eyes rolling briefly to the ceiling. "This is a _disaster_. Of _course_ she knows I'm the Black Cat! The woman knows _everything_. My father was Walter Hardy! You think she didn't pick things up along the way?! She's reconstructing the crime scene right -- "

"Felicia, who are you talking to?" Lydia calls upstairs.

Felicia pinches her eyes closed.

"Is that Peter?" Lydia calls again. "Is this his bag? It has men's clothing in it..."

Felicia's mouth falls open, and her face goes red. Not pink. Red.

"I may have mentioned you," she whispers, eyes shifting off to the side. "I had to tell _someone_ about the dinosaur..."

"Felicia?!"

"YES, Mom! It's Peter. Can you give us a few minutes, please?"

"Does he need his bag of clothes?" Lydia calls.

Felicia blows out a heavy sigh. "Yes, please. Can you... set it by the door?"

Footsteps, then, climbing the stairs and getting closer, and Felicia raises her hand as if in surrender.

"Peter, I've got one arm, you've got... more than one. I don't mind going out there like this, but she's going to wonder where the webs came from." There's a little shake of her head as she looks him up and down. "No.. actually.. she's not. She's going to know exactly where they came from. Please tell me you brought a sweatshirt or.. something? Either that, or we just tell her. It's.. up to you."

And that's if Lydia didn't already did to the bottom of the bag and just hasn't said anything about it.

Peter Parker has posed:
His timing could use a little work.

There's really no denying that this isn't exactly the time or place for any of this. It certainly isn't a laughing matter.

Except that it kinda is, too. The fact that they should have to skitter across the ceiling to try and escape her mother. The fact that they have had to more or less barricade themselves in her bedroom as if they are about to come under assault. The fact that they are quite literally webbed to one another.

He might not quite have all of Felicia's years under his belt yet, but he is still a little too old for this.

Or at least he would be if it was just an issue of being caught in some sort of indelicate situation. But that's not just it. There's the spider-suit thing and the six-arm thing. Look, the possibility of making a good first impression seem to be increasingly, painfully unlikely. Maybe, maybe just maybe Peter is getting a little bit of a taste of some of what Felicia has been anxious about in regards to finally meeting his Aunt May.

So if a good first impression is no longer possible, well, they'll just have to settle for something less then an abject failure.

His 'we got this' and chortling probably aren't doing very much to help on that particular front.

"Okay, okay, we don't got this," Pete hisses back in agreement, trying to keep his voice low even though the jig is quite clearly up and her mother is quite clearly not going to be fooled into thinking that Felicia is by herself. One can only guess what she assumes is going on, given their refusal to come out. Ironically, probably something less worse then what *is* actually happening.

Then her mother calls out again, this time about his backpack -- his backpack overflowing with his Spider-gear and chemicals to make his web fluid. WIth his spare parts and spare costumes. -- and suddenly Peter isn't in any sort of mood to laugh either. But where she goes red, Peter goes almost ghost white.

"My bag, I forgot my bag," he whispers urgently. Which, under the circumstances is understandable. He just really hopes that she didn't go rooting beyond those old clothes that he tossed in there.

He puts aside the fact that there is that admission that yes, he could use his bag for the clothes within, closing his eyes for a moment, the cringe on his expression so painfully obvious as he gives himself just a few seconds to try and pretend this isn't happening. Then he lets out a slow breath.

I have a sweatshirt. And a big ol' hoodie. I'll freakin' weave myself a poncho out of web-fluid at this point," he whispers harshly, inwardly wincing with every creaking step on those stairs that indicate Mrs. Hardy's approach, and finally that little thump against the door that suggests that his backpack has been set down.

But he doesn't hesitate, not any more. Some of the color is creeping back into his cheeks -- and there will probably be more before the evening is through -- and his hand darts under the top of his costume once more, fishing out the spray solevent he mentioned with one of those extra hands, beginning to liberally apply it to the webbing that wraps around her, that binds them together even as two others begin to -- almost frantically -- fiddle with the gloves that bind him to those grappling cables.

"There is a way to get these off, right?"

Hopefully her mom isn't lingering outside the door, because that could really, really be taken the wrong way out of context.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
'My bag, I forgot my bag.'

"I'm sure it's fine. We didn't exactly have time to stop and take inventory," Felicia hisses back, her stress level obviously still up, but at least she wasn't blaming Peter for any of this. If anything, she seemed to be trying to make him feel a little better about it.

Not that it fixed anything. But maybe it helped a little to know that she wasn't mad he left his bag full of proof of his secret identity sitting where any uninvited guest could find it. Not that either of them were expecting uninvited guests, but that was kind of the nature of them -- uninvited guests and the Spanish Inquisition.

"Yeah, hold still. There's a hidden release catch.."

Ahem.

She reaches for first one of her gauntlets, grabbing around his wrist while he's spraying with another hand and slipping a hand back into the glove. As she does, she's wrinkling her nose at the spray.

"Is it supposed to smell like that?"

*click* The latch on the glove releases, freeing his hand, and she tosses it to the floor with a thud. Now she's squinting.

