Gwen leans down to rustle the dogs' collars, finally producing a slip of paper. He accepts it from her with undisguised curiosity, though the message it offers leaves something to be desired. He shakes his head, hiding the paper in his fist instead.

"I'm Jewish. Talking isn't really what we do." It's clear he's interpreting it pretty straightforwardly, despite everything. The lenses of his mask begin to seep orange, though Peter is completely oblivious to it, and he shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "You really think that would suffice?"

He doesn't know how to tell her that he doubts it, because his Gwen was always willing to listen to him ramble about science. She'd go off on her own tangents, more often than not, and Peter was happy to hear them, too.

"An astronaut, of course. They were prepared to fight moon aliens, they had to be at the top of their game."