For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Peter surfaced from a deep, dreamless sleep unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't the abrupt, jarring return to consciousness that usually followed a night of patrol; it was a slow, gentle drift into awareness, like floating up from the bottom of a calm, warm sea. The psychic echoes were gone. The high-pitched ringing in his mind was silent. There was only stillness.
He became aware of the steady, rhythmic beat against his back – Diana's heart. He was curled on his side, spooned against her back, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, her hand resting trustingly on top of his. Her breathing was a soft, even whisper against the back of his neck. In the profound quiet of her room, bathed in the soft, grey light of a new dawn, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace, a rightness so complete it felt like the natural state of the universe.
He lay there for a long time, simply existing in that perfect stillness, memorizing the feel of her solid warmth against him, the unique scent of her skin mingled with the faint, lingering aroma of their intimacy. He thought back to the raw, shuddering vulnerability he had shown her, the psychic wreckage M.O.D.O.K. had left in his mind, and the way she had simply held him, absorbed his pain, and offered him sanctuary. She hadn't just healed his body; she had mended something deeper, something fractured within his soul. The love he felt for her was no longer a terrifying, abstract concept; it was a quiet, steady, life-affirming force, as real and essential as the air he breathed.
He shifted slightly, wanting to see her face, and felt her stir against him. She turned in his arms, her movements slow and languid, her eyes fluttering open. They were clear, calm, and held a depth of affection that mirrored his own. A slow, soft smile touched her lips.
"Good morning," she whispered, her voice a low, husky purr.
"Morning," he whispered back, leaning in to kiss her. It was a kiss of profound tenderness, a silent conversation held in the soft pressing of lips, a reaffirmation of the deep, quiet bond they had forged in the crucible of the previous night.
They didn't rush. There was no frantic energy, no immediate need to leap into the demands of the day. They simply existed in that space, their bodies tangled, their hands idly exploring the familiar terrain of each other's skin. He traced the elegant line of her collarbone, marveling at the strength beneath the softness. She mapped the faint, fading bruises on his ribs, her touch a gentle, healing balm.
Eventually, the mundane needs of the body asserted themselves. Hunger. Thirst. The need for caffeine.
"Coffee?" he murmured against her hair.
"A necessary component for facing the mortal world," she agreed, her voice laced with a soft amusement.
Getting ready was a study in quiet, domestic synchronicity. They moved around her small, neat room with an easy, practiced familiarity, two celestial bodies orbiting a shared center of gravity. He made the bed while she started the coffee maker she kept on her desk. He showered quickly in her small bathroom, using the simple, unscented soap she preferred, while she laid out clean clothes for him – a spare ESU sweatshirt and sweatpants he had somehow accumulated in her room over the past few weeks, a silent testament to the permanence of his presence in her life.
When he emerged, damp and feeling more human than he had in days, she handed him a steaming mug. They stood by the window, sipping the strong, dark coffee, watching the campus slowly come to life below. The frantic energy of the student body seemed distant, unreal.
"We missed the midterm review session," Peter noted, a statement of fact rather than a complaint.
"There will be other sessions," Diana replied calmly. "Some battles require a period of recovery."
The unspoken acknowledgment of their shared fight hung in the air, comfortable and understood. They were partners, in every sense of the word.
"So," Peter said, turning from the window, his mind shifting, the calm of the morning giving way to the cold, clear focus of their mission. "Dr. Thorne. Daedalus. What's our next move?"
Diana set her mug down on the windowsill, her expression becoming sharp, analytical. The lover was receding, the strategist emerging. "We have the Q.E.C. It is our only tangible link to Thorne now that A.I.M.'s immediate plan has been disrupted."
Peter retrieved the device from her desk. The silver rings spun silently, the blue core pulsed with a faint, internal light. It felt cold, alien, humming with a power that prickled against his fingertips. "Last night, you said I needed to find its pairing sequence, its signature. I did that, found the receiver's location. But maybe there's more. Maybe I can trace the origin signal. Find out where Thorne is broadcasting from."
"It is designed to be untraceable," Diana cautioned. "Based on quantum entanglement, as you said. A direct trace is likely impossible."
"Maybe not," Peter countered, his mind already racing, connecting theories. "Entangled particles communicate instantaneously, yes, but the initial pairing process leaves a residual quantum 'imprint' on the local space-time fabric. It's incredibly faint, like a ripple on a pond after the stone has sunk. Most equipment couldn't detect it. But..."
"But your senses operate on a different level," Diana finished for him, her eyes widening slightly as she grasped his meaning. "You perceived M.O.D.O.K.'s psychic scream not just as thought, but as data, as a frequency."
"Exactly!" Peter said, excitement building in his voice. "My spider-sense… it reacts to disturbances, anomalies. Maybe, just maybe, I can 'feel' the echo of the Q.E.C.'s origin point if I calibrate my senses correctly. I'd need to interface directly with the device, use its own entanglement field as a tuning fork."
It was a wild, theoretical leap, a fusion of his unique biology and advanced physics. It was also incredibly dangerous. Interfacing directly with a device designed to channel and control psionic energy could be disastrous, especially after the trauma his mind had just endured.
Diana saw the risk instantly. Her expression hardened with concern. "Peter, that is too dangerous. Your mind is still recovering. To expose yourself to that kind of energy again..."
"I have to try," he interrupted, his voice firm, resolute. "Thorne isn't going to stop. M.O.D.O.K. might be down, but A.I.M. won't just abandon their project. We stopped the deployment, but we didn't stop the architect. If I can find Thorne, we can end this." He looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "And I won't be alone this time. You'll be here. You're my quiet. My anchor."
She held his gaze for a long moment, a silent battle waging within her—her warrior's instinct to protect him warring with her trust in his strength and intellect. Finally, she gave a single, reluctant nod. "Very well," she said, her voice low and serious. "But you will not do this alone. I will be your shield. If the signal becomes too strong, if the noise begins to overwhelm you, I will sever the connection."
He knew what that meant. She would physically pull him away, potentially causing catastrophic feedback to his system. It was a risk she was willing to take for him. It was the ultimate act of trust.
"Okay," he breathed, a profound sense of gratitude washing over him. "Let's find this ghost."
They moved to her desk. He connected the Q.E.C. to his laptop, setting up a diagnostic interface. Diana stood behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, a silent, grounding presence. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to dive back into the storm, not as a solitary hero, but as one half of an unbreakable whole. The hunt for Daedalus was entering its final, most dangerous phase.