The elevator ride up to the twenty-fourth floor felt longer than any rooftop sprint you and Jessica had done tonight. Your muscles ached beneath the sleek white Future Foundation suit, its black accents still faintly humming with residual energy from the last web-swing. Jessica leaned against the wall beside you, mask tucked under her arm, her dark hair damp from mist, her breathing steady but clearly tired. You catch her glancing sidelong at you—specifically at the scorch mark still streaked across your right shoulder.

“Y’know,” she murmured, “for someone with an upgraded, Reed-approved suit, you still manage to throw yourself at explosions like a Labrador chasing a frisbee.”

You huffed out a laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her smirk was small but unmistakably smug. “Sweetheart, your spider-sense was screaming so loud I could feel it.”

The elevator chimed, finally opening into the quiet hallway of your Upper East Side apartment. Jessica reached over, giving your wrist a gentle tug as if making sure you were still behind her—a habit she never quite hid. You keyed open the door, and the moment the two of you stepped inside, the tension of patrol seemed to drop off your shoulders like a shed weight. The lights were warm, soft. The place smelled faintly of the takeout you’d forgotten you left in the fridge the night before. Jessica exhaled deeply, stretching her arms over her head, the red and black of her suit catching the hallway glow.

“Home,” she sighed. “Finally.”

You kicked off your boots, the Future Foundation material shifting slightly as it relaxed. Jessica turned to you, her expression softening in a way it only ever did when the door closed behind you both.

“Sit,” she said gently, nodding toward the couch. “You’ve been limping since Midtown, don’t pretend you haven’t.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Sit,” she repeated, more teasing this time, pushing you lightly by the chest until the backs of your knees hit the cushions.

You sank down. She followed, plopping beside you with a dramatic sigh and letting her head fall onto your shoulder. Her hair brushed against your jaw; you felt her smile when you tensed just slightly.

“You always get flustered at the dumbest things,” she murmured, settling even closer. “I literally watched you take down five armed guys tonight, and yet—” Her fingers tapped your chest. “—a little shoulder nuzzle and you freeze like a popsicle.”

“Not freezing,” you muttered.

“Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”

She curled her legs beneath herself, one arm looping across your torso as naturally as breathing. Her spider-sense was quiet now, yours too, both of your bodies finally letting your guards down. Outside, sirens were distant, muted by the tall buildings. Inside, it was warm and safe and quiet in a way only shared exhaustion can be.

After a moment, Jessica tilted her head to look at your suit. “Still think the black-and-white works better on you than the blue-and-red. Very sleek. Very Future Foundation. Very…” She trailed a finger along the black stripe running down your arm, “touchable.”

You swallowed. “Jess—”

“What?” she teased, eyes glinting. “I can’t compliment my partner after a long work shift?” Her tone softened, losing some of its playful sharpness. “You did good today. Really good. I’m proud of you.”

You felt your chest warm. “You too.”

Jessica leaned in, kissed your cheek—quick but tender—then rested her forehead against your temple. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, “we sleep in. No alarms. No emergencies. No rooftop chases. Just you, me, and maybe pancakes if you don’t burn them again.”

“I didn’t burn them—”

“You did, sweetheart.”

Her arms tightened slightly around you.

“But it was adorable.”

You sighed, relaxing into her warmth, the quiet hum of her breathing sinking into your bones. For a moment, you forgot the mask, the missions, the danger waiting beyond the city skyline. You only felt her beside you—soft, steady, impossibly close.

Jessica Drew was home. And so were you.