It was a strangely moving promise. Peter wasn't quite sure where someone could get such strong conviction for a stranger, no matter how much help they may have needed, but he found himself admiring it all the same. He just didn't know how to accept it, not when he was still standing (metaphorically speaking) and had enough of his mind still about him — he was ping-ponging, he knew that. Right in the last ten minutes he had flipped between almost needing her help and then wanting no part in it and no matter what he did, he just couldn't make himself pick a side.

Before he could muster up some kind of response to the generous offer, Robin kissed him. His thoughts spun off their tracks, the world tilted off its axis, and he didn't have the presence of mind to try rebuffing it. His hands flexed on the cushion, made a trip halfway to her sides, then aborted the motion; they tried moving to cup her face next, but he couldn't bring himself to initiate the contact and let them hover near her neck and jaw and curled up his fingers. Most of all, he returned the kiss with a confused hesitance. When it became obvious Robin wasn't going to let up, he pressed further into the kiss with curiosity and maybe a dose of excitement. It was incredibly easy to get lost in it, slowly winding down while his world began narrowing to a pinprick around them, no thoughts but to the body on his and the taste of her kiss. His walls had come down and now he was helpless to avoid being sucked in.