Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Mom? I'm home!" Heather May Parker called, dropping her book bag onto the dining room table. She absently brushed a lock of auburn hair out of her vision, tucking it behind her ear as her intense blue eyes scanned her notes from class that day.

Heather looked towards the living room with a pensive frown.

"Mom? Are you here?" The sixteen year old asked loudly, but the apartment remained silent. On a hunch, she toward the fridge in the kitchen and found a note. It was written in blue ink in her mother's swirly cursive.

'Got called into work, couldn't get out of it. Harry is sleeping over with a friend tonight and Audrey is with Aunt May. I'll be back by nine at the latest – dad's working late tonight. There's money for pizza on the counter. If you need anything, call me. Love you, mom.'

Heather sighed, "of course dad's working late. When is he not?" She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Spying the twenty dollars on the counter, she glanced at her watch. Four-thirty – too early to get dinner, she'd wait until closer to six. That decided, she grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, returned to the table and started her homework.

Later that night, after completing her chores and homework, Heather sat watching TV and munching a slice of pizza. She flipped channels aimlessly before settling on a news cast. Not two minutes in, the anchors seemed to get excited as a news bulletin came into the studio.

"We have breaking news tonight – an apartment building on East 145^th Street is on fire, with ten people trapped inside. We've just received word that Spiderman is on the scene to lend a hand. We go now live to our correspondent, Aimee Trekker, who is on location to cover this story. Aimee?"

Heather sat up, tuning out the blonde reporter out, as her eyes focused on the red and blue suited hero who had just swung into the burning building through a window. A few minutes later, Spiderman jumped back out carrying three people, before returning inside the blazing apartments. The procedure was repeated several times, until it seemed all the people had been safely rescued from the fire.

After conversing with the fire chief for a moment, Spiderman spotted the enthusiastic reporter headed his way, and quickly swung off before he could be questioned about tonight – or more accurately, accused of starting the fire.

Aimee looked frustrated before turning back to the camera, a fake smile plastered over her face, "well, as you can see, Spiderman continues to be a mystery to the people of New York. After twenty-five years of swinging above the city streets, we still wonder: Who is Spiderman? What does he have to hide behind that mask? Is he a hero, or a menace? For channel twelve, I'm Aimee Trekker, back to you in the studio."

Heather rolled her eyes at the melodramatic reporter and switched off the TV to get ready for bed.

It was ten o'clock and her mother still wasn't home, but that didn't really surprise Heather. These days it was a rare occurrence for the Parker family to all be gathered in the same place for longer than a few hours.

Her father, Peter, was always at work. Her mother, Mary Jane, was often out working at the theater, or with her baby sister, Audrey, and great Aunt May. Her twelve year old brother Harry was often too caught up in his own circle of friends to pay much attention to anything else.

The perfect American family, Heather thought with a snort. She grabbed her PJ’s to change in her room, pausing after pulling off her long-sleeved shirt to look at her wrists, as was her habit of late.

Oddly enough, she'd found that a small patch of white raised skin on the underside of either wrist had developed in the last year. It reminded her of skin that had scared over from a burn, but appeared more translucent than that – like silk. She couldn't begin to imagine what it was from, but since it didn't itch or look like any form of skin cancer she'd seen, she hadn't mentioned it to anyone. It was most likely some kind of allergic reaction to the new fabric softener her mom used, nothing serious.

Heather pulled her tank top on, and let her long hair down from its ponytail. She shook out her hair, fluffing it with her fingers as she bent down to pull out a box from under her bed. She flipped the unassuming black lid off the box and pulled out a large scrapbook, blue orbs skimming the block letter stickers she'd put on the front which said, 'With great power, comes great responsibility'.

It was something her father had always said, and she could remember now the first time she'd asked what it meant. She was six, and she remembered the look that flashed through his eyes. She hadn't known then that it was pain and regret, but she knew that now.

Peter had explained that when you had a special ability or talent that could help people, you should never hold it back from the world and use it for your own selfish gains. If you have the power to help someone, then you should. "Maybe if everyone did that, the world would be a better place," he had concluded, a faraway look in his blue eyes.

Heather flipped open the scrapbook, revealing hundreds of clips and photos from newspapers and other sources, all revolving around the masked vigilante Spiderman. The collage started out twenty-five years before when the web-slinger had first appeared, and highlighted his greatest achievements as a hero up until the present day.

At a blank page, Heather used a pen from her desk to scrawl the date and a message across the paper: 'Thirty-two saved from apartment fire.'

At times Heather wondered if this habit she had of tracking Spiderman's exploits could be considered stalking or just plain creepy. It probably was in reality, but Spiderman inspired her in ways no one else ever could. There were so many times when she longed to meet the hero, talk with him maybe, to let him know that at least one person in New York still thought he was a hero. She knew most children thought of their parents as their heroes, but that had never been the case for Heather. Now at nearly seventeen, it most certainly wasn't the situation.

Heather put the pen and scrapbook away, replacing the box beneath the bed. She picked up a photo frame from her bedside table and studied it for a moment. The picture was with her dad at the zoo, their last daddy-daughter outing together before work became more important than family. She'd been five; the picture showed that she had lost her two front teeth and she clutched a toy white tiger Peter had bought her just that morning.

Heather shook her head and put the frame down, scrubbing a hand over her face. It's pointless to think about it. He's got more important things to do than worry about his daughters, son and wife. And I've got better things to do than think about a dad whose only permanent presence in the house stems from photos. Despite her angry thoughts, she couldn't stop her eyes from stinging.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she went and turned out all the lights around the apartment, and was about to go to sleep when her cell phone beeped.

It was a text from Rhianna, or Rhi, her best friend. 'Come out 2night? Gona be fun! ;D'

Heather glanced at the clock. It was eleven. A slow grin spread itself over her face, as she texted back, 'Hell ya. Cya there!'

Heather changed into faded jeans, black boots and a low cut dark blue shirt. She fluffed her hair up with a brush and grabbed her jacket from the closet. She lined her eyes thickly with makeup and put on her darkest shade of lipstick. The look had the effect of making her appear older. With a mother in show business, she'd learned to wield makeup to her advantage from an early age.

Quickly she closed her door to a crack, then stuffed clothes and old toys beneath her sheets to make it look like she was sleeping, before grabbing her wallet and cell.

The red head climbed out the window to the fire escape, closing it to just a crack so she could open it later without setting off the alarm. As she walked out of an alley and into the night, one thought ran through her mind. Hope dad works extra late tonight...

Not much later, Heather rounded a final corner to see the park where her friends always met when they went out. She could see several shadowy figures horsing around a large oak tree, and smiled before crossing the deserted street.

Even in New York – the city that never slept – there were a few places where the nightlife's long hands just couldn't quite reach, and its streets fell under fitful bouts of slumber during the wee hours of the night; this was one of those places. That was why it was perfect.

Heather reached the tree and cocked her head to see Rhi hanging from a branch by her long legs, blonde ponytail falling limply down along with a baggy blouse that Rhi was desperately trying to hold up. Or down, it was hard to tell.

"What's up girl?" Rhi asked giving a wide, insane grin that only she could pull off.

Heather considered the question for a split second, her eyebrow cocked, "you."

Rhi laughed loudly, but no one worried about being caught. Even if the police did come around, they couldn't arrest them since they weren't hurting anything. Well, except maybe the tree Rhi was hanging from.

Next to Rhi stood a black, tall, husky boy shortly cropped hair. "How ya doin', HM?" He asked with a smile, one hand on Rhi's lower back to keep her from falling.

"Not bad, Mike, you?" Heather grinned at the nickname she'd gotten back in fifth grade. Few people still used it, but she still liked to hear it every once in a while.

"Oh, you know," Mike gestured vaguely at his topsy-turvy girlfriend and shrugged, a little smile kinking up his mouth. "Been hangin' around," He said, then winked and chuckled.

"Where's Josh?" Heather asked, not seeing the lanky black-haired boy she called a boyfriend. They'd been going out for two weeks now, but things hadn't exactly been smooth sailing.

Rhi and Mike only smiled, but before Heather could ask, she felt a tingling sensation run up her spine. She twirled around and tackled the shadowy figure that had tried to creep up on her.

The figure grunted as Heather straddled his lap and pinned his bony wrists above his head. "Jesus, Heather! Don't have to go all GI Jane on me!"

"When are you going to learn to stop sneaking up on me?" She asked, kissing his lips briefly, which felt prickly from three days of not shaving.

Josh groaned in disappointment as Heather pulled away. "When you stop sensing a disturbance in the Force," he retorted, his teeth flashing in relief against the dark night around them.

Heather rolled her blue eyes and let her boyfriend up. He pulled her close and kissed her again, his tongue licking her lip, a question in the gesture. She pulled away and hid her annoyance. When was he going to get the hint that she wasn't into that?

"Seriously Heather, how do you do that?" Rhi asked, flipping down from the tree with major assistance from Mike to regain her balance. Obviously, she'd already had a few pre-party cocktails.

"Do what?" The red head asked, shrugging and looking down the road so they couldn't see her eyes.

"You know 'what'! That precognition crap you do!" Rhi retorted, stabbing a finger at her and poking her arm tipsily.

Heather shook her head, keeping her eyes on the street, "you're crazy Rhi. I don't have precognition."

"You have to have something!" Rhi went on, "how else do you always know Josh is there?"

Heather flashed a smirk, "Maybe 'cause he's a terrible ninja?"

Josh put a hand to his heart and fell against the tree, "oh baby girl! That hurt! How could you doubt my ninja skills?" He wailed, over dramatically.

Heather only rolled her eyes. "Are we going or staying here all night?" She asked, effectively changing the subject.

"Let's do this," Mike said pulling out his keys. He was the only one in their group that had a car.

Mike scooped Rhi up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Rhi grinned at Heather and winked before she pinched her boyfriend's rear. "Whoo!" She cried as Mike ran around in a circle first before depositing her in the passenger side of his beat up Oldsmobile.

Josh grinned and wrapped his arm loosely around Heather's waist, putting his hand in her back pocket and hooking his thumb through her belt loop. She returned the gesture, but only halfheartedly.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter T wo

They got to the club and parked around the corner, the streets jammed with cars, even in this rather rundown section of the city. They got in line, the music inside the building making the concrete beneath their feet throb, and waited almost an hour before they reached the front.

The bouncer, a big guy with a chest the size of Texas, eyed them doubtfully. Rhi stepped forward and whispered something in his ear that made his face go red as a traffic light. He swallowed, grunted, checked his list then nodded and opened the door for them.

The loud techno beat washed over them, soaking into their bodies, along with the smell of spilled alcohol, stale cigarette smoke, and sweat from hundreds of hot bodies crushing against each other on the dance floor.

Rhi spotted a booth and pointed it out to Mike, who took the lead. The foursome, with Mike in the front doing most of the grunt work, pushed through the throng of pressing bodies until they reached the booth and collapsed inside.

Immediately, Rhi signaled a waiter and smiled coyly at him, batting her long lashes as the flashing lights sparkled in her green eyes. "Round of beers, and tell the bartender, Robbie, that Rhi says hi."

The poor young man walked off with a dazed, goofy grin on his face, barely missing a huge guy with a large bottle of beer. Heather held her breath until he made it to the bar, not wanting to see the poor chump get flattened.

"You've got to stop doing that, Rhi!" Heather shouted close to her friend's ear, the only way for the blonde to hear her.

"Doing what?" Rhi shouted back, blinking innocently.

"Rhi-zzling guys!" Heather retorted loudly.

Rhi and Heather had been friends since first grade, and one of their favorite pastimes had been watching episodes of The Magic School Bus. When they got older, Rhi had learned to dazzle guys with a bat of an eyelash and a flash of a smile, and Heather had promptly dubbed it 'Getting Rhi-zzled'.

"Hey, it's the only talent I got! You want me to give that up?" Rhi retorted.

"Somehow I doubt that's going to get you a scholarship to NYU," Heather responded dryly, which only made Rhi shrug, unapologetic.

Just then the drinks came back and she gave the waiter a saucy wink. Mike smiled tolerantly at his girlfriend and put his arm around her, knowing that despite her flirting, she was all his. That was clear from his senior ring on her finger.

The four friends clinked bottles and took sips, with Rhi's being a bit more excessive than necessary. Heather on the other hand, took the smallest sip possible, but made it look like she'd taken more. By the end of the night, she would just be finishing off this beer, while the rest of the group had consumed at least three.

