[ Tension was dangling on a string between them like the stereotypical spider on a single line of web – they both knew it was there, but they didn't kill it. Felicia was a glass too many in to think about this opening old wounds, to revive things she thought were dead. Peter, as much as she admired him, was also insufferable. He's... too good. Not even in the physical sense, the proverbially. The moral. Felicia sits across from him and she still feels like she'll be lectured if she does something wrong. Instead of getting bitter? Felicia gets better. For him. Most of the time.

The thief puts up with quips and puns, with topics that she'd never have with socialites or billionaires in highrises overlooking the city. He reminds her it's okay to take the costume off – and she wonders if she inspires him to friggin' live a little. ]

You should have stuck with toast, it's true.

[ His words leave his lips and she nearly drops her glass trying to set it on the end table by her couch blindly. Eyes wide, she laughs in a coy... interested, but totally shocked way when he stumbles over his words. ]

Huh. Didn't know you were still wanting to play games.

[ Maybe he liked the challenge – keeping her flirtations at bay and finding room for his. Felicia thinks she can handle the joke about a game, but the second she feels the ridges of his gloves against her thigh – her eyes drag from hand to his face. That stupid... adorable... face. The one young Felicia was an idiot for putting lower on the pedestal, that she spurred in favor of costumed risk. She sits up a bit, her hand moving to stroke against his wrist and tilt her head inquisitively. ]

Peter... [ It's almost sad, as if she has to ask him if he was sure in less words. They danced – they liked this dance and they knew it – but for once? Felicia stood them still. ] Is that what you want? All that you want...?

[ She has to be sure, but... there's also room for some honesty: ]

I don't know if that's all I want.