"It's making my eyes burn... give me your other hand... no... the _other_ hand... it's _inside_..."

She's got one eye basically closed, but she repeats the process with the second gauntlet, releasing it with a click and dropping it to the floor. As she does, her other hand _finally_ gets free from the webbing that's melting away, and she shakes it out.

"It's so _sticky_..."

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Felicia?!" Lydia's voice again. "This kind behavior is _not_ like you..."

"Give us a minute, Mom! We're almost done!"

Which, of course, receives a scandalized huff as the woman's footsteps march back down the stairs.

Peter Parker has posed:
This really isn't going to plan.

Not that Peter really had this whole thing planned out or anything. He wasn't really all that stressed out about it. Generally he is able to at least make a decent first impression. He's intelligent. Well mannered. Reasonably good looking. He has even made a name for himself as a photographer. And his prospects are pretty decent, despite even more school ahead.

Generally mother's love him.

It's only after the string of missed get-togethers and all the excuses that inevitably come as part of being Spider-Man does some of that bloom come off the rose..

He just didn't expect the bloom to come off the rose quite this fast. In fact he is pretty sure that he has rather thoroughly trampled any garden that might have existed. Everywhere he looks, trampled flowers, mangled hedges and devestation.

So yeah, he feels a little bad. Not 'I've grown six arms and now I'm going to run screaming off into the night' bad. But he doesn't want to embarass Felicia either.

That ship might have sailed already though.

They are both trying to do as much as they can, as fast as they can to try and get things back on track and while they are both rather nimble, graceful people, the simple fact of the matter is that they are webbed to one another. And Peter has managed to snare one of those grappling hook gauntlets into the wall so that even with five other, mostly free hands there is some awkward twisting and manuevering to try and take care of everything.

The solevent spray is not particularly appealing, but it is going to work on that webbing. Just, you know, not as fast as they would probably both like. Stumbling as they jostle about, Peter manages to knock them both back into the door with a loud thump. And as he twists to try and get more of that solevent out and on the sticky, clinging strands of web fluid that still connect them. And manages to slam them into the door again, a little louder this time.

"Sorry, sorry, I know. This is why I don't use it all that much," he mutters, shuffling across the floor. "Look, just... this isn't working... just take the hand and put it where you want..." he says, surrendering both of those grappled appendages over to her so that she can do something about those grapples.

In the process he very nearly swings that dribbling web-shooter that's *still* leaking web-fluid all over the place right into the side of her head as she works on finding that release catch. "Woah, careful there. You do not want to get this in your hair. You have no idea what a pain it is to get out," he says, quickly holding that one hand well out to the side and away from them.

Which is when that huff and those footsteps sound, heading back down to the main floor.

They didn't say anything too incriminating, right?

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!

Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes...

The dead rising from the grave!

Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... MASS HYSTERIA!

...

A full ten minutes later, Felicia's finally changed clothes and washed enough of the dissolved web-goop off of her hands to be able to function.

Seriously. Who invented this stuff anywa... oh. Right.

She'd done what she could to help Peter, too, in the form of getting him towels or whatever else, though it always seemed that Peter was better at dealing with his own webbing than his victims. Maybe it's part of the Spider thing, like how he sticks to walls. Or maybe he's just better at handling it.

Whatever it is, she doesn't bail on him. They're right there together, getting dressed (if a bit hurriedly), and then she's taking his hands (the ones coming out of the sleeves of his hoodie) and smiling.

"Okay. Deep breath. It's going to be dine. She's going to blame me for _all_ of this, and I'll explain to her later that now that I have a boyfriend she needs to be more careful about walking in on me... that's all."

She's so confident, now that she's cleaned up in a new crop-top blouse and a pair of tight-fitting black leather pants instead of the evidence-covered Black Cat suit.

When he's ready -- they can both feel the pressure, so she doesn't push -- she opens the door and leads him down the stairs to the living room, where Lydia Hardy sits at the table, sipping a cup of tea.

"Mom, I'd like to introduce you to -- "

"Spider-Man," the older woman deadpans, standing up with a smug smile on her lips.

Well, shit.

It could have been worse, though, right?

At least she seemed to know exactly what was going on, and she didn't seem the least bit angry about it. In fact, she seems more than at little amused, much to Felicia's horror. She _could_ have thought all of those things she overheard were about something entirely different.

"How did you..." Felicia's shaking her head.

"It was in the news, darling. Spider-Man and Black Cat saved those people in Hell's Kitchen together? There were pictures, I knew who he was from the moment you told me Peter gave you that toy."

Felicia purses her lips. "It's not just a toy.." she mutters, though it doesn't even interrupt her mother's diatribe.

"You know I've always been able to tell when your father was lying to me, and you're much worse at it than he was," Lydia explains, and only then does she turn the turn the full weight of her gaze on Peter.

She's not a titan of industry.

She's not a menacing supervillain in a mech suit.

She's a petite older woman with short, low-maintenance hair who no longer cares to feast solely on lettuce to maintain her figure. She looks very much like she could be someone's grandmother, though Felicia was thirty-one years old and has no children.