Rhi finished her drink in two more large gulps then merrily pulled a reluctant Mike to the dance floor to grind away. Despite their differences in stature though, somehow tiny Rhi still managed to get him to the middle of the floor. That left Heather and Josh alone in the booth.

Josh nuzzled Heather's neck, moving her hair to try and give her a hickey. She raised her shoulder and moved away uncomfortably. He followed the movement and tried to get closer again.

"Josh, knock it off. You know I'm not into that," Heather said. She was really getting ticked off about this. She'd told him this eighty-three times already. Yes, she'd been counting.

"C'mon, Heather, just a little," Josh purred persuasively into her ear.

"No." Heather replied tersely. She wished that Rhi and Mike would come back already. How long could it possibly take to dirty dance on a hot, crowded floor?

Josh backed off, glaring now. "What is with you? You can be such a prude!"

Heather sent a glower right back at him. "And you can be a total prick!"

Josh gritted his teeth, his lip curling up in a sneer. "At least I've gotten some."

Heather rolled her eyes, taking a sip of beer to quell her rising anger. "Everyone knows that you've gotten some – you slept with practically the whole cheer squad, plus the French club. Tell me," she added, leaning forward to get in his face. "Is it true? What they say about kissing a French girl? Or at least one who speaks the language of love?" She sneered.

"Go to hell, Heather!" Josh snarled and shoved her shoulder back, pushing her away to leave the booth.

Heather watched him leave grimly not caring in the least that she'd probably just got dumped… or maybe she'd dumped him. She hardly ever cared anymore when they walked away – it had happened so many times in the last couple of months that it barely affected her.

Heather snorted quietly to herself as Josh left the club through a back door. Story of my life...

She sat by herself for a long time it seemed. She sipped her beer; watched the dancers; observed the strange colors of the club lights as they washed across people and walls; and just people watched in general.

People watching always made her wonder what someone else’s life was like, whether it was cooler than her own blank existence or just as sucky. What would it be like to trade places with some of these people? Were they just like her? Just trying to get by in life without a clue of what came next? There had to be more to life than that. There just had to.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rhi and Mike came back and sat down, both of them out of breath. Mike signaled the waiter, who brought a second round of beers.

"Where's Josh?" Rhi asked, having missed his absence until she was halfway done with her second beer.

"Not here," Heather replied shortly, her good mood also now absent.

"What happened?" Mike asked, looking concerned in that big brother way he had about him.

"What do you think?" Heather stared at the dance floor blankly.

"Aw Heather, again? Honey, I think it's time to either put out or admit your gay," Rhi told her bluntly, which surprisingly had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. She'd been saying almost the same thing for months, every time Heather broke up with someone new.

"I’m not a lesbian, Rhi. You know that." Heather smirked just slightly, "wouldn't I have hit on you by now if I was?"

Rhi examined her nails casually, like she wasn't trying to hide a grin, "Yeah, you would have."

Mike ignored his girlfriend and leaned forward. "Seriously, Heather, you have to stop doing this to yourself. It can't be healthy for you to keep hooking up with jerks and getting your heart broken over and over."

Heather glanced at Mike's sincere face then looked away. "Yeah, I know that. How about when you find a half decent guy in this city that's not a creep, gimme a call okay?"

Mike smiled, and Rhi rubbed Heather's arm reassuringly. "Of course, HM! We'll find someone worthy of your goddess status!" She grinned and covered a huge yawn. It didn't take much to take Rhi out of commission.

"Thanks guys," Heather told them sincerely. I really do have good friends. She checked her phone, and noted the time. "Hey, I think I wanna head home. Sorry to break up the party so early, but I have a Chem test tomorrow."

"Hey, it's cool, we understand," Mike said. Rhi gave another giant yawn, and nodded. Mike chuckled, "besides, I need to get sleeping beauty here home."

Mike and Heather held Rhi up between them as they left the club. They put her in the passenger seat of the Oldsmobile, and then drove away towards the alley behind Heather's apartment.

The ride was silent, with the exception of Rhi's soft snoring as she laid against the door, her face smashed into the window. Heather hoped her face didn't freeze like that. It'd look pretty terrible come picture day.

Mike stopped in front of the alleyway to let Heather out. "Thanks Mike – I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Sure Heather, and hey," he paused until she looked back at him halfway out of the car. "Don't worry about Josh. He was a jerk. You deserve better."

Heather smiled warmly, "thanks, Mike." She got of the car and stepped back, waving as the Oldsmobile disappeared around the corner. Once alone, her shoulders slumped as she rubbed her forehead tiredly. It had been a long night.

Not wanting to stay on the dark street, she went into the alley and climbed up the fire escape to her room. She crept in, and slid the window closed. She changed clothes quickly and decided she was thirsty for water after all that bitter beer.

Walking towards the kitchen, she stopped at the corner of the hallway when she saw her mother sitting at the dining room table, sipping from a coffee mug. Without thinking about it, she backed up behind the wall, and peered around the corner, watching MJ. Her mother was just sitting there, sipping her drink and glancing at the window every few seconds.

What's she doing? Heather wondered. She looks like she's waiting for someone… No sooner had she thought it, that a dark shadow passed over the window and there was a slight tap on the glass pane.

MJ stood up and opened the window, taking a few steps back as a back lit figure stepped into the kitchen. The figure was clearly a man, taller than her mom by a few inches, and muscular in a lean way.

"You're late. You said you'd be back by two am., but it's three." MJ scolded the mysterious figure softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry. There was a carjacking a few blocks from Times Square," the figure said, also in a hushed like tone.

His voice was oddly muffled, and that combined with the soft tone, it made his voice hard to identify. And yet, there was something familiar about it… something Heather couldn't put her finger on.

MJ sighed, "I know. It's just… you've been gone more and more often lately, and it's affecting the kids. You missed Harry's soccer game last week. Audrey was in her junior ballet recital just yesterday night. Heather is going to be a senior next semester, and you weren't there when she played the lead in Grease. Do you even remember what day it is, exactly three months from now?"

The figure rubbed his neck and turned away, seemingly embarrassed. Heather couldn't help but wonder why. Why was her mom even talking to this weird guy, who'd climbed in through their window in the middle of the night?

"You don't remember, do you?" MJ demanded, but it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Uh… I know it's important," the figure said weakly.

"It's Heather's seventeenth birthday!" MJ nearly shouted, but restrained herself just in time. Her body language showed just how angry she was without using words.

The figure was silent except for a low sigh. He sat down at the dining room table and laced his fingers over his neck, putting his elbows on his knees.

It was at that moment that Heather realized the person in their apartment was Spiderman himself. The light from the window now clearly highlighted his red and blue costume with the black webbing design. She didn't have enough time to think about that before Spiderman spoke again. "I'm sorry, MJ. I know I've been gone, but I can't –"

"Can't turn your back on people who need help," MJ finished for him, sitting down beside the masked man. She tilted his face up and stared at his mask. "I know. But have you ever considered that maybe your daughters and son and wife need you just as much, or more, than the rest of the city?" The figure looked away, and pulled off his mask, revealing his face for the first time.

Oh. My. God. Heather thought, her breath catching in her throat. Spiderman is, is… my father?

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Three

"Every day of my life," Peter Parker said, quietly answering his wife's question. "I hate doing this to you – to the kids, but I can't give it up. The city needs a hero. They need me."

MJ sighed and looked away, "So do we, Tiger. So do we…" She cleared her throat after a moment and looked at Peter expectantly. "You better make sure though that nothing – and I mean nothing – makes you miss Heather's birthday. Not even if another 9/11 happens, I want you here with us. She's seen enough disappointment as it is with you gone so much. And Peter, I hate to admit it, but she's growing up. She won't be here with us forever – don't let her slip through your fingers."

Peter smiled sadly and gave his wife a light kiss. "I won't, I promise. I love you," he murmured.

MJ smiled back. "I love you too… always will. Come on. Let's get some sleep."

Heart pounding, Heather backed up quickly into her room and shut the door silently, thanking any higher power that the hinges didn't creak. She backed up even more and sat on the bed, breathing deeply as she tried to process what had just happened.

This is impossible! Her mind screamed. Peter Parker wasn't a super hero – he wasn't a super anything. He was a news photographer and an assistant professor at Empire University. Spiderman was totally different than her father. Spiderman put his life in danger every day to save people; he jumped in burning buildings, stopped carjackings, and caught thugs, thieves, rapists and murderers.

He'd even saved Heather herself once.

She'd been on a school field trip, heading home on the bus after a day at the city zoo. Suddenly a Hobgoblin bomb had exploded in front of the bus on the bridge. The bus driver had swerved to avoid it, spinning the vehicle until it was hanging a little less than half way off the edge, the suspension cables barely keeping it in place.

Heather had been ten and she remembered clearly the chaos of it all – fire burning on the asphalt and quickly spreading to the tires, acrid smoke filling the bus, kids screaming and coughing, the driver trying to keep them all calm as car drivers fled their vehicles and ran away. Above them, through the window, Heather could see Spiderman and the Hobgoblin fighting on top of the suspension bridge, yelling incoherently at each other.

It all seemed to go on for an eternity as the bus wobbled half on, half off the bridge, tipping back and forth with every movement from the frightened children within like a seesaw.

Finally, Hobgoblin got in a good punch and fled while Spiderman had been dazed. With the villain gone, the superhero had swung down to the school bus, using his webbing to try and better anchor the back of the vehicle. The front axle was still hanging off, so he quickly and decisively got everyone off the bus until only Heather had been left.

She remembered she'd been sitting in the front, behind the driver to avoid the bullies in her class. As everyone else had fled, Heather had hunkered down in her seat, terrified to move even an inch. Spiderman climbed back into the bus to retrieve her, his costume darkened from the smoke of the growing fire. In the distance, she could faintly hear the sirens of fire trucks and police, but everything seemed so surreal, she'd wondered if she was just imagining the sounds.

"Come on sweetie, you're the last one," Spiderman had entreated her from a few rows away, holding out a gloved hand. "You can do it. Just stand up slowly, walk towards me and take my hand."

Heather frightfully shook her head, twin braids flipping around her sweat and dirt streaked face. "I – I can't!" she'd stuttered.

"Yes you can, just focus on me," Spiderman encouraged her in a calm tone. "We're getting out of this together. We're going to get you home to your family, but first you have to stand up and take my hand."

Hesitantly and ever so slowly, Heather uncurled her body and put her sneakers down on the floor of the bus, eyes locked on the hero's red mask. Still moving slowly, she put one hand on the back of the bench seat and stood, whimpering in fright as the bus wobbled again. Shuddering and clutching the seat, she took a tentative step out into the isle, then another. Four steps later, she was completely in the isle, backpack slung across her shoulders.

"That's it! You're doing great, just keep coming," Spiderman said, voice positive and calm.

Her mistake was pausing and looking back over her shoulder at the sky – the sky that looked so very big and so very empty – and the dark, bottomless river below. "Spiderman, I can't do it!" she cried, fresh tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Yes you can! Look at me sweetie and only me," He implored, stretching out his hand a little farther.

She shook her head, grasped one of the support bars tightly, closing her eyes tight. She kept furiously wishing that this was just a nightmare she could wake up from. If only she could pinch herself and awake in her warm bed, everything would be all right!

"Don't quit on me now," Spiderman pleaded. "Can you tell me your name?"

Heather opened her eyes a little and licked her cut lip, tasting dried blood. "He – Heather. I'm Heather."

"Okay, Heather, listen carefully. I'm going to take one step forward, and I want you to do the same. Then I'll go and then you go until we meet in the middle. Then we're both getting out of here, okay? Can you do that for me, Heather? Can you be brave?" She couldn't be sure, but she thought he was smiling a little beneath his mask – it seemed that way by the stretch of the fabric.

She nodded ever so slightly, swallowing and trying to keep the wobble out of her voice. "Okay."

Spiderman cautiously slid one foot forward, and beckoned at Heather who obligingly advanced a pace. He then quickly moved ahead and, trusting herself a bit more, Heather moved without being prompted. The process was repeated until finally she slid forward one more pace into reach.

Spiderman swiftly picked her up and turned, about to exit the bus, when his keen spider senses kicked in and he turned his head the opposite direction. Flying towards the bus was the Hobgoblin, apparently not done with his game. Laughing madly, he pulled out a fresh pumpkin bomb and threw it at the bridge – specifically the portion that was just beneath the front of the school bus.

Things seemed to go in super slow motion after that.

The bomb had exploded. The bus tipped forward and fell. Heather had screamed. Spiderman ran forward and jumped out the emergency back door, flying through thin air.

