It was hot. And oh god, hot didn't even begin to describe it.

Roseanne felt like she was in a volcano. The air was thick, un-breathable, scorching hot. She was almost certain that burns would pop up on her skin just from the atmosphere. Smoke clogged her lungs, and she choked, inhaling breath after breath of ash and dust. It tasted like nightmares and death and all-consuming fire, just eating away at her insides and outsides.

She was the only one left, she knew. Laying there, face down on the burning floor, too weak to move, gave her a lot of time to listen for the sounds of others, so there couldn't be anyone else left in the burning building. It felt like hours had passed, then seconds, she couldn't tell. Maybe she was already dead.

Her eyes had long since fluttered shut, whether from the sting of smoke and ashes or from the terrible sight around her she didn't know. If she wasn't dead yet she didn't know why. Everything hurt, how much more could her poor body stand?

A pair of hands turned her over frantically. She whimpered at the movement, it was too hot, much too hot to move. A pair of strong arms lifted her gently, and moved quickly. Her face was buried in the stranger's chest, an attempt to keep her away from the air that had already begun to suffocate her, and she clutched weakly at the tight fabric of his clothing. Save me, she thought desperately, please. I don't want to die.

Roseanne began to drift in and out of consciousness, in the minutes that followed. She distantly heard a crash, and perhaps a grunt, but she could barely feel anything and it was really better than before but now she didn't know what was going on and it scared her. She was about to fully fall into the depths of nothingness when the fresh air hit her face.

Her eyes flew open, at the clean air assaulted her lungs, and she began coughing and hacking into the chest of the stranger – or not a stranger, the man's chest had a very familiar color scheme – and the spider logo – it was Spider-Man! Tears stung at her eyes, fingers clutching tighter at Spider-Man's suit. Someone tried to pull her away from him, but she shook them off desperately, sobbing into the red-clad hero.

Spider-Man reassured the someone that it was alright, he would get her the oxygen – she was just in a burning building, she could have died, oh god – and carried her over to a bus bench, where he sat, letting her stay in his lap. He stroked her hair soothingly, ignoring the arguments from whoever it was, and coaxed her face into the open. Gently, he held a mask up to her face, covering her mouth and nose. An oxygen mask.

She let him, and that quelled any more argument. She breathed in and coughed out the smoke and ashes and dust coating her lungs until there was no more, and then broke down in fresh sobs once again. "Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

"Peter," she whispered into the crook of his neck once she had calmed enough to speak. "I want to go home."

He looked at her sadly. "I'll have to meet you there, Rosie. I'm sorry."

She smiled a watery smile and stood. Even if she didn't like the thought of him being late for more than half of their dates, lying to the masses, and putting himself in danger on a normal basis, she understood. Moreover, she was proud of him. He was truly a hero; her hero. "It's a-alright," she replied softly, before saying louder, "Thank you, Spider-Man."

"No need to thank me," he replied, taking his cue to swing away, "I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!"

Roseanne smiled at his retreating figure.

(The Daily Bugle: Spider-Man Comforts Hysterical Woman: Is He Really A Menace?)

Another trilogy-verse, takes place after both of the previous. Possibly a part two on the way.