She's the window of one of the world's best thieves. She raised their only daughter -- who arguably followed in her father's footsteps to become the world's best thief -- as a single mother for a good portion of her life. She has thrived amid organized crime and raised her daughter to have enough willpower to topple governments if she put her mind to it.

Those are the eyes she smiles at Peter with.

"I'm Lydia Hardy, dear. It's a pleasure to meet you. Won't you join us for tea?"

Peter Parker has posed:
The End of Days might not be quite upon them yet. But it is entirely possible that they will wish it was before they are done with this particular evening.

Is this what it is going to be like when things are sorted and he has the opportunity to finally introduce Felicia to May? Because he has been 'cured' or because he has no choice but to accept his new reality. Because if it is, he is starting to rethink Felicia's obvious reluctance to take that particular step. This whole thing is positively horrifying. Perhaps the only, single redeeming thing to consider, to look forward to is the fact that meeting can't possibly go quite as bad as this one, right?

Right?

There is pretty good reason to expect that they will not be having any fun and games with that webbing any time soon. Not after this. But finally the solevent -- no matter how funny it might smell -- starts to take effect, lets them untangle from one another and see what they can do about making themselves look presentable. Peter's notions that they might somehow manage to do it in a minute or two prove highly optomistic in the end and by the time they are untangled and somewhat cleaned up it is much closer to that ten minute mark.

Which really doesn't look good.

Then he is opening that bedroom door just a crack, peeking out to make sure that Felicia's mother isn't just there waiting for them before quickly snatching the backpack sitting just outside the door, hauling it in and rifling through it just long enough to make sure that nothing has been obviously disturbed. And tugging out the grey hoodie as well, tugging it on.

He is not exactly the picture of class and style that he might have hoped and there is an odd bulge here and there that he can't completely mask, though the sweatshirt is baggy enough that it does a reasonably good job of masking the fact that he has four extra arms just waiting to pop out, each set carefully folded tight against his sides, hands gripping one another behind his back.

"It doesn't look too obvious right?" he murmurs, a brief plantive note in his voice. He can't wear hoodies for the rest of his life, but they just have to get through tonight.

But Felicia at least seems calm and somewhat composed again -- at least outwardly and Pete lets out a long, slow breath, slipping a hand into hers as that door opens -- all the way this time -- and they start down the stairs.

Which is when Mrs. Hardy drops that little bombshell of her own.

It never even occured to him that anyone might put two and two together, that because Felicia Hardy and Peter Parker are involved, and since Spider-Man and the Black Cat seem to have a thing for one another... well, just do the math. And he can't help but let his mouth hang open, that surprised expression on his face certainly seeming to confirm her suspicions before he can think to even deny it.

But some of that surprise melts away as the older woman mentions the dinosaur that he gave her, his expression softening as he shoots a look towards his platinum girlfriend. "You told your mom about the dino?" he murmurs, grin threatening to spread over his face.

Sure, it's a little thing. But the fact that the gesture meant enough that she's discussed it with her mom? That means something. To the both of them clearly.

The comment about being able to tell when Felicia is lying only broadens his grin and he glances her way once more with arched brow, a sly note to his murmured words. "I wonder if she can give me any pointers. I might have a better idea when you're going to cheat in one of our games," he says softly before he is stepping off the bottom of the stairs.

He is, at both extremes both a little more at ease knowing that their strange behavior upstairs hasn't been badly misinterpreted. And a little intimidated at how formidable her mother is in her own right.

"Sorry about all the confusion Mrs. Hardy," he offers up apologetically, a sheepish smile on his face. "I'd love to."

Now he's a little bit back on familiar footing.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
Felicia's eyes had skimmed down Peter's body, hovering over the... well, they sort of looked like folds in the fabric? Not.. bulges? Not unless you knew what Peter looked like without the bulges...

Does it look too obvious?

"Not if you've never met Peter Parker, before..."

Her smile and tone aren't exactly confidence inspiring, but she is supportive. So, they have that going for them!

Then her arm had come through the one in the sleeve as she tugged him out. "Come on. We'll figure it out as we go..."

...

And then there's bombshell, and the couple are standing on the airs in front of Felicia's mom, who seems to have a very firm grasp on just about everything that's going on. She might not know exactly _why_ there are holes in the ceiling and the floor, but one can be pretty assured that she has some guesses that are closer to accurate than either Peter or Felicia would like them to be.

Not _everything_ they were doing was just innocently protecting Peter's secret identity.

Quite a bit of it was recovering from getting caught being playful. And some of that was really rather fun.

'You told your mom about the dino?'

"Don't you start with me, too, Spider," Felicia murmurs out of the corner of her mouth, smiling slyly at him despite the appraising gaze of her mother flicking between them.

The comment about getting pointers draws _another_ sidelong look from the Cat, but she says nothing to that one. It's her mother that speaks up, "Oh, it's a bit trial and error and a bit of natural. I expect you have ample of both, at this point. You'll get even get better over time. Just wait until you've been together twenty years."

Twenty years. That's a... number.

