Peter got home from patrol about half an hour ago, and Grace is finishing up dinner while he washes up. It's just spaghetti, so it's nothing too difficult, and it allows her to keep an eye on Tasha, who's sitting in her high chair. She has some toys in front of her, keeping her occupied until she decides she's hungry. Grace could feed her now probably, but she isn't fussy yet, and Peter wanted to do it.

Tasha babbles, and Grace mimics the noise, laughing. As she turns back towards the stove, though, her laughter abruptly stops.

There, right on the counter, sits a spider. Not a tiny one, either, but one about as big as a quarter. She jumps away immediately, half hoping the thing will walk onto the stove and just die on its own, but it simply sits there, blocking Grace from her stirring spoons. She gags, looking away from it. "Peter!"

"What, what's wrong?" he asks, jogging in from the bedroom, his hair still damp from his shower. Grace just tries not to gag again, pointing to the menace on the counter.

"Oh, cool. Hey, little buddy. Where'd you come from?" He puts the little guy on a paper plate, then carries him over to Grace on his way to the window.

She takes one look and gags again, going to the other side of the room. "Please get your 'little buddy' out of here so I can stir my noodles in peace."

"I..." Peter starts, surprised. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously! Get him out."

Peter numbly opens the window, putting the spider outside. "I... I can't believe it."

"What?"

"I literally had a baby with you and I never even knew that you're afraid of spiders."

"I'm not afraid of spiders," Grace protests, gingerly making her way over to the stove again. "I just... dislike them."

Peter closes the window, rolling his eyes. "Oh, yes, of course, because you're not afraid of anything. My mistake. You're fearless."

"Precisely."

"Still, I mean... I'm literally Spider-Man, and you never thought to tell me that you're afr-" she shoots him a look, so he corrects himself "- that you dislike spiders?"

She shrugs, stirring the noddles. "It just never came up."

"How did it never come up?"

"I don't know."

His brows furrow as he squints at her, getting suspicious. "Unless you were purposely hiding it from me."

She turns to him abruptly. "Are you on something?"

Peter shakes his head, wondering at the circumstances. "I just can't believe this."

"Oh, my gosh, you're so dramatic."

"I... I gotta call Ned. He has to know about this."

"What for?"

"I need to talk to somebody else about this. Someone else has to know. This is just... it's unbelievable."

Grace sighs, turning to her daughter. "Tasha, I'm afraid you'll have to put up with this for a while; he'll be talking about it at least until you go to college."

"I really just can't believe it. Spider-Man's wife doesn't like spiders."

"Well, I can't blame her at all, 'cause I don't either."

"But why?"

"What do you mean why? Just look at them. They're..." she grimaces "... disgusting."

Peter crosses his arms. "You know, if you keep talking like this, our baby is gonna be influenced into not liking spiders."

"So?"

"She'll think negatively about them because she's heard you saying negative things."

"About spiders. That could save her life, you know."

"Only some of them are dangerous, and the one that was on the counter was not."

"Still gross."

He gasps. "So you're calling me gross?"

"Peter, you're not a spider."

"I'm Spider-man."

"Exactly! Man!" she shouts, waving the spoon as she gestures.

"I just feel like I've been lied to, okay?" he replies, finally getting a spoon and some delicious pureed carrots. "Like my whole life has been a lie."

"You're being dramatic. Just because I don't like spiders doesn't mean I don't like you. And if Tasha ends up not liking them, that doesn't mean she won't like you, either."

Peter still isn't convinced, and he looks at his daughter, who's looking eagerly at the food in his hands. It hits him. "I have an idea."

"Oh, boy."

"Let's get a tarantula."

"Absolutely not-"

"Tasha can grow up around it, so she'll be used to it and she'll see that spiders aren't bad — at least, some of them. And you can over your fea- dislike."

"No. I don't want a tarantula in my house."

"But you said you wanted a pet!"

"I said I wanted a dog, not a tarantula."

"We can have both."

"No."

"Aren't I the one making the important decisions around here?" he reminds her.

"And you said you would consult me first before every one you made," she fires back.

"Exactly, so, compromise."

"If we were talking about basically anything else I would try to compromise with you, but this is one thing I will not be moved on."

"Oh, come on."

"No."

"Okay, if I can't move you... Tasha can."

Grace looks to her baby, then back at her husband. "Peter, don't use our daughter's adorableness to get what you want."

"I'm not!" he argues. "But as a member of the family, Tasha should have a say on the family pets."

"Okay, then, ask her. See what she says."

To Grace's surprise, Peter actually does it, sitting down next to her. "Tasha, sweetie, do you want to a get tarantula?" Tasha turns to her dad with a one-toothed smile, eyes on her food, and Peter gestures to her. "See?"

Grace rolls her eyes, turning off the stove. "She didn't say anything. She didn't answer. Tasha, do you want a tarantula?"

In response, she babbles something unintelligible, eyes still locked on those carrots.

"See?!" Peter repeats.

"That was hardly a yes or no," Grace argues, straining the cooked noodles.

"Well, she hasn't actually said any words yet, because that probably won't happen for another month or so, so I would take that as a yes."

"She was simply babbling, which as you know has hardly any meaning beyond the fact that she's trying to mimic the sounds that we make."

"We say yes and no."

"That didn't sound like-"

"Come on. Look at her. Look in her eyes. She wants a tarantula," Peter says, opening the carrots.

Grace walks over to her daughter. "Tasha, do you want a puppy?" This time, she babbles something that sounds close to, "Eggs," kicking her legs with impatience.

Peter scoops up some carrots. "If what she said before wasn't a yes, then that wasn't a yes either."

"Well, it was closer than what she answered you with."

"Either way, I think we should still get both."

"What happened to her having a say? If she doesn't want a tarantula-"

"We don't know what she wants."

"Dada!" Tasha insists, grabbing her father's hand, trying to pull the spoon closer.

Grace and Peter stop, eyes wide. Peter turns to her with all the love in the world, but still no carrots close enough to eat. "She said... That was... That was her first word. Dada..."

"Are you crying?" Grace asks, looking at his glassy eyes.

"Yes."

"Dada," Tasha repeats, hands still holding his.

"You know what, I'm not mad that she didn't say mama first is because that was hilarious," Grace says. In any case, that was her first word, too.

Peter finally gives his daughter some carrots. "I gotta tell May and Ned about this."

"I'm already calling Mom," Grace replies, phone in hand.

Tasha turns to her. "Mama."

Grace's heart swells, and her eyes turn misty. Peter sniffs. "Are you crying now, too?"

"Yes."