It wasn't more than a month after they got the industrial apartment that Peter came home one cold night with a gash on his cheek.
"It's nothing," he stated when she began to freak out.
"Like hell it is," she pulled him to the kitchen and sat him on the counter, "What happened?"
"Nothing," he adjusted the stitching in his red suit.
"Tell me now or else I'll have Tony on the phone and I'll tell him you can't come to work tomorrow because you're baking cookies."
"Fine!" he exclaimed childishly, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of his mentor.
She found the first aid kit while he explained, "I was on patrol and I ran into Wade and we were arguing about whether Logan was a good guy or not and he took it to far and did this."
"With a katana?" she questioned, sterilizing the area with rubbing alcohol - which made him wince.
"Yeah. But I was only joking with him in saying Logan was a bad guy, and he got sore about it. I'm lucky though," he laughed.
She started stitching it up, "You're really pissing me off."
"Why?" he watched her closely.
She tied the end, "What if you died?"
"Wade's not that crazy," he shrugged, hopping off the counter and closer to her, "I'm not dead, darling, that's all that matters."
"But your face is all cut up," she poked her finger in his chest and he caught her arms, keeping her near him.
"Does it really matter? I thought all that matters to you is personality?" he questioned with a grin.
"Well good looks doesn't hurt, darling."