Then suddenly, quite suddenly, they weren't flying or falling, but merely hanging from a strong web line beneath the bridge. Beneath them the school bus splashed into the river and slowly sunk into its murky depths.

For a few seconds, Heather greedily gulped in air to quell her racing heart, clinging desperately to her savior. Spiderman gave her a quick squeeze. "It's all right now, Heather. You're safe."

She closed her eyes gratefully as the words sunk in. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't worry Heather everything's going to be fine," He said soothingly, slowly pulling them upwards. He shot off another line and swung them up and back onto the bridge.

Once back on solid ground, Heather very reluctantly released the superhero's neck. For a moment they merely gazed at each other, she in awe while his expression remained in obscurity. Blinking back tears of relief she threw her arms around his waist and gave him a wobbly smile. "Thank you Spiderman. You saved my life."

Spiderman returned the hug gently, "Just doing my job, short stuff."

"I don't care what anyone says," Heather told him solemnly, staring intently at his reflective eyepieces. "I'll never see you as anything but what you really are – a hero. I promise, Spiderman, you'll always be a hero to me."

Spiderman seemed at a loss of words for a moment. Softly he said, "Thank you, Heather. That… that means a lot." He looked up, spotting a couple of police officers and paramedics heading towards them, as well as a handful of reporters. Turning back to the young girl, he gave her shoulder one more squeeze. "I have to go now. Be good for your parents – they must be real proud of you… I know I am."

And just like that, he swung away and was gone. After that day, Heather had kept her promise – Spiderman was a hero in her eyes, and always would be. That was when she'd started the scrapbook, chronicling the hero's career in New York from his first day to the present and every day in between.

Now, nearly eight years later, she sat in her dark room with what she'd just witnessed running through her head on a permanent loop.

Heather ran a hand through her hair, reeling from the implications. It wasn't possible. Her father couldn't really be Spiderman, could he? She remembered the way Spiderman had held her as they dangled in the air, the way he'd hugged her and talked to her… it didn't add up. Those feelings were different when she compared them to things her father had done for her. She could recall hugs with her father; they were brief and while he meant well, they'd felt stiff. Her dad didn't often show a lot of outward affection, and when they talked his mind always seemed elsewhere.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. No, it wasn't real. It was some kind of hallucination… someone must have spiked her beer. Probably Josh. Or maybe I'm already asleep and I'm dreaming. Either way, none of it was real. There's no way.

She took a deep, calming breath. I'm going to go to sleep now, and tomorrow morning when I wake up, I'll probably be sick from whatever Josh drugged me with and that will be my proof. By tomorrow, all of this will be nothing more than a horrible nightmare my brain thought up.

Heather pulled down the covers, cleared away the excess pillows she'd used in her deception and climbed beneath the sheets. She closed her eyes, already feeling sleep creeping in at the corners of her consciousness. However, sleep couldn't come quick enough to squelch one last disturbing thought.

If I'm wrong and this isn't a dream, then what the hell am I supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter F our

The next morning, Heather awoke to the bright sun streaming in through her window. She blinked as her eyes adjusted, and looked at the clock. Shoot, I've got twenty minutes. I must've overslept… Why didn't I set my alarm?

Then she remembered everything that had happened last night, and she froze, a pit forming in her stomach. She sat up and looked around her room, noting the clothes she'd worn to the club peeking out from the hamper. So that part was real. But the rest…?

She shook her head. It was a dream – whatever the hell that was when I got home, it must have been a dream! Josh just spiked my drink that's all. She frowned irritably, I'll kick his ass later, or maybe I'll take Mike up on his offer – he's wanted to beat up one of my ex's for a while now. Ugh, doesn't matter, I don't have time to worry about it! Right now, I've got to get to school.

That decided Heather took a quick shower to erase any lingering scents from the night club. She felt so much better afterwards, to the point where she'd convinced herself it had just been a hallucination of some kind. Getting dressed, she resolved that she'd personally make sure Josh Roker lost his ability to reproduce – permanently. She smiled grimly while pulling her hair into a ponytail. Josh is so going to regret messing with me.

Slinging her messenger bag across her shoulders, she checked that she had all her books, homework, and other essentials before leaving her room. In the kitchen, she found her mom at the stove cooking something that smelled like French toast. Her little brother Harry sat at the table, doing last minute homework, a soccer ball sitting by his bag. Heather realized that someone must have dropped Harry off very early this morning, for him to already be dressed and ready for school after the sleepover yesterday. She figured that her sister was still asleep.

"Morning," Heather said. She went to the fridge and looked around for something to drink, finally settling on a glass of orange juice.

MJ glanced up from the stove and smiled at her daughter. "Good morning, sweetheart. Are you hungry? I can make you some too," she gestured at the French toast that was sizzling in the frying pan.

Heather shook her head. "Nah, I'll just have a Poptart. I'm running a little behind today." She pulled a glass from the cabinet and poured her drink, then grabbed the box of pastries and popped two into the toaster.

MJ looked at the clock and frowned. "You are a bit late. Are you feeling okay? You slept in more than usual."

"I feel fine," Heather responded automatically, a knee-jerk reaction. Her back was turned toward her mom as she waited for her breakfast. "I think I drank too much soda last night or something. I couldn't fall asleep for a while. I guess my body was just making up for it this morning."

MJ paused for half a second as she slid the new piece of toast onto the stack. She placed the plate on the table thoughtfully. Without looking up from his math homework Harry snagged a piece with his fork, digging in. "Harry," MJ scolded, momentarily distracted. "For goodness sake, you could at least wait until I got a slice."

Harry frowned around a mouthful of toast and swallowed. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm hungry."

"You're not the only one," MJ teased him, ruffling his dark brown hair.

Heather smiled at her mom and brother, thinking of how hard her mom worked. It wasn’t easy to work full time, raise three kids, and keep a home that was warm and usually tidy. Sure, her dad’s paychecks kept the lights on even when her mom wasn’t actively working on a production, but her mom kept everything going even when he was absent. Which, was kind of a lot these days.

Her Poptarts jumped from the toaster, shattering the moment. She quickly snagged them out with a paper towel. Downing her drink, she put her glass in the sink and turned towards the door.

"You're leaving already?" MJ asked, appearing a little bemused.

"Yeah I gotta go or I'll miss the train. I'll see you guys later," Heather kissed her mom quickly and tweaked her little brother's ear.

"Don't forget my soccer game is today!" Harry called after her, even while rubbing his ear in annoyance.

"I won't, I promise. I'll be there Harry. You can count on it!" She threw a smile over her shoulder before running out the door.

School, Heather thought later that day, is a polite word for lawful torture. The day had started horribly – she'd been late to her first class and was consequently scolded by her teacher in front of everyone. From there, things had continued to spiral downward.

Her AP physics teacher, who wasn't fond of her anyway despite her stellar grades, had asked her to solve the equation on the board, then growled and complained that she was taking too long. She had replied in a very vexed tone that the equation was the length of the entire whiteboard and half its width, so of course she was taking a while. That had resulted in several credit points being taken off her homework, something that she found completely unfair. Unfortunately at her school, the AP teachers could do pretty much anything they pleased, there was no arguing it.

As if that wasn't enough, she'd stepped in gum hurrying to her AP English class – ruining her favorite ballet flats.

Her teacher in that class, whom she normally liked a lot, decided that Heather needed to read Act Two, Scene Two (aka the balcony scene) of Romeo and Juliet with Mark Harrods. Mark, while nice enough, was president of the chess club and a frequent sufferer of nose bleeds when he got nervous. Sure enough, halfway through, Mark's nose started to paint his pale face an interesting shade of red, and it seemed no amount of tissues would help it.

One of the snobbiest girls in school and Heather's long-standing enemy, Melissa Hart, called from the back of the class, "But soft! What blood through yonder geek breaks? It is Harrods’ and Heather is his loving nurse!"

Heather wasn't sure which would have been better; to be able to crawl under her desk and disappear, or to deck Melissa in the mouth.

As it was, she continued reading her lines and pretended that she couldn't hear the laughs and cat calls thrown at her from all sides. For Batman's sake, would Mark's nose never stop bleeding? Perhaps if he lost enough blood, he'd faint and she could leave. But no such luck.

When Heather finally made it to lunch, she was raring to murder Josh on the spot for his little 'prank' last night.

She got her lunch and spotted Rhi waving frantically from their usual table. Mike was next to her, looking amused at her enthusiasm, given Heather always knew exactly where they'd be at lunch.

Heather plopped the tray down with a 'thud' and sat across from them. "Hi," the ginger said dully, glancing around the cafeteria. She was searching for Josh's dark head and listening for his obnoxious laugh.

"Hey girly!" Rhi said, grinning. Obviously, the blonde girl had taken precautions last night to avoid a hangover – either that or she'd taken some pretty heavy duty painkillers that morning. At any rate, she seemed as perky as ever.

Mike smiled more calmly, just as mellow as ever. "Sup, Heather?"

"Other than a growing desire to beat the crap out of Josh and having the worst morning ever, I'm great," Heather popped the top of her soda and took a long swig, savoring the caffeine and sugar.

"What did Josh do? I mean other than dumping you last night?" Rhi asked her brow crinkling.

"I think he slipped something slow acting into my drink last night. I had the weirdest hallucination when I got home – it freaked me out to no end," she waved her hands like she was trying to physically push the memory away, not going into details. It was way too weird to even think of, let alone talk about. Heather again scanned the room, her eyes and other senses suddenly picking up the weirdest details.

Everything seemed to suddenly be going in slow motion. She could see someone across the room shooting a spit wad, two girls were passing each other diet pills three tables away, one of the jock was about to trip one of the mathletes near the trash bins – on and on it went. What was wrong with her? She put a hand to her temple, closing her eyes at the painful sensory overload – maybe that drug wasn't completely out of her system, or maybe the school's meatloaf was made with magic mushrooms after all.

Suddenly, she felt rather than saw Josh coming up behind her, his arm wrapped around the waist of Melissa Hart.

Please tell me I'm imagining that, Heather thought as the base of her skull continued to tingle incessantly.

"Oh hell no," Rhi snarled, her eyes narrowing at Josh's approach.

Mike, too, looked a bit disgusted. "That boy just leaped from slightly pitiful to ridiculously pathetic."

"Apparently I wasn’t dreaming," Heather muttered before turning to look for herself, scowling deeply.

Josh saw her and sent a smug smirk, like he actually thought he'd found the next step up on the social ladder. Heather had to admit that while Melissa was very popular. Cheerleader, AP student, honor roll, home coming queen and prospective prom queen... but none of that was due to her personality.

Heather stood as Josh and Melissa approached, her fists clenching tightly when Melissa pointedly draped herself on Josh and nibbled his ear.

"Do you mind? Some of us are trying to eat," Heather spat.

"So am I," Melissa purred, giving Josh's ear a small lick. "Ooh, and my, doesn't he taste yummy! Of course, you wouldn't know…" she gave Heather an infuriating look of pity.

"No. I wouldn't," Heather said coolly, "then again, I wouldn't want to. Do you know how many others have tasted Josh before? It would be like licking a toilet. Naturally, that wouldn't bother you." She smirked as Melissa pressed her glossy lips into a thin line, nostrils flaring in a way that was very unflattering.

"Now, now girls," Josh said, pulling Melissa closer while his eyes stayed fixed on Heather. "There's no need to fight over me."

Heather rolled her eyes and snorted. "Oh please. If there's going to be a fight, it's going to end with you screaming, bleeding on the ground while I laugh!"

Josh sneered. "You couldn't hurt a fly, Heather. You're a pathetic flirt, and when I decided to move on, suddenly no one can have me but you."

By now, most of the cafeteria had stopped what they were doing to watch the readily escalating, in both viciousness and volume, fight. A handful of freshman near the back of the room looked at each other and simultaneously got up, heading out the nearest door to find a teacher. Everyone could see this showdown was getting ugly fast.

Heather gritted her teeth, fighting an ever growing urge to punch Josh's lights out. "And you're a ladder-climbing pervert who won't take no for an answer! As if trying to get into my pants last night wasn't enough for your twisted mind, you decided to drug me!"

Josh let go of Melissa and grabbed one of Heather's forearms tightly. Oddly enough, Heather hardly felt any pain, the contact just made her angrier. "Shut your mouth, Heather! Just because you're a scared little virgin doesn't mean you can run and cry 'rape' every time a guy even glances in your direction. I didn't drug you, okay? Get the hell over it."

