Gwen Stacy had always believed she could handle chaos.
Growing up in Queens, losing her father young, clawing her way through MIT on scholarships and sheer stubbornness—she'd learned early that life didn't wait for you to be ready. You adapted. You kept moving. You smiled through the cracks.
But loving Alex Kane was teaching her something new: sometimes the chaos wasn't outside. Sometimes it lived inside the person you loved most.
She sat cross-legged on the fire escape outside his apartment, late August heat still clinging to the metal railing. Below, the city thrummed—sirens, laughter, distant music. Inside, Alex was on the phone again—low voice, clipped words, probably Aether or one of his anonymous contacts. She didn't eavesdrop. She didn't need to. She knew the tone now: the one he used when the world was tilting again.
When he finally stepped out, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair messy from running his hands through it, she patted the space beside her.
He sat. Close enough that their shoulders touched. Close enough that she could feel the tension coiled in him like a spring.
"Bad one?" she asked quietly.
He exhaled through his nose. "Just… checking on someone. Making sure they're still breathing."
Gwen nodded. She didn't ask who. She'd learned there were names he carried like stones—Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Bucky. People he helped from the shadows, people he refused to let fall.
She reached over, slipped her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers immediately—warm, steady, a little too tight.
"You're shaking," she said softly.
He looked down at their joined hands like he hadn't noticed. "Adrenaline crash. Happens sometimes."
"Or guilt," she added gently.
Alex's jaw tightened. Then he let out a small, broken laugh. "You see too much."
"I see you," she corrected. "And I love you. All of it. The hero part, the scared part, the part that thinks if he stops moving the whole world collapses."
He turned to face her fully. The city lights caught in his eyes—gold flecks in the brown she'd memorized months ago.
"I don't want you to carry this," he said, voice rough. "You deserve normal. Dates without checking escape routes. Nights without wondering if I'm coming home."
Gwen cupped his face with her free hand, thumb brushing the line of his cheekbone.
"I didn't fall in love with normal," she whispered. "I fell in love with the guy who builds drones to save strangers. Who remembers every birthday in his friend group. Who looks at me like I'm the only quiet place in the storm."
His eyes searched hers—raw, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see.
"I'm terrified I'll lose you," he admitted, barely audible. "That one day the wrong person will find out what I can do, and they'll come for you to get to me."
Gwen's heart clenched.
"Then let me be the one thing you don't have to protect alone," she said. "Let me stand beside you. Not behind you. Not in front. Beside."
Alex swallowed hard. "You don't know what that could cost."
"I know what it costs to watch you carry it by yourself," she countered. "And I'm not willing to pay that price anymore."
A long silence. The city kept breathing around them.
Then Alex leaned in—slow, careful, like he was afraid she'd vanish if he moved too fast. Their foreheads touched.
"I love you," he whispered, voice cracking on the words. "More than the powers. More than the company. More than any plan I've ever made."
Gwen's eyes stung. "I know. And I love you back. All the shadows. All the light. Every version of you."
He kissed her then—slow, deep, desperate in the gentlest way. Not claiming. Not escaping. Just… needing. Her fingers slid into his hair, holding him close; his arms wrapped around her waist like she was the only solid thing left in the world.
When they finally parted, breathing uneven, Gwen rested her forehead against his again.
"Promise me something," she murmured.
"Anything."
"When it gets heavy—when the calls come at 3 a.m., when the shadows get too loud—come to me first. Before Aether. Before the drones. Before you disappear into another plan."
Alex closed his eyes. "I promise."
She smiled—small, real, a little shaky. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Alex Kane."
He laughed—soft, relieved, almost boyish. "Worst punishment ever."
They stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in each other, city lights flickering below, the weight of the world still there but shared now.
Later, inside the apartment, Gwen curled against his side on the couch while he scrolled through Aether's overnight reports. She traced idle patterns on his forearm, feeling the faint scars he never talked about—the ones from before, from whatever life he carried in silence.
"You're thinking about her again," she said quietly. Not jealous. Just knowing.
Alex stilled. "Wanda?"
Gwen nodded against his shoulder. "You get this look. Like you're holding space for someone who's still falling."
He set the tablet aside. Turned to face her fully.
"I care about her," he admitted. "She's been through hell. She's still going through it. I want her to know she's not alone. But that doesn't change what I feel for you."
Gwen searched his face. "I know. And I'm not asking you to stop caring. I'm asking you to let me help carry that too. If she ever needs a safe place… if she ever needs someone who understands what it's like to love someone who saves the world instead of living in it… I'm here."
Alex stared at her—stunned, grateful, a little overwhelmed.
"You're incredible," he whispered.
She smiled. "I'm just in love with an incredible man."
He pulled her close again, burying his face in her hair.
The city kept moving outside.
Inside, something new was settling.
Not just love.
Partnership.
A promise that whatever came next—heroes, shadows, fractured teams, borrowed powers—they would face it together.
Gwen pressed a kiss to his temple.
And for the first time in a long time, Alex let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to save the world alone.
(Word count: 1007)