June 2016 arrived with a fragile stillness after Leipzig.
The Accords were signed by some, ignored by others. Tony retreated into his lab, Steve went underground with Sam and Bucky. Natasha walked the tightrope—officially compliant, privately feeding intel to the rogues when she could. The world called it a "hero civil war." Alex called it a fracture he couldn't fully mend.
He returned to Queens for the summer, using the MIT break to ground himself. KaneTech ran smoothly under his trusted COO (a former Stark Industries defector he'd vetted personally). Aether monitored global chatter 24/7, flagging Hydra movements and Accords enforcement actions. Alex let the machine handle the noise. He needed human things.
Gwen was waiting.
She'd finished her sophomore year with honors, spent the spring interning at a biotech startup in Boston. When Alex picked her up from JFK, she ran into his arms—real, unscripted, no hesitation.
"You're taller," she laughed against his shoulder.
"You're the same perfect height," he replied, kissing her temple.
They spent the first week like normal people.
Picnics in Central Park. Late-night movies in his upgraded apartment (Elena had moved to a larger unit in the same building he owned—quietly gifted). Walks along the East River where they talked about everything except superheroes and fractured teams.
Gwen never pushed for secrets. She sensed the weight he carried—the late-night stares at his phone, the way his eyes flicked to rooftops when sirens wailed. One humid July evening, sitting on the fire escape with cheap wine and takeout, she finally asked.
"How bad is it really?"
Alex looked at the Manhattan skyline—Avengers Tower still lit like a beacon, even empty.
"Bad enough that people who used to trust each other are shooting at each other. Bad enough that I feel like I should've done more."
She set her glass down, turned to face him fully.
"You did. I saw the news clips—those black drones dropping supplies in Germany, the EMP glitches that saved lives. That was you, wasn't it?"
He didn't deny it. Just nodded once.
Gwen took his hand. "Then stop beating yourself up for not stopping the whole thing. You're one person. Even if you're… more than most."
He exhaled slowly. "I'm trying to be."
She leaned in, forehead against his. "Let me help carry it. Not the hero stuff—just the part where you're scared you'll lose everyone."
Alex closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he let someone else hold a piece of the burden. They kissed—slow, deep, full of the quiet promise that this wasn't temporary. When they pulled apart, she smiled softly.
"I love you, Alex Kane. Weird powers, secret company, all of it."
He stared at her, stunned. Then: "I love you too. More than I thought I could."
No grand declaration. Just truth.
The interface pinged quietly:
*[Relationship Status: Gwen Stacy – Committed. Love declared (mutual). Emotional stability boost detected: +0.4σ equivalent to willpower reinforcement.]*
He ignored the quantification. Some things were better unmeasured.
Natasha Romanoff entered the picture unexpectedly.
In August, during a low-key UN disaster-preparedness conference in New York (KaneTech presenting Echo Horizon), Alex spotted her in the audience—disguised as a delegate from "European Relief Coordination," dark hair pinned up, glasses, subtle makeup shift. But the posture, the scan of exits, the way she listened without reacting—that was unmistakable.
After his panel (dry, technical, no spotlight), she waited in the hallway. No ambush. Just a casual lean against the wall.
"Nice presentation, Mr. Kane. Very… restrained."
Alex stopped. "Agent Romanoff. Or should I say Ms. Dupont today?"
A faint smirk. "You're good. Most don't notice."
"I notice a lot."
They walked to a quiet corner of the lobby. No recorders. No tails.
"You've been helpful," she said quietly. "Anonymous tips. Drone shadows at Leipzig. EMP at the right second. Subtle."
Alex shrugged. "I don't like collateral damage."
"Neither do I." She studied him. "You're not registered. Not with the Accords. Not with SHIELD. Not even with Fury, really. Yet you keep showing up where it matters."
"I help where I can. Without sides."
She tilted her head. "That's a dangerous place to stand."
"I know."
A long silence. Then she handed him a small encrypted drive—no label.
"Zemo's full file. Siberian facility schematics. Things Tony doesn't have yet. If you're as neutral as you claim… use it wisely."
Alex took it. "Why me?"
"Because you read people like open books. And you haven't sold anyone out yet." She paused. "Also… you remind me of someone who used to believe in second chances."
She walked away before he could reply.
That night, alone in his office, he decrypted the drive. Every detail matched his memories: Zemo's revenge plot, the video of the Starks' murder, the trap waiting in Siberia.
He forwarded anonymized excerpts to Steve's secure channel (via a dead-drop proxy Bucky had eventually trusted him with). No signature. No trace.
Then he stared at the drive for a long time.
Natasha's words lingered.
Second chances.
The next day, Gwen noticed his distraction during lunch.
"Everything okay?"
He looked at her—really looked. The girl who loved him without needing to own his secrets.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Just thinking about chances."
She smiled. "We've got plenty."
He pulled her close, kissed her like the world wasn't breaking.
Later that week, during a quiet dinner with Elena, he told her about Gwen—officially.
"She's good for you," Elena said, eyes shining. "Bring her over soon. I want to meet the girl who finally cracked my boy's armor."
Alex laughed—real, light.
The interface updated in the background:
*[New Acquisition: Black Widow interaction – Minor espionage & deception aptitude copied ambiently (+0.6σ EQ refinement).]*
*[Relationship Expansion: Potential ally (Natasha Romanoff) – Trust level: Cautious-positive.]*
*[Critical Node: Siberian confrontation imminent. Zemo activation in 48 hours.]*
Alex stood on the roof that night, city lights below.
The fracture was widening.
But in the cracks, something new was growing.
Love. Trust. Quiet alliances.
He'd protect them all.
(Word count: 1006)