Before she even knew what was happening, Heather had cocked back her fist and smashed it into Josh's jaw. He staggered back, releasing her arm as he clutched his face. Whoa! Where did that come from? I don't know how to throw a punch.

"You bitch!" he screamed, coming back at her after seeing the blood on his hands.

Heather would never be able to quite explain what happened next. She dodged Josh's first two swings, coming back up from the last punch with a sharp blow of her own to his stomach. He gasped as the air was driven from his body, and Heather seized the moment to spin a roundhouse kick at his side. He gave a pain filled choke.

Josh recovered his wits quickly and stepped forward to try and grab her. Heather rolled between his long legs, coming back up to drive an elbow into his backside. Howling in pain, Josh fell to his knees, clutching a spot where one of his kidneys would be.

This was about the time that two teachers raced in and Heather's mind seemed to catch up with what had just happened.

Staring in horror at Josh, her eyes then flicked around at the other students who stared dumbfounded at her. Here she was, Heather the honor roll, loser geek, who'd just laid Josh Roker out without breaking a sweat.

Melissa stared at her in horror. "You're a freak, Parker!" she cried, running to kneel next to Josh as he moaned on the linoleum.

Heather's gaze flicked to Rhi and Mike, who both looked confused and stunned. Oh god, even her best friends thought she was nuts. It was all too much – she just couldn't take it. Her senses were on overload and her fight or flight was kicking in.

I've already fought, so what's left? Oh right… Hardly thinking, she grabbed her bag, which had fallen to the ground, turned and ran as hard and fast as she could from the cafeteria. She ignored the shouts behind her, the hands that tried to grab her, and raced outside the school. Her messenger bag slapped against her thigh, but it hardly slowed her down as she dodged students and faculty members.

Once outside, she raced for the other side of the road, paying no heed to the insistent honks around her, dodging cars like Frogger, the old video game she and her dad used to play. She plunged into an alley and kept running.

She didn't stop for another fifteen blocks where she suddenly collapsed against a wall, exhausted and gasping, her body shaking. The logical part of her brain that was still sane said she shouldn't have been able to run that far – she'd always been thin and lanky, a stellar runner and a champion at marathons, but what just happened wasn't possible.

She'd tried out for various sports teams over the years, but nothing stuck for long. For awhile in grade school she'd found a niche in gymnastics, as she was quite flexible, but she quit when she was ten. She'd instead focused on her studies, and left running for charity races and the early mornings on weekends.

So why was she suddenly able to run so far for so long? Her oxygen debt should've been through the roof five blocks ago. Yet even as she leaned against the cool bricks, she felt her heart rate decreasing, her breathing slowing to normal, her hands steadying on their own.

"This isn't possible," she muttered. "What's happening to me? First the fight, now this?"

She sighed and put her head in her hands, then paused. Why were her fingers sticking to her hair? She pulled them back slowly, staring at her finger pads. What were those hairs? They hadn't been there before. She sure didn't remember seeing those this morning.

Out of curiosity, she pulled back the sleeves of her shirt to look at the strange whitish patches that had appeared on her arms months ago. Were they bigger, or was that just her hyperactive brain exaggerating details again?

This was all too much. She needed space. Needed time to think! With that in mind, she left the alley she'd stopped in and hailed a cab. She couldn't go back to school, not after what had happened, and she couldn't go home yet – her mom would know something was up. That is if the school hadn't called her yet.

With only one thought in mind, she gave the driver a familiar address and settled back in the cracked vinyl seat. Closing her eyes, she sighed. She was almost afraid to ask, but, what else could go wrong today?

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Five

The bell over the door chimed cheerily as Heather walked into the cool air conditioning. Looking around, she couldn't help smiling a little. The place was exactly the same as when she'd last seen it. Same decor, same stained black and white tiled floor, same patrons and the same staff. It was nice to know some things never really changed, particularly when everything else in her life had been in such a flux.

A passing waitress in a rumpled uniform and brown hair piled messily on her head glanced at Heather over a loaded tray. "It'll be a few minutes before I can get you a table, you might want to sit at the counter, hun," she said, raising a penciled in eyebrow.

Heather nodded. "That's fine, thanks."

The waitress 'hmmed' and moved on, putting down plates with hardly any pause between tables.

Heather took a seat on a vinyl stool. She took another look around the old diner, recalling the first time she'd come to this place. It was near her dad's old neighborhood, not far from her Great Aunt May's house. She'd been twelve and Peter had managed to snag an entire afternoon off from work so they could spend time together. He'd showed her around the community and talked about growing up in the neighborhood. Sometime after lunch, there had been a carjacking or a robbery or something like that, and his boss Mr. Jameson had demanded he get to the scene for photos. Peter had claimed it wouldn't take long, so he left her there at the diner to hang out until he got back. Needless to say it took a lot longer than either of them realized, and it was almost dark when he returned.

Heather didn't hold it against him though. Not when, in the end, she'd found a place she could always escape to when needed. This diner was a relic of a time long past, a time she herself had never known, but it was one she could take comfort in. After all, what better way to escape the present, or even the future, than to journey to the past, especially one that wasn't your own?

"Can I get you something, honey?" An older, plump woman behind the counter asked, adjusting the glasses perched on her nose. Her name badge read 'Madge'.

Madge seemed to fit right into the fifties-style restaurant – with her poodle skirt and collared shirt uniform, curled silver hair and half-moon glasses, it was like Heather had left the twenty-first century behind and gone back to nineteen-fifty-six.

"A slice of apple pie," Heather replied, after a moment's hesitation. "Oh, and I'd like a cup of coffee. Straight black please, no creamer or milk."

Madge turned and grabbed a plate from beneath the counter along with a knife, heading towards a covered display holding the requested treat. "You want some ice cream with that, honey?"

Heather nodded. "Yes, please."

"Comin' right up," was the answer.

Within moments, Heather was biting into a warm slice of pie, baked earlier that morning. It wasn't the same as her Aunt's, or her mother's, but for now it was good enough. As she chewed, she considered carefully everything weird that had happened to her recently, not just from the past couple of hours.

When Heather calmly thought it over, with a rational and open mind, suddenly a lot of things started to click into place. She realized that things had been off for a long time now, which probably explained her current status at a nine point eight on the weirdness scale. Why she hadn't seen this before, she'd probably never know.

Heather had never quite fit in with the other kids. She was smaller, more agile, faster and more flexible. This was good to begin with in elementary school. She was the best climber of her classmates, the fastest runner, and this made her acceptable for the most part. Then middle school came, and things changed. Suddenly she was taller than all the other girls, and a lot of the boys. Where she was once just slender, her body was now absurdly thin, with pointy elbows and knees, and long limbs that she'd never been sure what to do with.

It was an awkward time for her. Although she'd had Rhianna for support, for the most part she'd retreated into a shell, taking refuge in books and studies to avoid stressful social settings. And there she'd stayed, in that safe little shell of exams and AP classes.

When high school came, she managed to come out a little bit by joining the track team (for a short time anyway), gaining some much needed curves on her skinny frame, and attending a few parties with Rhi. It was at one such party that they'd met Mike, making their duo a trio.

Heather couldn't quite recall when Rhianna had started to make enough social connections – particularly with her older sister's college friends – that the blonde could get the three of them into clubs and bars. Suddenly though, Heather was going out several nights a week until wee hours of the morning, drinking and dancing with her two best friends.

Of course, some of her shell had still remained – she never drank a lot while out with Rhi and Mike, and she hardly danced unless she was dating someone. None of those relationships had lasted long, and though there had been a few good ones among the many bad choices, she just couldn't find a boy to stick with like Rhi had with Mike.

All of that aside, she'd been different on the inside still as well. Around sophomore year, she'd gained an uncanny ability to know when something was about to hit her, whiz past her, or just that something big was about to happen near her. Rhianna had been kidding when she'd called it precognition, but as near as Heather could figure, that wasn't far from the truth – whatever the truth was.

Heather played with her spoon, lost in thought. After a moment though, something seemed… amiss. Like, for example, how she couldn't seem to put said spoon down.

Holding up the utensil, she observed with growing uneasiness that it was sticking to her hand, but not in the usual hundreds-of-people-have-used-this-before-me kind of way that was so common in diners. No it was actually stuck to her hand, like the appendage was made of duct tape or something.

Trying to be subtle – she didn't want to attract any more attention today than was absolutely necessary – she pulled at the spoon with her other hand. After a bit of wrangling, she finally managed to pull the spoon free. Laying it down on the counter, she took a closer look at her hands.

In the alleyway, she'd assumed she'd been hallucinating or still high on adrenaline after seeing tiny sharp hairs sprouting from her hands. Now, she knew that was not the case, that her fingers and palms were indeed covered in tiny hairs no longer than a half centimeter. Overall, they were minuscule, hardly noticeable, except that they made eating dessert more than a little tricky.

Groaning softly, Heather dropped her head into her hands, resting her elbows on the chrome counter top. What next? X-ray vision?

That thought jolted her to an astonishing realization and she sat up, staring at her reflection in the Coke-a-Cola mirror above the pickup window. Wait… Last night when I came in, I saw…

She blinked at her reflection, brow folding in confusion. No. That was just a dream – it had to have been a dream. Unless… Heather looked down at her arms, pulling back the sleeves to look once more at the strange white patches on her wrists. The skin cancer that wasn't skin cancer – what if it was actually some kind of…?

It couldn't be… Nah, I've got to be going crazy. There's no way! Still, Heather found herself standing, grabbing a ten from her wallet and placing it on the counter, then heading for the door.

The cheerful little bell rung once more, before the sound was overtaken by the city traffic outside. Her feet guided her across the street and into another alleyway without any conscious decision on her part, like they suddenly possessed a mind of their own.

Heather hopped on top of an overturned garbage can and jumped, grabbing the bottom of a fire escape ladder to pull it down. She climbed it swiftly, and then took the staircase up to the roof of the four floored apartment building.

At the top, she looked around, like there might be a camera hidden behind an air vent. She couldn't help feeling paranoid. What she was about to do was not only dangerous, it was downright stupid.

Heather pulled her messenger bag off and laid it down on the tarmac. Not knowing how else to begin, she quickly started using the stretching techniques she'd learned as a gymnast, plus the ones she used before meets for the track team. Once she felt sufficiently warmed up and loose, she tried a simple cartwheel across the roof, remembering to put her legs together at the end.

Not bad, she mused. I didn't even wobble at the end like I thought I might. It's been so long since I practiced a routine. Let's try something more challenging… Frowning in determination, she attempted a double back flip. She nailed it, feeling like she had hardly put in any effort at all.

Heather looked down at her arms contemplatively. If what I saw last night was real, then maybe…

Looking up, she held her right arm up and aimed it at the door to the stairwell. Lining up the shot carefully, she mimicked a pose she had seen so many times in her life she could do it in her sleep. Folding her two middle fingers in, she made the sign language symbol for "I love you" before tucking down her thumb as well. She cocked her head, squinting slightly and tipped down her wrist.

The result was instantaneous. Sleek, silky thread shot from her arm and hit the old door with a dull 'thud', expanding out upon impact into a spider web design.

Heather's blue eyes widened in shock. "Holy Batman," she exclaimed hoarsely.

Giving her arm a quick jerk released the spider web filament, letting it float gently to the ground, rustling in the early spring breeze. She took a step back in surprise before her knees gave out on her and she sat heavily on the roof. Gripping her head she squeezed her eyes shut, shaking slightly. "This can't be happening, it's not possible," she muttered. "My dad can't be… I mean, he's not – ugh!" Jumping to her feet, she paced around in agitation.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, running through all the facts she had on her favorite hero. There were several missing pieces to this puzzle that she couldn't fill in. She had no idea where Spiderman's powers had come from, or why he'd chosen the life of a hero with all its ups and downs. There had to have been a reason though. No one chose to take up a cape and mask because they thought it would be fun – there were far too many risks.

You needed motivation – a drive stronger than anything else in the world to decide one day to protect an entire city like New York. So if her father was indeed Spiderman, and it felt crazy to even think it, then what could have been his motivation?

Heather sighed while taking a seat on the parapet, her head spinning from all the unanswered questions. She tilted her head up to the sky and watched a distant airplane make its way across the sky; the barest of specks with tiny lights glowing bright in the growing darkness. Inside that plane were people with their own busy lives separate from her own, people that she would most likely never meet. She wondered if some of them were looking out the window right then contemplating, as she was, how big a world they lived in... and yet how small.