That's a... large number... of years.. to spend with someone.

Who's panicking?

I'm not panicking. You're panicking.

But then things seemed to be smoothing over. Peter's making his apology by way of greeting, actually heading over to join her, and Felicia is right behind him. Just smiling. Nothing to see here.

"Oh, Felicia, dear, the kettle's in the kitchen."

Which was the polite way to dismiss your child and send them on a mission to serve the drinks.

"I'll get you a cup," Felicia says, a little more quiet, a little more tense, as she leans and gives Peter a kiss on the cheek.

"I'd love some more," Lydia pipes up.

"I'll bring the kettle to the table," Felicia growls as pleasantly as she possibly can on her way by, though Lydia only seems even more pleased.

"Please, sit," Lydia offers to Peter, claiming her own seat at the table with that maternal way that elderly women have about them. "So, I have to tell you how _thrilled_ I was when I found out that Felicia was working with Spider-Man. You don't know how many years I've been trying to get her to _stop_ following in her father's footsteps..."

"Mom, Peter has six arms," Felicia blurts out from the kitchen while she was getting cups down. She wasn't even looking at them when she set it. Maybe she was looking for a reason to derail the conversation. Or maybe it was just a spontaneous utterance because... she snapped.

When she looks back, she looks over at Peter, some amount of apology in her eyes, but she's gesturing at him with a mug.

"What? She was _going_ to find out. Better than I tell her now than something else happens and she finds out the hard way."

Peter Parker has posed:
It is, to put it mildly, an imperfect situation all around.

The damage to the apartment might not be extensive, but it is certainly noticable and while the fact that Felicia's mother knows what's what with the both of them, it doesn't entirely free them from some of the implications. Just, kinda lessens them. A little.

It is also something of a nagging concern, at least in the back of Peter's head, that she was able to put the whole thing together. Admittedly there might not be many, perhaps anyone else who knows enough about either one of them that the association of the Black Cat and Spider-Man might also link up with the fact that Felicia Hardy and Peter Parker are also together.

There are probably also not many who are likely to be quite as sharp as her mother either, when it comes right down to it. Who have associated with two of the world's greatest cat burglars for so long that they have a little more instinct into this kind of world.

Still, it's something to keep in mind. Even if it isn't exactly a pressing concern. When it comes to potentially revealling his identity to the masses, the whole has grown four new arms seems to be a much more likely source of problems.

Still, for a moment at least Peter can forget a little of that. He can take a little solace in getting to see Felicia in another new and different light. One that he is not entirely familiar with.

Almost the entire time he has known her, she has been nearly unflappable. In control. Perfectly confident. And whether it is just the circumstances or whether it is because her mother, that composure seems just a liiiiiittle bit shakey.

"Twenty years, huh? Looks like I've got awhile to go before I have much hope of figuring you out," he comments, just barely managing to keep from having a full on grin slide over his expression, managing to keep it to a polite sort of smile. If only just. He seems a little less... phased by the implication but then while his life as Spider-Man might be completely crazy and subject to wild swings, life as Peter Parker has always been a little more conventional.

Of course conventional and Felicia Hardy don't really go together. Nothing about them is likely to be too conventional. But twenty years? That sounds kinda nice.

Finally flashing a grin her way, he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting it slip from his own, taking up that invite to go and join Lydia though he miiiight just cast a sidelong glance Felicia's way when they are seperated and she's sent on her errand to get more tea..

Nothing to do but plunge on ahead though and the invitation to sit is greeted with a smile and a nod, slipping into one of those chairs on the opposite side of the table. "Thank you," he replies instinctively, oddly thankful for those years of ingrained manners from his aunt and uncle.

He doesn't know what he was expecting from Felicia's mother, really. Oh, he can hear a little of her in the older woman's voice, see a little bit of her in those features. But it's definitely going to take a little time to get used to it all.

That her mother might not be keen on her operating on the wrong side of the law is... not exactly a surprise per se. At the end, that life did extract a toll he would imagine. But the fact that teaming up with Spider-Man would be the better option is, well, something of a relief. And while he shouldn't, he just can't help himself. "I mean, I try to be a good example..." he starts, maybe just shooting a bit of an amused look towards the kitchen.

Which is when Felicia abruptly cuts in and blurts out that little detail they had been trying to conceal.

Et tu, Felicia?

Look, he probably deserves it under the circumstances, but that comment makes him break off, makes him cough, and that growing surety is rocked back -- perhaps putting him back on an equal footing with his lady love. "Ahhh, it just happened earlier tonight. Hopefully it's not permanent," Peter manages awkwardly.

Peter Parker has posed:
Her daughters team-up with Spider-Man might not be looking quite so good anymore.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
"Oh! I didn't realize. Is _that_ why they call him Spider-Man?" comes Lydia's infuriating response -- at least to Felicia. The older woman was glancing over her shoulder at her daughter, who had mayyyyybe said that just to get a rise out of the unflappable woman and _still_ didn't manage to flap her.

'Ahhh, it just happened earlier tonight. Hopefully it's not permanent.'

