"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Peter asks as he looks up to the sky bridge where he left Beck. "It's a big risk, you know, and he's already shot."

"I need to." I reply and grip his hand. "I need him to know what he did and who he did it to. He'll spend the rest of his life paying for it, and I want to look him in the eyes as he realizes he lost more than he knew."

I focus on the shadows under our feet and push us into the air where a familiar SHIELD agent watches over a few agents putting handcuffs on Beck. "Give her a minute." He tells them, and they disperse.

"Well, well, well. It looks like the elusive Phantom emerged to help catch me." He grins wickedly. "I've heard some people are looking for you. They're even offering a pretty penny for information."

"Too bad you won't be able to collect then, huh?" I question and retract the lower part of my mask. "You know, I've been thinking about all the ways to make you pay for what you did."

"So you must be the special girl Peter was telling me about."

"That's part of it." I crouch down to his level and grin. "Let's just say I have lots of personal reasons to wanna see you hurt."

"Oh really, why's that?"

"I'd rather make you feel the damage you've done. You stole my family's story, hurt someone I love, and tried to taint the memory of Tony Stark."

"Tony Stark was a weak, pathetic man who hid behind his suits and money."

I use the shadows in his body to squeeze his heart at that comment. "No, he really wasn't. He cared about people. He was smart and encouraging. I'm not saying he was perfect, but he's an infinitely better man than you could ever dream of being."

"Oh yeah?" Beck questions with gritted teeth, and I feel Peter step forward to protect me. "How would you know anything about him?"

"You don't have to do this." Peter whispers as he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"It's okay." I turn from him and lean closer, "I know because I'm his daughter." Realization dawns on Beck's face, twisted in the painful realization that he lost a prime chance. I increase the pressure against his heart. "You should thought twice before you went after my Dad's good name—before you went after Peter."

Peter's hand finds mine, and he holds them together to get me to release the pressure in Beck's chest. Once it does, he begins gasping and sputtering for breath, a trail of dribble running down his chin. I stare at him, venom lacing my voice as I calmly tell him. "Remember, Quentin. I know who you are and where you're going. So next time you even think about finishing your little vendetta, I'll finish what I just started."

I stand to my feet and offer Beck one last devilish smile as we leave. Except, the moment we're far enough away, all my energy dissipates. There's nothing left after the rage and bitterness that's been overtaking me, and I wonder if I would feel better to have put Beck down for good.

It fades into static as Peter wraps his arms around me and lets me cry. I hold him impossibly close and just let myself feel everything that's been bottled up for so long. All the while, Peter just calms me down as he himself starts to break down.

"I'm so sorry." I cry against him. "None of this should have happened to you."

"It shouldn't have happened at all, but it did." Peter tells me, and I just relish in being back in his arms.

We stay like that for a long moment. Neither of us are willing to break away for fear of losing the other entirely all over again. It's only right now that I come to the realization—and decision—that if Peter were to ask me to come back with him again, I'd agree.

For now, he seems content not broaching the subject. He just pulls alway slightly and takes my hand as we head out to find Happy. When we finally catch up with him, he practically beams as he sees our intertwined hands. "I'm happy to see you two worked things out."

"I am too." I whisper and lean against Peter.

"Before I forget, Peter, May called. I told her you were fine, and that I'd make sure you'd get home safely." Happy pauses to offer me a questioning look. "Is there anywhere specific you want me to drop you off?"

"Actually, can we have a minute, Happy?" Peter asks and turns to me. "Look, I know things are still dangerous for you, and that you don't want to come back and put everyone at risk, but hear me out. I will do whatever it takes to keep you home and help you with this. We can find you a safe place to live and keep you hidden while we continue looking. I just—I don't want to go through what we did the last six months again. So name what it will take for you to come back with me, and I'll do everything I can to make it happen."

"Okay." I whisper back.

"Wait," he pauses, eyes tracing my features for any sign of a lie or joking, "really?"

"Yeah," I breathe out and feel the tension and weight of the past six months dissolve for a second. "But I can't promise it will be easy or even for very long. I'll have to find a place to hide out and take a lot of precautionary measures—"

"Hey," He whispers, "I meant what I said, I'll do whatever it takes. We can go home and work together to finally get to the bottom of this."

"I wish it was that simple, but I'm willing to try. Just know that at the first sign of trouble, I will leave. There's no way I'll risk the Reaper coming after you because they want my head." I collapse into a chair with a sigh. "I've seen what they do firsthand, and it would kill me if anything like that happened to you or anyone else."

"Can I ask?" Peter asks softly as he sits next to me, and I lean into him. "Do you wanna talk about it—you know, everything that's happened?"

"Not everything." I reply and shake off all the bad memories I've desperately tried to put behind me. "Still, I'll tell you what I can." The next few hours are spent with Peter and I nestled against each other. He stays quiet throughout the whole thing; his hand reaches to find mine whenever I start getting close to crying. That mostly happens when I talk about everything I've seen—from the data collected to the methods they used to get it.

"Oh my god. I—I had no idea." I can feel his tears hitting my shoulder as he pulls me impossibly closer. "I promise though, you're safe now, and we're gonna stop whoever is behind this. Okay?"

"Okay, but we have to make it through the Reaper first."

"And the Reaper is?"

"A group of people with talents. Most of them are assassins or hackers, but each of them serves one purpose—to make sure you have nothing to live or fight for when they come for you. Hiring them costs insane amounts of money and a dark web contact or two, which means whoever is behind the Trials realized I was after them and gave my name to the Reaper. It's why I ran when I did. Claire called me when she found out, and by the next morning, I was branded an international terrorist.

"It's why I couldn't contact you or anyone. I only gave Happy a burner phone that I could call in case of serious emergency. There's no way to tell who is part of the Reaper, and they're good at what they do. So I kept going until—until ARTI told me you were going to be in Venice, that is. I missed you too much not to."

"I'm glad you did." He whispers with a soft grin as his fingers play with my hair. It almost makes me laugh when his eyes keep shifting down to it, and finally, he asks, "So what happened to your hair? Why did you cut it short?"

That's when I let out an actual laugh despite the stressful reasons it happened. "I figured you were gonna ask eventually. I—uh—I burnt my hair taking down a base in Siberia of all places, and I had a bit of a panic attack after that and cut my hair. I kept it short after that. It reminded me of Nat."

"It looks good on you."

I shake my head at him with a mock glare. "Your turn, I wanna hear everything I missed."

We end up talking for hours, about everything from Mr. Harrington's awkward stories to how everyone learned to cope with the affect of the Blip. The entire time, I realize this is the first time I've felt relaxed—felt safe since I got the phone call from Claire six months ago. I actually feel like I don't have to think about who could be watching and waiting.

Peter seems to notice my eyes drifting close. So he finds one of the blankets tucked away, drapes it over us, and puts on a movie. It makes me wonder how much more I've missed while I was gone. Peter was the obvious—right next to sleepovers and sneaking juice pops with Morgan, reminiscing and talking over projects with Mum, and learning more about my Dad from Happy and Rhodey.

It's silly, but that's all I want. I don't care if I'm only seventeen. I know what I want in life—and who I want to be there to share it with. It would be a blatant lie if I said I thought Peter was't it for me, and judging from the vague letter my grandpa left for me, I'm right.

I adjust my head on his chest so I can hear his heartbeat falling in rhythm with mine. Peter's free hand reaches for mine, which brings a smile to my face as the exhaustion weights on my eyelids, and all I can think is, "yeah. I want Peter Parker to be part of my forever."