Checking the time on her phone, while ignoring all the missed calls and text messages, made her frown uncertainly. Five o'clock, school's definitely long over. I wonder how much detention I'll get for missing all my afternoon classes… actually forget detention. I'll be grounded for the rest of my life once Mom and Dad get a hold of me.

Heather took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She had to go home soon, but she dreaded the very idea. Should she even bring up all the stuff she'd discovered? Confront her father with the truth, to see how he'll react? Or just let sleeping dogs lie, and pretend she was still ignorant? Why hadn't her parents ever told her?

Now that she thought about it, she was more angry than amazed. They had no right to hide this information; she deserved to know the truth. Had they really never considered the possibility that she could inherit whatever mutated genes her father possessed?

Heather made up her mind then that she would demand an explanation as soon as she got home. They couldn't ground her when they were the ones who'd lied, right?

She grabbed her messenger bag, and started towards the fire escape, but stopped. She looked at the other side of the roof and beyond it, where visible was the above ground train she'd need to take to get home. She could always walk it, not like it wasn't far, but…

Heather smiled. Let's see if web slinging is an inherited talent easily attained, or a skill to be honed. Securing her bag, she backed up to the edge of the roof, shifting her weight carefully on the balls of her feet, like she was about to begin a fifty-yard dash.

A few deep breaths to psych herself up, then she closed her eyes for only a second, savoring the moment. She figured it was worth remembering. After all, if this didn't work, she'd be a wet spot on the pavement.

Her mouth kinked up in a half smile at the morbid joke. Shaking the stray thought from her head, she refocused and took one last deep breath.

"Here goes nothing," Heather murmured.

She ran, pumping her legs hard. She was choosing to flat out ignore all the advice coaches had given her over the years about pacing herself at the start to save her stamina. In this case, she needed all the momentum she could get.

When she drew closer to the parapet, she gave an extra long lunge and shoved off with the tip of her shoe. For a fraction of a second, she seemed to fly through the air as the roof fell away behind her and her feet met with air. Then gravity caught up, and she began to arch downward.

Thinking quickly, Heather threw out an arm ahead of her, aimed at a building across the street and spat a webline to catch on the corner of the brickwork. Her fall turned into an arc, and she glided along through the air, almost gracefully.

As she approached the building rapidly, it dawned on her with sudden clarity why Spiderman used buildings on opposite sides of the street to soar through the New York skyline. It balanced out the equilibrium, making sure there were no face plants on skyscrapers. In light of this revelation, she shot a second webline to another apartment building across the street.

That seems to be the trick, she thought with a relieved smile. It took a few tries but she managed to find a rhythm, so that she could coast down the street smoothly. After awhile, she found that she enjoyed the sensation, reveled in it really. It was almost like flying.

Too soon for her liking, she'd reached the platform. Knowing that she couldn't very well just jump down in front of everyone, she landed on the roof and glanced around. Eventually she found a service entrance with, thank god, a staircase.

Heather took several deep breathes to calm her racing heart, smoothing down her hair as she joined the other passengers waiting for the train, blending into the crowd. Still, she couldn't keep the exhilarated grin off her face.

Flying – she'd been flying in those few beautiful moments. It had been breathtaking, pure magic, like nothing she'd ever done before. Nothing could or would ever compare to it.

Alright, so aside from quite possibly being grounded for the rest of my life, getting in a fight at school, and ruining my reputation forever… this hasn't been too bad of a day. Not too bad at all, Heather thought contentedly, taking a seat on the crowded train's worn upholstery. She leaned her head back against the safety glass window, closing her eyes, a soft smile still resting on her mouth. I don't care what happens after this – as long as I get to do that again, I'll be the happiest girl in New York City.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Six

This good feeling lasted about as long as it took her to reach the platform closest to her family's apartment. Once she'd set foot on the sidewalk, however, her uncertainty and irritation flared up all over again. Trying her best to remain calm, she walked down the street and let herself into the building climbing the stairs two at a time.

Heather hesitated outside the apartment door, listening for any voices on the other side. There was a soft murmur, but it sounded distant and slightly fake – the TV most likely – and there was also a sound like metal lightly clanking together, quite possibly her mother cooking dinner. Otherwise, it was silent.

I don't have to go in, she thought spitefully, pursing her lips in thought. I could always hole up at Rhianna's house – or Aunt May's – they'd hide me for a while… probably. Then again, maybe I should just brave my parents. At least then I could get it all over with. Finally deciding on what seemed to be the lesser of two evils, Heather stuck her key in the lock and opened the door, sticking her head inside first tentatively, making sure the coast was clear. It wasn't.

MJ stood at the stove, stirring something in a big pot, while something else sizzled in a frying pan. Her back was to the door, a phone held between her shoulder and ear. "Yes, I understand that, Barry," she said, in what was clearly her I'm-really-pissed-but-I'm-being-calm-for-now voice. "But you're not listening to what I’m saying. We are two months away from opening night, and our lead actress has a twisted ankle and borderline laryngitis. This is a disaster with a capitol 'D', and quite frankly I am this close to firing your ass!" She paused, listening to whatever Barry had to say.

Heather eased the door open as quietly as possible, hoping she might be able to sneak past her mother and make a break for her room. Tiptoeing in, she quietly closed the door behind her. Just as she began making her way out of the kitchen and to freedom, something, or more accurately someone, thwarted her

Toddling into the room holding her sippy cup was Audrey, Heather's two year old sister. Audrey's brown eyes widened in excitement as they caught sight of her, her mouth splitting into an ear-to-ear grin. "Heather!" she exclaimed happily, and loudly. Oh so very loudly.

Heather felt herself wince.

Mary Jane turned at the noise, the phone now pulled away from her ear, Barry's voice on the other end an unintelligible murmur. Her mother gave her a piercing look, one that clearly said stay-right-there. She turned back to the pot on the stove as Heather reluctantly sat down at the table.

Audrey meandered over on her chubby legs, putting her princess cup on the table before she stretched up high toward her sister. "Up," she requested simply, wiggling her dimpled arms impatiently.

"Up, up!" Audrey insisted when at first Heather ignored her, still sore about being inadvertently ratted out.

With a sigh, the red head gave in and lifted the toddler into her arms, cuddling her close while playing with the baby's curly brown locks. Audrey settled herself in happily, grabbing her juice and taking several long sips while their mother wrapped up her phone call.

"Yes, I understand… no, frankly, I'm not happy. I understand, but I'm not happy… I don't care what it takes, I want this mess sorted out by tomorrow at the latest Barry, or you'll be looking for a new job… Yes… Uh-huh… Well, I'm glad we're on the same page now. Take care Barry, and remember what I said," MJ said sweetly into the receiver, clicking the end button with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary and heaving a tired sigh.

Mary Jane returned the phone onto its charger and went back to stirring the pot on the stove, which by the smell Heather had guessed was some sort of beef stew. For a moment, it was quiet in the apartment.

From the living room came a few hushed chords of music, some happy voices calling out indistinct words of encouragement – clearly some kiddie show like "Yo Gabba Gabba" or "Barney". Audrey took another drink while swinging her tiny legs, before putting the cup down again. She picked up some crayons and applied them to a coloring book on the table, a serious expression on her cherub-like face.

Heather played with her sister's hair and desperately thought of what her options might be. How exactly she could spin this tale and not get grounded? Demand the truth about her freaky DNA? Or come up with a really, really good excuse for what happened this afternoon? It was a tough choice and she wasn't having an easy time deciding.

Their mother was silent, which was a bad sign. Yelling, Heather could deal with, but when her mom was starting off a lecture with the silent treatment, it usually meant things were going to get ugly fast. Another beat of silence passed, in which Heather thought for one fleeting second that perhaps the school hadn't called. Maybe her Mom just wanted to know why her daughter hadn't made it home until late in the afternoon/early evening.

Unfortunately, it became apparent that Heather just didn't have that kind of luck.

"Your Principle called," MJ finally said, although she didn't turn around, almost as if she was making this statement to the potatoes in her big pot. "He said you were in a fight at school during lunch, and then took off afterwards and never came back."

That was it. No, 'what happened' or 'what were you thinking' or 'didn't I raise you better'. Just a statement, given in basically a nonchalant manner, like she was discussing the weather forecast.

Heather's tongue felt dry, like her mouth was full of cotton. "Well…" she said, and stopped, unsure how to continue.

Where had all her bravado gone? Her self-righteous anger, her confidence and conviction – why were they suddenly MIA?

Heather suddenly realized it had been silent for a very long time in their tiny kitchen, although MJ hadn't moved. This probably meant that her mom wanted an explanation and wanted one now. One word was not going to suffice.

"I can explain what happened," she finally managed to say, and then felt like smacking herself. Oh great, now I actually have to come up with a plausible excuse! Why couldn't I just have admitted defeat and told her to ground me?

"See," she began tentatively, bouncing her sister on her lap nervously. "Yesterday, I broke up with my boyfriend, Josh – you know, the one you thought was scruffy all the time and needed a shower?" she attempted a laugh, but it was weak at best and her mom didn't react which sort of made it worse.

"Um, anyway… So, we broke up and it was pretty messy. I was still really mad about something he did, and today at lunch I saw him with this total bi–" she stopped herself just in time as MJ finally turned with a sharp look.

Heather blushed. Her sister obviously couldn’t hear her, but their mom had a very strict no swearing rule in the house.

"Uh, really super mean girl who's dated a lot of guys in our school." She finished quickly, and MJ gave the slightest of nods. The look on her mom's face filled Heather with enough relief that she continued.

"So I was, you know, really ticked that he'd just dumped me last night, and now here he was the next day with the trashiest girl on campus fawning all over him. I was totally justified to be mad… for the most part. So then he started to rub it in my face, and I guess we sort of started arguing and the next thing I know he was grabbing my arm and hurting me. Yelling in my face like a jerk. What happened was really just a self-defense mechanism. Not controllable in the least. An instinctual, fight-or-flight type of thing," Heather realized distantly that she'd begun babbling.

However, she didn't seem capable to stop herself now that she was on a roll. "So, yeah, the rest is kind of a blur. I think I probably broke his nose, and possibly sprained his arm, but otherwise I don't think there was much structural damage. He'll live, you know? Not like I put him in a body cast. And I guess when it caught up to my brain what I did, I panicked. Before I could really register what was going on, I'd run out of the school. After that, well, I just couldn't go back. I mean, it'll be brutal on Monday. Everyone's going to be talking about what happened and staring at me and pointing and I'm probably going to get detention and…" her tumble of words ground to a halt as MJ raised one hand, index finger pointed in the universal one-second pose.

Heather bit her lip nervously. Oh great, here it comes. I'll be grounded until college – I'll have to attend my high school graduation over the phone and have them mail me the diploma. I'll become a rumor at school, a weird folklore tale of the seemingly perfect honor student who one day snapped and broke her ex-boyfriend in two and afterwards spent the remainder of her days as a recluse on five psych medications, living in a tiny apartment somewhere in New Jersey with ten cats…And I hate cats… And taking pills… And Jersey! That's just great, perfectly peachy. God my life is going to suck!

"Heather," her mom said while rubbing her eyes, cutting Heather's inner monologue short. "You're not grounded."

It took Heather a long second to process this statement. Once she did, all she could manage to say was, "…what?"

MJ snorted softly in amusement and shook her head. "Honey, I'm disappointed that you let yourself get so worked up over a boy – a boy who was a jerk with apparent bad taste, but still just a boy – and that you skipped out on your classes, but you're not grounded.

"Admittedly, this does toss your perfect attendance record out the window, but even the best of students sometimes miss a class, so it's not too much of a big deal. You'll have a good bit of homework to make up for today, plus the detention your principle mentioned. I think that in itself is punishment enough… although you will be doing dishes tonight as well," she added pointedly, checking over her shoulder to make sure the stew didn't overheat.

Heather let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Oh…" she said eventually. "Okay. Well, I just want to say that I am sorry about today. I should've kept my cool."

MJ nodded in agreement. "Yes, you're right. Let this be a lesson in what happens when you don't think things through, okay? You're a good girl, sweetheart, and very smart. I don't want to be having this same discussion again if we can avoid it, alright?"

Heather nodded immediately, grateful that her mom wasn't mad at her. Disappointed yes, but then again, that was easier to deal with and she'd take it over angry any day.

"Now, why don't you call Rhianna and explain what happened? That girl has been ringing the phone off the hook all afternoon looking for you. Between her and the disaster with the play, I was about ready to pull my hair out," MJ shook her head dubiously as she returned to her preparations for the family's evening meal. "Oh, and don't stay on the line too long. I want you to get started on your homework before dinner. Rhianna and Mike dropped off your assignments earlier; I put them on your desk." The older red head added this as she reached into the cupboard and pulled a spice bottle from the rack, throwing some into the stew and stirring it in.