"Oooooh. I see," Lydia says with more sympathy in her voice. "That sounds like a traumatizing experience. I can't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling."

Her voice is so soft and kind, just like Felicia's _can_ be. Sometimes. But then, the woman was a socialite before Felicia was ever born. She's had years of experience schooling her reactions, fitting in with society, and playing their games. Whether she's actually playing a game or she's grown tired games and has opted for utter sincerity is hard to tell on the surface.

She does look back up when Felicia comes over with a hot pad, the kettle, and two new cups, however. The tea was brewed in the pot, so when she refills her mother's cup, then Peter's, then hers, the tea's ready to drink.

"It's English Breakfast. I have cream, sugar, lemon if you like..." Felicia asks Peter, the consummate hostess, even though her eyes looking a little... tired. It had been a _long_ day for both of them, after all. And they were pushing into _two_ days for Felicia and Peter.

Lydia waits for Peter's answer rather than interrupting, just sipping her fresh cup of tea pleasantly, but after he has, she lifts her eyes to Felicia. "So, to be clear, Peter sprouted four extra limbs and your first instinct was to lock him in your bedroom?"

The table rattles when Felicia bumps it with her hip, turning to face her.

"Mom! It _wasn't_ like that. Can we..."

Deep breath.

"Can we please just start over? This _whole_ time we -- " She pauses, reaching out a hand to set on Peter's arm, a silent apology for speaking for him. " -- _I_ have been off-balance. We were just going to get some sleep..." Here, Lydia's eyebrows lift, but Felicia continues, undeterred. "...and then evaluate our options in the morning, once we're rested."

There's a hint of challenge in Lydia's aged eyes, a ghost of a flick of a smile, knowing she's put Felicia on her back foot. Maybe there's even a moment where she considers pressing the issue, but she lets out a soft sigh, herself, and nods.

"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I _have_ been trying to call you, but I can see that you've been busy. I'll finish this cup of tea, and then I'll be on my way. I promise."

Felicia's shoulders droop a little. "I'm not trying to get rid of you..."

But Lydia reaches over to pat Felicia's hand. "I know. You're both exhausted. One or two stories, and then you can go back to... sleeping."

Felicia expression falls. "_Stories_?"

"One or two," Lydia repeats, her eyes finally cutting back over to Peter with that matronly smiles. "I mean, unless she's told you all of them, already... there must be at least a couple she hasn't shared."

And by itself, that statement might be entirely innocent, but there's something about this woman that suggests that she knows exactly how many stories Felicia would have shared, even with the man she claims to love.

Zero.

Peter Parker has posed:
Really, Lydia's reaction is pretty impressive, at least to Peter.

There are probably not many women who could have the bombshell that their daughter is dating some six-armed masked vigilante dropped on them and take it quite so well.

Though maybe Peter shouldn't really be surprised. It would seem that Felicia takes after her mother in some notable respects. Still, taking it all in stride like this isn't quite what he would have expected. That her first reaction is not shock or dismay, but sympathy is, under the circumstances, definitely something of a relief to him.

The whole thing has been traumatic. And stressful. And while Pete might slowly be coming to terms with the entire situation he is not exactly disappointed that he will not have to justify the fact that he has managed to entangle Felicia in a pretty strange and potentially troublesome situation. Despite the obvious issues that they have gone over -- the difficulties this presents to his life as Peter Parker -- there are a few that they might have... glossed over.

LIke what if he continues to mutate? What if what is happening to him is somehow contagious? Those are the kind of things that might start to occur to him, to them, over time. And when it does? What's next? Where do they go from there?

Those could be the kind of concerns a mother might have for her daughter too.

But instead Peter just gets that sympathy -- whether practiced or truly genuine. And he's not going to complain about that.

Felicia might not look quite so content though. And again, that also eases a little of Pete's concerns. It humanizes her, adds a little more depth, a little more color.

He does not, however poke fun, and instead just takes the invitation. "A little cream is great, thank you," he says, that brief flicker of amusement easing as he notices the fatigue in her eyes and again reaches out for her hand, giving it a brief, gentle squeeze.

He does also feel compelled to jump to Felicia's defense in regards to the decision to hide as well, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "That was more me then anything else. I kinda raced us up there. It's new and strange and we're still trying to figure out how to deal with it. If it's just temporary or... if other changes are going to have to be made," he offers up.

Glancing Felicia's way, he offers up a nod of agreement, cheeks maybe flushing as her mother's brow lifts ever so slightly, perhaps not believing that they were just going to get some sleep. But forges ahead none the less. "It's been... a lot. And I don't know where I would be right now without your daughter," he agrees quietly.

Which is literally quite true. He might still be just racing through the city, trying to run away from his problems. Maybe on some rooftop wracked with despair over what has become of his life. This... this might be a little awkward.

But it's so much better then the alternative.

He otherwise leaves it to the two of them to sort out. Though the mention of stories does make the corners of his mouth quirk upwards slightly and again Peter shoots a sidelong glance Felicia's way. She has been his rock tonight. He adores her. He doesn't want to add to the stress of this day at all. But c'mon.

