Chapter Text
1.
After Peter returned from his first mission in Bangkok they did the long-distance thing for a while - her back in Cali, Peter in DC. It was a mess.
Rose was a mess.
She found it so perplexing and utterly frustrating that whilst he was deployed she didn't have any problem being separated from him, but as soon as he was "off the clock" and contactable, her brain could not accept that he wasn't in Cali with her, right up in her space with those ridiculously ripped arms embracing her.
It wasn't just that she couldn't accept the distance, she also found it incredibly annoying that she needed him so much. That her thoughts were consumed by him every spare second.
When he went on assignment it was like there was a switch that flicked on his existence. A protective mechanism that made her mind believe he was already dead and gone, so that she didn't worry (too much) about where he was or what he was getting himself into. She was grateful for the way her brain worked, in that regard.
But the opposite was true when he was back in DC. Her body became restless, fidgety - knowing he was out there, living his day to day - just not right alongside her.
How could he be alive yet not viscerally present? Not within her reach? Not breathing the same immediate air? What was the point of that? They shared everything without sharing anything, and it was the most melancholic experience she'd ever endured.
"I don't want to do this anymore," she told him on the phone not long after he returned from his third assignment, almost a year and half into their cross-country relationship.
There was silence on the other side.
She watched him lean forward in his seat, listening intently, waiting with that mindful manner of his. He was such a good listener. Always taking it in. Rarely interrupting or offering unwanted advice.
There was nothing she appreciated more than a man who knew when to shut up. Except maybe a man who knew when to step up.
Peter was both of those.
"I don't want to be separated by ten state lines and three time zones anymore. I'm done syncing our calendars just so we can have a conversation, and I refuse to fly across the country only to be with you for a weekend."
She felt like she was whining. It didn't matter. Peter had seen her at her worst from the moment they met.
Maybe it was fitting that their story would finish the same way it started - her complete vulnerability reduced to vibrations and transmitted by radio waves to Peter's calm and understanding ear.
She didn't think she deserved him. But damn she wanted him.
"I just.. I can't have you, but not have you," she tried to explain. What she felt seemed to defy explanation though, and Peter remained quiet.
They'd talked about the sustainability of the situation right at the start, but other than expressing their longing when separated, or playfully protesting when the time came to go their opposite ways, neither of them had broached the subject in depth again.
"Rose..." he started, after it was very clear she'd finished letting him know all the ways their relationship set-up wasn't working.
She braced herself.
"I get it, I do," he said, somehow soft and gruff at the same time.
And that was it.
That was all he felt compelled to say.
Seven hours later he was on her doorstep wielding not just his usual weekend carry on but a large suitcase, a duffel bag and a backpack.
She buzzed him in, slightly in shock, but still ready with a barrage of questions.
As soon as the elevator pinged and she saw that head of chestnut red hair through the parting door, his phone rang.
He slid it out of his pocket without taking his eyes off her, thumbing the speaker on as he exited the elevator.
"You get there okay?" Catherine asked without any lead in, and Peter answered in the affirmative. "Everything's finalised," his superior continued. "Let me know when you're settled and I'll send over the next case file."
Peter thanked her and they hung up, leaving him and Rose lingering in the hallway, all her queries momentarily quashed by the very real physical manifestation of him right in front of her.
"Hey..." he said, as casually as if he'd just gone out for coffee and returned with her favourite cup of steaming caffeine.
Never mind that they hadn't been in the same space in months.
As she ushered him in, Rose noticed he was still wearing the clothes he'd had on during their video call the night before.
"What's all this?" She finally managed to utter as he stopped in the entrance, dropping his duffel bag onto to the top of the suitcase.
He looked at the luggage long and hard, gesturing towards it nonchalantly before running his hands through his hair and answering her.
"You said... you didn't wanna be separated anymore."
Rose gawped at him and furrowed her brows in confusion. "How'd you... get here so fast?"
Peter put his hands on his hips and shrugged, looking sheepish. "Called in a favour."
Rose realised, she didn't actually want to know. She didn't fucking care.
He was there.
He'd heard what she had to say, and instead of shaming her for her neediness or letting his ego get in the way and playing the blame game, like so many guys she'd dated - Peter had immediately packed what he could and got on either some government issued jet or a private plane.
The reality of his actions, and the intention behind them was suddenly too overwhelming. Too much for someone who had survived on so little love. Her eyes watered and her hand went up to her trembling lip, but before she could fully fall apart, Peter stepped forward and encased her in his arms - not allowing her to crumble on her own.
"I'm here," he said calmly into her ear. "I got you." He stroked her hair. "We got this."