"Okay Mom, thanks." Heather picked up Audrey, sippy cup and all, and brought her back into the living room where a set of wooden blocks were scattered across the floor. As she'd suspected, Heather caught a glimpse of a brightly dressed character on the television singing about colors while using American Sign Language.

She put Audrey on the floor, the little girl's eyes immediately going to the TV. Brushing back her sister's hair exposed clear hearing aids that sat comfortably inside Audrey's tiny ears.

“You okay?” She signed, having to stamp her foot twice to get Audrey's attention.

“Good.” Audrey signed back, her movements much more fluid despite being only a toddler.

Heather smiled and pressed a kiss to Audrey's forehead. “Okay. I love you.”

Audrey grinned. “I love you, Heather.” She carefully signed her sister’s name, the letter ‘H’ mixed with the sign for ‘red’. She turned her attention back to her show, watching the character's lips and the sign language intently.

Heather sighed tiredly, leaving the living room to call Rhi and get started on the mountain of homework she no doubt had. She collapsed on her bed and dug her phone out of her pocket.

She brought the phone up to hit speed dial and caught the smallest glimpse of that patch of white skin. She glanced at the closed door. Tentatively she aimed for a corner of her ceiling, made the signature move and shot a small web that stuck fast. She grinned, still so cool. With a grin still on her face, Heather dialed her best friend.

The phone rang only twice before Rhianna picked up. "Where the hell have you been all day! I've been calling your house, your cell, your aunt's, I even called your Dad's office looking for you! You better have a good explanation for this Heather May Parker, or our friendship is over, do you hear me? Over!"

Heather waited a long moment as Rhi breathed heavily on the other end of the line. "Feel better?" she asked calmly.

It was silent for a heartbeat. "Yeah," Rhi replied a second later. “Much. Now spill! What happened today?”

Heather sighed and rolled over onto her stomach. "Yeah, I… look, it's kind of complicated. I guess I was madder at him than I realized, and I just freaked out. But really, can you blame me after seeing Melissa all over Josh like that? I mean, come on! Couldn't he have a bit more class? We broke up last night!"

"Well, yeah, I mean I get that part. Hell, I'd have decked him too if I'd gotten a chance… and then turned him into a eunuch with a spork," Rhi replied.

Heather snorted and shook her head. "Classy," she commented. She could practically see the evil grin on her friend's face.

"You know it! But seriously, what I want to know is why you took off afterwards? You should have seen everyone's faces! They were all talking about it. 'Who knew shy little Heather Parker could be such a badass?' they said. Of course, I set the record straight… you did, after all, learn it from me," Rhianna joked.

Heather rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, I cannot thank you enough oh wise one – what would I do without you? Anyway," she said in a less sarcastic tone, changing the subject. "Mom, thank god, didn't ground me for what happened. I'm on dishes duty tonight, and I'll probably be babysitting my brother and sister for awhile, but overall she was pretty cool about it."

"That's good," Rhi commented positively. "Wait does this mean no more you-know-what for awhile?"

Heather nodded even though her friend couldn't see it. "Afraid so. I can't risk it. Besides, I need time to regain my parent's trust… two maybe three weeks tops at the minimum before I can even think of doing that."

"That sucks!" Rhi whined. "But I guess there's nothing to be done about it. Oh well.”

"Besides," Heather added, staring at the spider web in the corner. "I have a new, uh, project that I'm going to be busy with."

"What kind of project?" Rhianna asked suspiciously.

Heather thought it over for a second. Should she tell her? This was her best friend. They'd been tight for years. Still, she wasn't sure if Rhi could keep this big of a secret under wraps; and she could be putting Rhianna and Mike both in danger. She didn't want anything to happen to her best friends. Better to lie and beg forgiveness than tell them and regret it for the rest of my life, she thought.

"It's, um, part of an early internship program," Heather lied, biting her lip, "a research project. Very top secret, but if I play my cards right it could land me an awesome summer job. It'll look great on my resume when I apply to college."

Rhi seemed to digest that for a moment. "A research project on what exactly? Why didn't you mention this before?"

Heather stared at the spider web then glanced to the box barely sticking out from under her bed. "It's on genetic research with arachnid DNA – you know, for curing cancer, HIV, stuff like that? I just found out about it a few days ago and hadn't had time to mention it."

"Oh," Rhi replied, a little wary. "That's cool I guess."

"Yep," Heather replied in a chipper voice. "Well, anyway, I've got to get to this homework. Mom wants it done before dinner, and there's enough here to make a mini Mount Everest."

Rhi chuckled. "I hear ya girl. Alright, text me later, yeah? I'll catch up with you tomorrow. See ya."

Heather said goodbye and hung up, letting out a small sigh. That sucked, she decided. I hope I won't have to keep lying to Rhi. It's a lot harder than it looks.

Without warning, her bedroom door suddenly flew open and Harry her eleven year old brother stalked in, looking very pissed off. "Where were you?!" he demanded.

Heather raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too. What flew up your butt and took lodging there?"

"Don't," Harry said icily. "I don't want to hear it. What I do want to hear is where you were all afternoon?"

Heather's eyebrows now scrunched together, both in thought and confusion. "God, Harry you're beginning to sound like Dad. Why do you need to know where I was, anyway?" She stood up and plugged her phone into its charger and then picked up a stack of papers sitting on her desk, flipping through the worksheets to evaluate what could get done quickly and what needed more concentration.

Harry crossed his arms tightly over the blue soccer jersey he was wearing. "Normally, I wouldn't care one iota what you do with your time, little miss perfect. But right now I'd love to hear what kind of excuse you can come up with for missing my game!" He was practically yelling by the end of the sentence.

Heather's fingers froze while holding up a sheet of Geometry problems. "Oh, my god…" she said slowly, sinking into her desk chair. "Harry, I… oh, god I'm so sorry." She stared at her little brother's angry and hurt face, ice forming in her stomach. "I mean, I just – I don't know what happened."

"What happened," Harry replied in a clipped tone, "is you forgot about me. This was the last game before the semi-finals. You knew how important this was to me!" He sighed and shook his head, turning away from her. "This is the kind of thing I expect from Dad… but not you, Heather. Not you."

"Harry, I –" She put her hand on his shoulder, pulling him back towards her. "I know sorry doesn't cut it, buddy. But I am. I'm so, so sorry! I made a promise, and I broke it."

"No duh, Sherlock," he retorted, his anger mostly diffused down to disappointment. "It was an awesome game too," he continued. "I scored the winning goal."

She tried for a smile. "That's great, Harry. I'm so proud of you kiddo," she ruffled her brother's brown hair.

"Itwas great," he gave a ghost of a smile, but it vanished just as quickly. "Except that when the game was over, I thought you'd be the first to rush the field like you always are. But you weren't there… only Mom and Audrey were there. Mom even missed that shot because Audrey needed a diaper change."

Stab me in the heart and give it a twist why don't you? Heather thought, frowning. "Oh, Harry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I know that sucks."

Harry sighed. "Doesn't change the fact that you weren't there."

"I know," she said quickly. "But listen, I'll make it up to you. When are the semi-finals?"

"A week from today," Harry replied suspiciously.

"Well then," Heather said briskly. "I'll be there, in a front row seat. Nobody and nothing will stop me, I promise." She smiled confidently, tweaking her brother's ear affectionately.

Harry's face gained just a small bit of hope. "Really? You promise?"

"Count on it!" Heather declared confidently.

Harry smiled for real this time. "Thanks, Heather."

"Anything for my favorite brother," she replied easily.

"I'm your only brother, stupid." He rolled his eyes and turned, ready to leave now that everything had finally been sorted out.

"That's why you're my favorite!" She called after him in a sing-song voice.

He twisted around and started walking backwards. “You are so annoying,” he signed.

“I love you too, dummy,” she retorted while getting up, ready to close her door so she could finish her homework. Harry stuck his tongue out maturely before heading into his own bedroom and closing the door.

Heather shook her head and closed the door, heaving a small sigh for what felt like the billionth time that day. How could I have forgotten Harry's game today? I never miss his games or anything else he or Audrey are doing. This better not become a habit, I am so not turning into my old man… well, aside from the obvious stuff anyway. Pushing it from her mind, she sat down at her desk once more and began tackling her homework.

About two hours later, Heather filed the last worksheet into its proper folder and placed that into her messenger bag for tomorrow. "Finally," Heather breathed in relief.

"Heather! Harry! Your father is home, and dinner's ready!" MJ called from the kitchen.

"Be right there, Mom!" Heather yelled in return. She stood and stretched from the chair, her back aching from hunching over her desk for so long.

At the dining room table, Heather found her father sitting and reading over some paperwork. Peter ran a hand through his hair, frowning at whatever was on the page.

Heather hesitated in the doorway. Do I ask him? Do I pretend to still be naïve and clueless? I mean, I saw him. I flat out saw him in costume and with the mask off. I know now that it wasn't a dream.

"Heather, honey would you set out some bowls, silverware and napkins?" MJ asked as she placed the pot of stew on the table, next to a basket of rolls and a plate of fried squash.

"Harry, get everyone a drink, would you? Oh and put some apple juice in Audrey's cup, please," her mom added as Harry walked around Heather.

Heather mentally shook herself. Not yet. Maybe later… when I've got a better handle on this. I'll tell him eventually – but not yet. She did as her mom requested and then took her seat.

"Peter, your student's papers can wait until after we eat," MJ chided lightly, kissing her husband's brown hair in passing to get the butter dish.

Peter looked up and smiled, "Alright, if you say so. I'll be sure and blame you though if they complain about how long it took to get feedback."

"Oh well. They'll live," Mary Jane replied simply, picking up Audrey and placing her in her high chair.

"By the way some of them talk, you'd think just the opposite," he joked in return, gathering the essays and placing them in his briefcase on the floor. The rest of the family took their seats at the table and dinner commenced. For a few moments, the only sounds heard was the sound of requests for something to be passed or silverware clinking.

Finally, once everyone had food, Mr. and Mrs. Parker immediately began filling the silence with conversations about the day's activities. Peter complained about a lecture he had to give on quantum physics that most of his students had fallen asleep during, and then reported happily that he was close to choosing the students who would be eligible to enter the internship program the university was offering over the summer. MJ reported on the progress of the latest play she was co-producing, including the mishap with the lead role that Heather had overheard part of earlier, and that Audrey had lost a second baby tooth that morning.

It was a typical conversation between her parents, yet Heather was still waiting with somewhat bated breath for the other shoe to drop. While MJ had said that Heather wouldn't be grounded over the incident that day, there was no telling whether her father would overrule that decision or not. However, as the meal progressed, Heather felt herself relax a little more and more. Her mom hadn't said a word about the call from her school, and her dad hadn't asked about anything of the sort. For the first time that day, things were genuinely beginning to look up.

"Hello? Earth to weirdo, come in weirdo," Harry said, breaking Heather's train of thought.

She looked up and narrowed her eyes in annoyance at her little brother. "What?"

"We've been trying to contact you for many a moon young Skywalker," Harry replied, grinning.

Heather rolled her eyes. "Not that stupid Star Wars stuff again, it's so annoying. Aren't you over that yet?"

"Nope," he replied simply, popping the 'p'. "Anyway, like I was saying Princess Leia," he continued sarcastically. "Can you help me with my English homework later? I just don't get this Shakespeare guy. I mean, why can't he talk like a normal person?" She had to hold back a giggle at the puzzled look on her brother's face.

"You do know that back then that was normal talk, right?" Heather questioned, scooping up another spoonful of stew.

Harry frowned. "Really? But it takes so long to say anything when you talk like that. All those 'thys' and 'thees' and stuff, it's annoying."

Heather smiled, deciding to have mercy on the twelve year old. "Alright, I'll help however I can," she finally agreed.

Harry smiled his thanks and returned to stuffing his face. Honestly, that boys' metabolism is astounding, she thought, shaking her head. She glanced at her parents and noted the lull in conversation. Now would be a good time to bring it up… but where do I even start? She mulled it over silently. Maybe if I ease into it from a different angle.

"Hey, Dad?" She started slowly, hesitant to start.

"Yeah?" Peter glanced up expectantly.

"I was just wondering," Heather began, choosing her words carefully. "If you'd taken any new pictures of Spiderman recently?"