"I wouldn't mind hearing a story or two. Just while we finish up this tea," he chimes in.

Impulse versus reason. For all that Peter is a genius, impulse tends to win out an awfully large amount of the time with him.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
And it got even worse than all of that!

In addition to all of Peter's worries, there was a ticking time bomb on Felicia realizing _she_ was the reason Kraven showed up spontaneously. That her bad luck is why Peter got shot and had to be taken to a doctor at a SHIELD safehouse. That being near her was the only time he was losing his powers. That her mother showed up unexpectedly and they got all tangled up in their own apparatus because of _her_ innate ability to WIN regardless of the detriment of everyone around her (even if, that time, she did get caught up in her own trap). That somehow her presence in his life was why he was growing extra limbs... and God forbid it get any worse.

It was only a matter of time before Felicia realized she was going to love Peter Parker to death -- that the best way to keep him safe was to stay as far away from him as she could.

And that was not going to be a pleasant day for either of them.

For now, though, Felicia returns the squeeze of her hand a small, grateful nod, before going back to the kitchen to fetch a container of milk and a spoon. None of it is missed by Lydia, of course, who continues to watch as she's talking, taking in little details letting them disturb her train of thought.

The fact that Peter jumps to Felicia's defense seems to surprise Lydia, however. Enough to look over at him. To _listen_ in a way that showed she wasn't merely brushing off his explanation and to spend a moment in contemplation -- not just of his version of the events, but of the statement he makes after it about Felicia.

She smiles. Quiet, motherly approval that just might make one think everything -- literally everything -- she did or said was some sort of test.

Meanwhile, Felicia's claiming the seat next to Peter, adding a dollop of cream to both Peter's cup and her own, sitting each before she sets the spoon on the hot plate. Lydia doesn't seem to miss this, either.

"She is her father's daughter," Lydia says softly after another sip of her own tea. "Walter was passionate about everything he did -- whether it was his appreciation of the arts, his next heist, or his family, he put everything he had into it and held nothing back. He was a doting father that loved Felicia more than life itself."

There's a little twitch of a smile at the corners of Felicia's lips, though her eyes still seem fixed on her cup of tea -- even if she does lean ever so slightly against Peter while she does, just a light pressure against his shoulder.

"And I will never be convinced that there has ever been a more amorous, generous lover -- "

"MOM!"

Lydia chuckles quietly to herself, smiling into her tea cup. That one was definitely on purpose.

"Just being honest, Felicia. You're thirty-one years old, and you've never given me the slightest hint that you were in love, before. Most daughters would have been through this routine at least a half-dozen times or so, by now. I have lost time to make up for. Besides, he should know your father as more than a headline, don't you think?"

There's no answer forthcoming to that question, but Felicia does turn her eyes quietly up to Peter, and there's something unfathomable about them... maybe like she can't believe he's sitting here, that _they_ are sitting here, having this conversation. That after years of calling him 'Spider' and sneaking out of museums to get away from him, _this_ is a moment of their lives together.

Some part of her doesn't seem know what to do with that or how to even begin to react to it. But somehow, despite all of the frustration at her mother and embarrassment and bickering, it seems to have... helped. To take down another wall. To let him in a little more.

"She gets her love of art from Walter," Lydia explains as she watches the look on her daughter's face -- the love in her eyes as she gazes at Peter -- and says nothing at all about it. "He took her down into his studio, and the two of them would paint for hours. Sometimes I'd have to go fetch them, just to convince them to eat _one_ meal, an

Felicia Hardy has posed:
, and I'd find them both covered in paint, laughing about who knows what."

Felicia's eyes glass over, and she turns them back down to her tea, taking a sip. "I always said I can appreciate it that much more, now, for having attempted it myself... and failed spectacularly." Humor tugs at the corner of her lips, replacing the sadness.

Peter Parker has posed:
Life certainly can be funny sometimes. Sadly, it is not always in a 'haha' sort of way.

It hasn't even occured to Peter that any of his misfortunate could in any way to laid at Felicia's feet. Her abilities on that front are a little esoteric and inscrutable. Ill-defined and difficult to truly assess. Only truly appreciated when seen in action.

Would Peter hold it against her if indeed those abilities were somehow influencing things in any way? Unlikely. But then it is far more likely that she might start to have those sorts of questions pop into her head then he ever would.

Afterall, he has had the notorious Parker Luck long before he met her. It has reared it's head on a regular basis even when they have gone months without running into one another. And when you come right down to it, trying to seperate out just what might be caused by her abilities and what might just be random chance is all but impossible.

At least that is what Peter would most likely be quick to assert. Probably even if there were some significant evidence to the contrary.

But it is just one more looming obstacle for them to face, one more potential road block in their way.

Because, you know, they don't already have enough of those to try and deal with.

Again he flashes a smile over towards the platinum-blonde as she adds the cream to his tea. It might not normally be his drink of choice, but he's pretty adaptable. He sprouted four extra arms only a few hours ago and now he's sitting at a table drinking tea with Felicia's mother. He had damn well better be pretty adaptable.