Peter frowned slightly. "Not lately. Things have been pretty quiet around the city. But I have heard rumors at the Bugle lately that something big is brewing with the Silvermane and Tombstone groups. It could just be the calm before the storm right now, there's no way to tell for sure."

Heather nodded and began plotting her next question cautiously. She wanted to ease into this conversation without tipping her hand too soon. "I have this…" a split second of hesitation before the answer came to her. "This school project that I have to do, for social studies, and I wondered if maybe you could help me out. I'm writing a paper on Spiderman – the assignment is to write about a public figure of your generation," she observed the guarded looks her parents exchanged and quickly added, "I thought that maybe you'd be able to help me out, since you've been his personal photographer for so long. I mean, you were there when his career first took off. You out of anyone in New York would know the most about him, right?" Heather reasoned, only feeling the tiniest bit guilty over lying to her parents.

Peter turned the story over in head for a second. "I don't see why not," he replied eventually. "As long as it's for school," he inserted quickly, trying to catch her off-guard.

This is turning into a game of poker, Heather thought, outwardly smiling like the picture of innocence. "Of course it is, Dad. Thank you."

Peter smiled, finally buying her story. "What would you like to know first?"

"Well," She dragged the word out just a bit, rolling the sound on her tongue. "Firstly, do you have any idea why he became Spiderman?"

Peter appeared reflective. "I can't say for sure, since I'm not in his head, but over the years it seems to me that he went through some sort of very personal trauma. It was something that motivated him enough to stand up for others so they wouldn't go through what he had."

Heather withheld an eye roll. No duh, I figured that one out easily enough. "Seems plausible," she approved. "What do you think that could have been?"

Peter shrugged and tore off a piece of his roll. "Possibly the death of a loved one," he responded, in what was probably supposed to be a vague, off-hand tone.

She noticed though that there was a slight tensing in his shoulders as he spoke, like something had pinched a nerve. "Sure, that makes sense. It should be a good start to the paper." Outwardly she nodded, but on the inside her head spun with possibilities.

Her father had been exposed to lots of deaths. His parents had perished in a plane crash when he was a small boy, and while it seemed semi-plausible for a motivation, it just didn't fit right in her mind.

She glanced around the apartment, her eyes landing on the portrait hanging in the living room. Three people were in it – her dad as a skinny preteen in dorky glasses, her Great Aunt May with her normal sweet smile, and of course her Great Uncle Ben, his strong hand laid gently on his nephew's shoulder. Ben Parker, her father's favorite and only uncle, who died when Peter was about her age.

She frowned. Coincidence?

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Seven

The next morning was Saturday, and Heather woke up early enough that it was still dusky outside.

She'd spent half the night up thinking. Her father was a superhero, her mom knew and neither had bothered to tell her, and, oh yeah, she had powers too. At this rate, she wouldn't have been surprised if a black hole suddenly opened in the middle of Times Square.

Trying to shake that thought from her head, she quietly got up and dressed, managing not to wake her parents or siblings miraculously. She poured a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Carrying both carefully, she returned to her room, she shut the door and sat at the desk.

She chewed a few bites thoughtfully. Dad has always told me that if you have the power to make a difference you should. So… I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

Powering up her laptop she pulled up a Google search. She stared at the screen for several seconds before typing "spiders" into the search bar. The first two hits were for a Wikipedia page on spiders and a pest control website with an identification chart for poisonous and non-poisonous spiders. The wiki she opened in a new page, but skipped on the pest control. After that were some university websites that specialized in arachnid research (those were opened); a link to see images of spiders (tabbed that as well); a site entitled "Frequently Encountered Spiders in California" (pass), and at the bottom were several screen shots from stupid people who'd found giant spiders in their houses and decided to put their captures up on YouTube (double pass).

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. It wasn't like someone made a site titled, "How to Become a Hero Sidekick in Three Easy Steps", and it was doubtful that the book store down the street would have a copy of "Superhero Success for Dummies". She frowned and took a long drink of coffee. This might be harder than I thought.

After a rather awkward encounter with her parents in the kitchen trying to act like nothing was wrong, she left the apartment at about nine. Heather met Rhi at the train station where they got on together and rode it until they reached Manhattan from Queens, then transferred to the train that would take them to China Town on the yellow line.

Once a month on Saturday, Rhi and Heather would take off early and walk around China Town and Little Italy, window shopping and haggling with vendors on deals over everything from scarves, key chains, jewelry, and bags that only an expert would be able to tell were knockoffs. It was a chance for them to hang out and have some pure girl time away from school, their families, and their boyfriends (Rhi's steady one and Heather's flavor of the week).

"I'm telling you Heather, come Monday, you are going to be the hottest gossip since Liz Brooker showed up at school after summer break with a baby bump last year," Rhi gushed, glancing for a moment at a row of bracelets before moving on.

"Buy a Rolex for your boyfriend, baby? He'll love you forever," a pusher standing by a table called as we passed.

Heather shook her head. "Honestly, Rhi. I wish you'd stop talking about it. It wasn't that big of a deal. You know my Dad put me in karate when I was seven – I didn't stick with it, but I guess I still have some fight left in me. Besides, you forget, I was pissed. Adrenalin does wonders to the human body." She paused for a moment in front of a store selling Chinese lanterns and fake Jade dragons, but then moved on, as nothing caught her attention.

Rhianna rolled her eyes. "Sure, HM, whatever you say." They stopped at the corner to wait for the crosswalk, squished against the throng of people. After a minute or so, the traffic light changed and they crossed the street to continue shopping.

"So, this research project of yours," Rhi began after a long silence and three more shops, one of which they paused in to examine the handbags on sale. "What exactly are you going to be doing, anyway?"

"Oh you know," Heather scanned the street, avoiding her friend's green eyes. "A bit of reading, some hypothesizing, a lot of field work – it's going to be pretty boring to be honest with you. But it's a great opportunity, I can't pass it up."

"Heather, you're probably the smartest girl I know in this city. Why would you bother with this extra project? Everyone knows you're one of the main competitors for valedictorian, and with your grades and AP honors classes, you'll end up at some Ivy League school without lifting a finger. They'll be begging for you to come. You work way too hard, girl. I'm beginning to think that you're turning into your old man – incapable of having any fun and overly geeky," Rhi wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I can have fun!" Heather protested in a rather loud voice. One of the other customers glanced in their direction curiously. The red head blushed and busied her hands with fingering the fabric of woven scarves.

Rhi smiled knowingly. "Right, that's you. Miss Wild-Party-Girl, out all hours of the night, a real animal," she teased, taking a tentative sniff from a bottle of Chanel perfume.

Heather drew her lips in a thin line. "Funny," she muttered, dropping the scarf back on its display rack and walking outside.

"Heather! Oh wait up," Rhi called, hurrying after her friend after putting the perfume down.

"Hey," she said, catching Heather's arm. "I'm kidding, alright? You are fun, just sometimes," the blonde glanced across the street for a moment, before looking back with a more serious expression, "Sometimes I get scared about you. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders. You take all those hard classes, you babysit, you act like a second mom to Harry and Audrey 'cause your dad's not always around… I worry that one day it'll all be too much and you'll – well, you'll snap or something."

Instantly, Heather's irritation dissipated.

Rhianna's mother had had a mental break down when the blonde girl was very young, and was still on medication to help regulate her depression and mood swings. Rhi always claimed she didn't recall much from the day it happened. Yet, it was times like these, when a flash of maturity would shine in her green eyes and her expression would be so serious, that it showed she remembered a lot more than she let on.

Heather sighed and gave a world weary smile. "I'm okay, Rhianna. Really. I don't have that much on my plate. I mean, sure the classes are difficult, but that's good. I can never be bored. And yes, sometimes it's… difficult," she used the word delicately. "Dealing with my dad being so absent. But I’m almost used to it now. Besides, Audrey is so sweet I could never resent taking time out to be there for her, or for Harry. I mean, Harry… he needs me. Even if he never says it, I know it's true. Not because Dad isn't around as much as he could or should be, but because I've always been his rock."

Rhi returned the smile and pulled her friend into a one armed hug. "My friend, Supergirl," she remarked with a twinkle in her eye. "You're an angel, Heather. No one can ever say different."

"If I'm the angel," Heather wondered aloud. "What does that make you?"

"Devil's best girl," Rhi winked.

Heather snorted and shook her head. "Well come on then, let's go find a new bag to match your horns."

They laughed and began walking again. A few blocks further down brought them to a cross street that ran into Little Italy. Without discussion, they turned towards it, walking beneath the neon sign stretched between two buildings: "Welcome to Historic Little Italy".

"Ooh, let's go in here, they have fantastic cakes and pastries," Rhi suggested, pointing to a small deli between two other restaurants.

"Okay."

They got a table near the back and ordered slices of fruit pastry with sponge cake and crème filling, and a pot of hot apple and cinnamon flavored tea.

"Oh, my god," Heather moaned after the first bite.

"I know!" Rhianna agreed. "I found this place with Leah a few weeks ago when she was home for the weekend."

Heather nodded. Leah was Rhianna's second oldest sister, and was currently studying at Juilliard as a musical genius cellist. "I can see why you wanted to come back. This cake is amazing." Rhi nodded, her eyes closed happily as she slid another bite onto her tongue. For the next several minutes, they sat and chatted idly while eating their treats and drinking the sweetened apple and cinnamon tea.

Heather glanced around the deli, eyes wandering across the pictures on the wall, black and white snapshots of old celebrities who'd visited the small restaurant. Something caught her eye in the next glance and she stared at the girl and boy sitting across the room from Heather and her friend.

The couple was dressed in a punk/gothic style, which stood out easily as it was, but something about the girl's fingerless, black motorcycle gloves and her black combat boots caught Heather's eye. The gloves were decorated with blood red roses stabbed down the middle with ornate daggers, while the combat boots had green viper snakes slithering up the sides. Without much thought to her actions, she stood up and moved to the couple's table, ignoring Rhi's questioning look.

"Excuse me," Heather said.

The girl and her boyfriend looked up. The girl raised a pierced eyebrow in question, "Yeah?"

"I know this sounds weird," Heather explained, "But I have to know. Where did you get those gloves and boots?"

The girl glanced down at her footwear and accessories in surprise. "Uh, there's a leather store about four blocks from here. I get a lot of stuff from there. The guy can make custom designs of whatever you want, it's pretty cool. Why?" She asked, a flash of a pierced tongue peeking between her black lips.

Heather flushed. “No reason, I just thought they were cool, I guess. Thanks.” She walked back to Rhi before the couple could ask her any other questions.

"What the hell was that?" Rhi questioned in a hiss. "That guy looked like he wanted to stab you with the knife in his belt.”

"Don’t be ridiculous,” Heather took a sip of tea to try and calm herself.

Rhi looked at her friend expectantly, waiting for a more thorough explanation that never came. She gave a short sigh. "Fine, whatever. Talk to weirdoes who probably drink blood or something, see if I care."

Heather raised her eyes to the ceiling tiles. "Rhi, not every Goth drinks blood or does occult stuff… probably. You can't judge everyone by how they dress."

"Right, right, whatever," Rhi replied, finishing off her tea in one long sip. "Come on, I've got to get home. Mr. Grugger gave us a pile of homework that's due Tuesday – I can't screw up this late in the semester or I'll be stuck in summer school."

Heather's expression was thoughtful. "You go ahead. There's something my mom wanted me to pick up while I was out. I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

Rhi nodded. "Sure, text me." She sketched a wave, throwing her purse over one shoulder as she walked to the register, settling her tab quickly before disappearing outside.

Heather wasn't far behind, leaving a small tip as well with her bill before she stepped back out onto the street. Adjusting her satchel across her shoulders, she turned left and followed the street for four blocks before she spotted a sign over a doorway. "Louie's Leathers," She murmured under her breath. She walked inside, the smell of leather goods wafting into her nose, nearly overwhelming her other senses.

"Hello?" She called.

"Back here," A voice from the rear of the tiny shop called, muffled by the rows and rows of goods stacked or hung neatly everywhere. There were bags, wallets, jackets, boots, gloves, hats, even motorcycle chaps. "I'll be right with you, just have a look around and let me know if you see something you like."

"Thanks," Heather replied, focusing in on a low rack of boots lined up by one wall. She ran her fingers over the tops as her eyes slid down the row, before resting on one black pair. She picked them up, noting that while they were sturdily built they weren't overly heavy, and they came up to mid-calf on her legs.

"That's a nice pair. Had those made not two weeks ago," A voice suddenly said.