That love and affection that flickers through her eyes is equally apparent in his own and as she settles herself into that seat beside him his hand sneaks out to find hers once more, beneath the table, fingers curling there with her own. Both taking a little reassurance from the gesture and giving what he can. She might need it afterall.

Especially when her mother launches into the comments about her father's amorous nature.

With that cup raised, taking a sip from it, even Peter almost chokes at that, quickly setting the cup back down and covering his mouth to hide away that grin, not even daring to look over towards Felicia

It's a little hard to decide if this is going to make facing the prospect of meeting May easier, or make it so much worse to contemplate. On the one hand it couldn't get much moe awkward, right? On the other hand, that suspiciously sounds like it could be a challenge to the universe.

At the very least his aunt will probably not be sharing any sotries about Uncle ben's prower. Almost definitely not. Oh god, please don't let her do anything like that.

From the sounds of it, not matter that she has a number of years on him, there haven't been a whole lot of men in Felicia's life that quite rose to the standards of meeting her mother. Merited a mention about some little gesture like giving a little plastic dinosaur. The grin fades enough to drop his hand, a more genuine smile there as his eyes flicker back towards her and again those fingers tighten just a little around her own.

"I think it's nice, when you can find and share a passion like that," Pete agrees, maybe wondering just a little of how much of that ties into the passion she always injected into her thefts. How much is just the pursuit of challenge and excitement. And how much might have more to do with recapturing a little of what she had with her father. Certainly he owes at least a little of his love for science to his aunt and uncle's encouragement there.

"If you still have any old examples, I'd love to see them sometime," Pete admits with a smile.

Felicia Hardy has posed:
It's staggering, the power of slipping her fingers through Peters and feeling him squeeze.

If she'd been asked a year ago, even, she'd have said that holding hands is okay -- it's thing that kids do and kind of makes you feel like you're pretending at something meaningful.

But now, there are these moments where she doesn't even realize she _needs_ it -- she's just never thought about it as a 'need' before. But then Peter takes her hand, and it's like a vague sense of rushing waters in her ears suddenly quiets or the sensation of driving too fast towards the edge of a cliff suddenly slows.

It's like time itself slows down, and it's kind one of the best feelings in the world.

'I think it's nice, when you can find and share a passion like that,' Peter says.

And Felicia turns to look at him with another curious expression and a little smile. It was an innocuous enough statement, but she obviously has thoughts. They already _did_ share several passions, themselves.. atleast one or two that could even be done in public (for the most part) like going out on patrol. It might not have been her first choice, but Peter loved it and she loved sharing it with him... for the few times they had, now. But then there's the obvious joke playing in her eyes before she says it, too. "Does that mean you'll let me take you on a heist?"

"Felicia," Lydia snaps.

"What?! _He_ said..."

'If you still have any old examples...'

"I think that's -- " Lydia starts, sounding excited, but Felicia cuts her off with a shake of her head.

"No. Sorry. They were all destroyed. Burned up in the Great Fire of 2010. _Tragic_ year." Felicia makes a little clicking noise with her mouth. "It's too bad, really. I mean, they were... something."

Lydia, meanwhile, has fixed Felicia with an impatient glare. "Are you finished?" she sighs, not waiting for an answer before looking back to Peter with renewed warmth. "There was no fire. I still have many, and I'd be glad to share some with you. Besides, I think having both of you by the house would be a wonderful idea. It would give this old woman something to look forward to."

"Mom, you're not _old_," Felicia groans.

Lydia beams. "Why Felicia! I think that might be the nicest thing you've said to me all night."

Felicia's eyes roll to the ceiling, squeezing Peter's hand a little tighter.

But then Lydia's finishing the last of her tea, setting it back down on the table, and rising to her feet. "And I believe that does it for me this evening. Peter, it was lovely to meet you. I really can't tell you how happy I am that Felicia's found you. Maybe I gave up hopes for grandchildren too soon... here's hoping that you get that extra arm situation worked out sooner rather than later."

There's that mischievous twinkle back in the woman's eyes, and Felicia's standing as well, finally releasing Peter's hand.

"Okay! Aaaaaand, I'm changing the locks. This has been great, Mom. It's a shame you have to go so soon..."

"Oh, I could stay..."

"No you really can't."

But for as much as they might bicker, Felicia is moving around the table to hug her mother, which seems to be entirely expected. It lingers, warm and affectionate as the two of them laugh softly, before Lydia starts to retrieve her purse and work her way towards the door.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, dear. Do everything in your power to keep him, hmmm?" She smiles past Felicia to Peter. "A mother has an instinct for these things..." And then back to Felicia. "And don't forget to fix the holes you made..."

"Mmhmmm. Any more interior decorating tips?" Felicia sighs.

"Since you're asking.."

"How about just a thanks for the tea and a goodnight?"

"You mean the tea I made myself?"

"_Goodnight_, Mom."

"Goodnight, Peter," Lydia says with a little wave before she turns to bustle back down the all, leaving Felicia to close the door behind her and _thump_ her back against it, blowing out a long breath.

"I didn't even get a goodnight. _You_ got a goodnight. I'm not even her favorite, anym

Felicia Hardy has posed:
"I didn't even get a goodnight. _You_ got a goodnight. I'm not even her favorite, anymore. How is that even possible?"

Peter Parker has posed:
It is easy to forget just how much can be conveyed with no more then a simple touch, even if it is just a matter of holding hands.

It is easy to forget just how much communication is, in fact, no verbal. But little moments like there are a good reminder. Peter doesn't need her to say that she is anxious or uncomfortable. He doesn't need to ssay anything in return. He can just reach out and take her hand, curl fingers around her own. Make sure that she knows that he *knows*. That he is there to do what he can to help.

Even if it is just this.

It was, in fact, the exact same for him only hours earlier. Just her, taking the effort to reach out, to take one of his new hands in her own. Not to recoil or let any of the uncertainty about what all these changes might mean show. Just the warm of her touch, the reminder that she is there for him no matter what.

Even when new appendages are popping out of his body with no explanation.

If that isn't love, well, Peter doesn't know what it is.

Despite himself, the suggestion that maybe -- since he is a big believer in shared passions -- just maybe he should be willing to give a polite burglary or two a try draws a flickering smile from him. Though again, this time he raises his hand more to conceal the reaction from her mother when she offers that sharp response.

"Maybe if it's for a good cause," he manages, trying to regain control of his facial expression before dropping that hand once more.

Call him crazy, but Peter is almost certain that there was no Great Fire of 2010. It's always possible of course, but he has a good inkling. Eyes glint with amusement as he watches mother and daughter fence back and forth, stil enjoying the chance to get to see this new and different side of Felicia. The normalcy of it somehow a balm after an evening that has otherwise been anything but.

"That sounds lovely Mrs. Hardy," Peter agrees at once. I mean, it would be rude not to agree to go, right? And not just because he might get a chance to sample some of Felicia's portfolio of art. Though that is certainly a draw.

Chances are there will be pictures too. So many pictures. Felicia will almost certainly be flooded with the Parker Family Photo albums when all of this is sorted out, when they can finally go and visit May without having to explain why her favorite nephew has four extra arms. But he might just get there first.

So while he gives her hand another reassuring squeeze, he does shoot a sidelong grin Felicia's way too. He is definitely not going to let her put off that visit -- well, pending anything more pressing that comes up at least.

Then the tea is done and they are standing up, the little surprise visit heading towards it's inevitable conclusion. Even if it is not before Lydia gets in one more little sally to try and embarass her daughter.

This time Peter doesn't even try to hide the grin that shoots across his face and he simply dips his head in acknowledgement. "It was lovely meeting you too, even if the circumstances were a little... unusual," he agrees. Unusual? Practically comical, at least in retrospect. It didn't feel very funny at the time. More... terrifying.

At the risk of ending up spending his first night in his temporary home on the couch, a gleam not unlike the one in the older woman's eyes passes through Pete's as well. "And don't worry, things are well in hand. I'm given to understand that the exchange of plastic dinosaurs is even better then rings. So you never know, you might not have long to wait."

Yeah. He's playing with fire.

"Good night," he calls out after them, lifting a hand but otherwise giving Felicia a moment alone with her mother, flashing that grin at her when she comes back into the main room. "I am pretty charming. I mean, you couldn't resist this face either," he poitns out mildly.

Then he holds out arms towards her. "That. That was an experience."

Felicia Hardy has posed:
"Not long to wait?!"

Her mother's gone. The door is closed. Felicia makes sure it's locked and then turns to make her way back to Peter with deflated shoulders and eyes that are so full of... everything.

Love. Mirth. Exhaustian.

Desire.

How is it that every time they got alone together, desire always crept back into her eyes, even after an ordeal like this one? She just never could seem to get enough of her Spider.

Maybe especially because he took such a disastrous situation and not only knocked it out of the park, he comforted her while he was doing it. She may not have appreciated how sexy a talent that was when she was sixteen, but at thirty-one, watching him navigate _that_ situation as well as he did was sexy as hell.

"YOU are not funny. You THINK you're funny, but you're not."

So why is she smiling so much she's right on the verge of laughter, then? Why are her eyes twinkling like that? Her hips swaying like that until she's right up against him, leaning up to kiss him?

Yeah, he's funny. The charming jerk.

She slides easily into those waiting arms, but she keeps her hands lowered to his waist, grabbing the bottom of his hoodie and already starting to work it up and over his head.

"_That_ was an experience. This whole night.. and the day before has been an experience. I don't remember the last time I slept. I'm running _entirely_ on adrenaline, at this point, and _this_ cannot be comfortable for you."

Yeah. It's all about his bunched up arms and has nothing to do with the fact that she'd rather him walk around shirtless. Sure. But why can't it be both?

"And if you recall, it wasn't your _face_ I was first interested in, Spider," she muses, smile still so bright it makes her eyes shine. "But, having gotten used to it, it's one I quite enjoy kissing every night before I go to sleep." She gives a little shrug. "Even when you're already asleep. Not sorry."