Heather looked up, taking in the tall, large man in front of her. With his enormous stature, dark eyes and Italian-New-York accent, she thought that he'd make a good member of the mafia. The friendly smile on his face though, shattered the image.

Heather glanced back down at the boots in her arms before returning her gaze to the salesman. "I like these a lot. I heard you did customizing on items?"

The man nodded. "If you can draw it or describe it, I can make it happen for a low additional cost. There has yet to be a design Louie Delamonica can't make," he waggled a huge finger at her, grinning. "What's your pleasure? Flowers? Your name in pretty cursive?"

Heather glanced to the side self-consciously. "Actually, I had something else in mind."

"Here I got a pad of paper by the register, see if you can sketch it out for me," Louie offered. He turned and ambled behind the small counter, picking up a well-used sketchbook and flipping around for Heather to use, producing a stubby pencil from a chipped "I Heart New York" mug.

Heather put the boots down on the counter and picked up the pencil, hesitating for a moment before drawing a design she'd seen from a far and up close many times in her life. She finished the picture quickly, turning it around to show Louie. He twisted his mouth to the side in thought.

"You want, uh, maybe this piece on the side at the top," he tapped the portion of the picture in question with a finger, "and the rest of this stretching across the rest of the boot?"

Heather nodded. "Yeah, like that. You think you could also do that on some gloves?"

Louie hummed thoughtfully, walking from behind the counter to shuffle around in a bin filled with paired gloves. "You're what? Maybe a size small or small-medium?"

She shrugged. "About that I guess."

"Fingers or no? And do you want these up to your elbows or at your wrists?" He asked.

"Fingerless, and at my wrist," Heather clarified.

Finally, Louie held up a pair of black gloves made of tougher leather than typical fashion gloves. He dropped them on the counter. They seemed to match the boots perfectly, like they were made as a set.

Heather smiled. "They're perfect. Can you put this part on the back?" she tapped a bit of the picture with the pencil suggestively.

Louie nodded, rubbing his neck. "Sure kid. Gonna take me until maybe next weekend before these are done, and that's if I rush the order. That soon enough?"

Heather nodded. "It's perfect."

"Alright," Louie grabbed an order form from a pile and scribbled across it in handwriting that was less recognizable than a doctor's. She wondered silently if he'd be able to read the order later, or assume it was a bit of Chinese characters. "This is your total. Sign here and here." He pointed to several places on the form.

Heather nodded at the price, pulling her credit card from her wallet and handing it over while she signed the form.

Louie swiped her card and rang her order up. "Thanks for choosing Louie's Leathers. Be here to pick up your stuff next Saturday before closing, and bring proof of purchase for verification, alright?"

Heather grinned. "I'll be here."

After leaving Little Italy and Chinatown, Heather took the train to another shopping district, seeking inspiration. She'd had a few ideas last night before she'd fallen asleep of costume designs and what materials she'd need.

Coming from a middle class family, Heather was used to wearing secondhand clothes and making do. And when push came to shove, she'd learned to recycle what she had on hand and make it into something new. Just last year, she'd taken a home economics class that had included how to sew. With a little extra help from her aunt, she'd gotten pretty good at it. Now, she was going to put those skills to good use.

Scanning the storefront display windows, she stopped when her eyes landed on what she'd been looking for. With a small smile, she stepped out of the unusually warm spring afternoon and into the cool interior of the fabric shop.

A tall, thin woman with dark hair in a long blue skirt and white peasant blouse smiled at Heather from behind the counter. "Hello, dear, I'm Jasmine. What can I help you with today?"

"Hi, I'm looking for some fabric that would be used in sports clothes. Like what they make gymnastic outfits out of. Do you carry something like that?" Heather inquired, keeping her tone polite.

The woman smiled. "I believe so, follow me," she stepped out from behind the cash register and walked towards the back of the store. She turned and eyed a rack filled with bolts of fabric speculatively. Whilst walking down the aisle she ran her long fingers along the fabrics, her lips moving silently as she counted off the bolts.

"Ah, here we are," Jasmine said eventually, stopping in front of a small section. She gestured at the five bolts of athletic cloth, which consisted of black, red, green, yellow and purple. "This is all we have I'm afraid."

Heather fingered the black and purple textiles carefully, calculating mentally the cost, yardage and measurements. "No, no. This is perfect," she assured the saleswoman.

Jasmine smiled. "How much will you need, dear?" Heather rattled off the amount of both the black and purple fabric and the store owner nodded. "Will you need a pattern or any type of accessories like buttons?"

Heather chewed her lip for a moment. "Possibly a pattern… do you have any for one piece body suits?"

"Such as what Olympians athletes wear for the winter games?" Jasmine looked a little puzzled, the smooth tan skin of her forehead wrinkling. "I believe so… just what sort of garment are you making? Is it for a school play perhaps?"

Heather glanced down at the fabric in her fingers. "Something like that," she finally said. "More like for a… costume party. I'll need a hood or cowl too."

"Ah, I see," Jasmine smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You and your friends are dressing as the Justice League, or the Avengers – superheroes, yes? Superman, Wonder Woman, Captain America or Iron Man – that sort of thing, yes?"

"Oh, um, yeah! That's it," Heather gave a nervous chuckle.

"Why didn't you say so? We just received some patterns for hero costumes last month – big seller around Halloween you know. Hang on a moment, I'll get you a few," Jasmine disappeared into a back storeroom, long skirt swishing with every movement, and Heather silently let out a sigh of relief.

Normally, she would've been insulted that someone thought she still dressed up and went begging for candy at her age. At the moment though, she'd take any plausible story that was given to her. It was better than the alternative, which was being found out before she'd even put on a mask. Being a shutdown super before stopping even one crime would suck big time.

"Here we are," Jasmine reappeared with a handful of patterns in her arms. "Which were you thinking of using? Hawk Woman? White Tiger? Or perhaps one of the famous villains; Poison Ivy is very popular these days."

Heather scanned the pictures on the patterns, eyeing two in particular. One was her father's costume and one was a generic female vigilante outfit with a mask that attached to the suit while still allowing her hair to hang out. "I think I'll take these, along with the fabric," she replied.

"Good choice. Let's ring you up, dear."

In short order, Heather was leaving the store laden with black plastic shopping bags filled with materials and designs, a plan fixed firmly in mind. Now for phase two, she thought. Holding the bags with one arm she fished out her phone and dialed an old number.

It rang twice before the call was answered. "Yeah, Coach Holldar," a voice on the other end of the line said.

"Hey Coach, it's me. Heather Parker? I was on your team a couple of years ago," Heather only hoped that he remembered her. He was a great guy, but from what she recalled, he could barely keep track of which gymnasts were his and was often found giving advice to the other team.

"Parker, Parker…" he muttered, and she could just picture him scratching his salt and pepper hair as he thought. "Oh, the red head with the actor father and reporter mother, right?"

"Uh, yeah, close enough," Heather bit her lip to keep in a laugh.

"Well how you been, kid? It has been a while – about, what, six or seven years I think. What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Holldar sounded cheerful and happy, just like she remembered him, which was making her second guess this decision.

Would it be right to lie to him? He'd seen her through a lot of tough times when she was competing. He'd always been supportive and energetic, even when she couldn't stick that landing after fifty tries, or she'd placed bronze or not at all at a meet. It felt wrong to deceive him. And yet… she didn't finish the thought.

"I was wondering if you were still doing private coaching sessions at your old rec center – I'm considering coming out of retirement, or at least trying to get back into a routine," Heather said, plowing ahead despite her misgivings.

"I tell you what – why don't you come down to the center tomorrow afternoon after lunch? You run a few routines for me, I'll check your form, and we'll do some drills and see how it goes. Sound good?" Holldar offered.

"That sounds amazing, thank you," She grinned, unbelieving of her luck. Everything was coming together.

"Alright, I'll see you at one then."

"See you then," she ended the call just as she started down the steps into the subway.

A blast of warm, stagnant air hit her, making her almost miss the hot, unforgiving sun on the street level. At least up there her nose wasn't being subjected to the moist smell of the tunnels – a strange combination of sweat, dirt and piss. She wondered for a moment if subways smelled like that everywhere, or just in New York. She had a feeling though that it wasn't a biased stench, and somewhere in London or Paris or Germany, other travelers were being subjected to the same torture.

The price we pay for cheap, convenient public transit, she mused as she took a seat in a fortunately air conditioned car. The ride was relatively quick with only a few transfers, and before she knew it she was back on her street walking into the apartment building.

Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and hollered, "I'm home."

"Hey weirdo," Harry called back. "Audrey and I are in here."

Heather figured out quickly enough that 'here' meant the living room. There she found Audrey playing with one of her dolls and Harry pouring over some hefty looking textbooks, his forehead pinched with concentration.

"Hey guys. Where are Mom and Dad?" Heather dropped her bags by the couch and pulled off her denim jacket.

"Mom got called down to the theater – something about a light falling?" Harry replied without looking up. "Dunno where Dad is. He said he'd be here pretty much all day. Then his cell phone beeped and he ran out like the place was on fire or something. Last thing he called was not to go anywhere or let Audrey fall out a window or something," he shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"Honestly, if I'd wanted to kill the little sprite, don't you guys think I'd have done it before you all got attached?" he sent a halfhearted glower at the baby of the family, who looked up and smiled angelically in return.

Heather held back an eye roll. "So glad you've learned to love her and have totally gotten over the whole I'm-not-the-center-of-attention-anymore thing. I mean, that was getting so annoying," she retorted.

He stuck out his tongue. "I don't hate her. Just wish Mom and Dad had waited until I was, oh I don't know, in college before having another kid."

"I'm almost in college," Heather remarked, silently marveling that she only had a year and a half left.

"Seriously though, haven't our parents ever heard of birth control?"

"Obviously not, they had you after all," she smirked and tweaked his ear.

"Funny," he retorted, swatting at her hand and missing. "Are you going to help me with this Shakespeare crap or not?"

"Well since you asked so nicely," Heather snorted, taking a seat on the couch and leaning over the book.

But even as she explained sonnets and wrote down plot points of As You Like It, her mind was elsewhere. Silently wondering about what adventure her arachnid hero was on. Daydreaming about when she'd be out there with him, saving the world. For now though, she was just saving her brother from an 'F' in English class.

Chapter Text

Heather woke up early again on Sunday. She got dressed quickly and slung her bag over her shoulder. Leaving her room she rounded the corner into the kitchen, and stopped short. Sitting at the table were her mother, her baby sister on her lap, while Peter stood at the stove scrambling eggs in a pan.

Dad's never here in the mornings, let alone making breakfast. Is the end of the world upon us? Heather wondered. "Uh, morning?" She said tentatively, waving.

MJ smiled. "Good morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?" she asked, stroking Audrey's hair as the little girl yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"Okay I guess," Heather replied, her eyes flitting between her parents uncertainly. "Shouldn't you be at work already, Dad?" She tried not to sound annoyed. But that was difficult considering her father had lied to her for her whole life.

If Peter noticed her tone, he didn't say so. "My morning classes got canceled, so I'm taking the morning off. Still have to go in to The Bugle in the afternoon. There's a new exhibit opening at the Met and Mr. Jameson wants shots. But for now, I'm spending time with my family." He and MJ exchanged smiles as he slid the cooked eggs onto a plate.

"Oh, that's… nice," Heather muttered eventually. "Where, uh, is Harry?"

MJ explained, "Your brother is hanging out with his friends at the park today. He said he'd be home for lunch." She speared some eggs with a fork and offered it to Audrey. The toddler smiled happily, accepting the breakfast.

"You hungry, kiddo? There's plenty," Peter invited, taking a seat next to his wife and youngest daughter. He opened his arms invitingly and Audrey, with a giggle, climbed into his lap.

Heather felt something twist in her gut. She wasn't sure if it was jealousy, nostalgia, or anger, but either way she knew she had to get out of the apartment. If she didn’t, she would say something she would regret later. "No thanks. I'm meeting Mike and Rhi at the library – study session," she replied curtly.

She knew that her parents would buy it and even if they didn't, her friends would back up her story. That was their system, they covered for each other.

Heather was almost at the door when her dad stood up, and put a gentle but unyielding hand on her shoulder.

"Heather, honey… I'd like to talk to you for a minute," Peter said quietly.

She closed her eyes for a split second, biting back a retort. You haven't wanted to talk to me since I was six – did you finally come up with a topic? How about, 'hey I'm a superhero! And guess what? You are too!' "What is it Dad? I don't want to keep the guys waiting." She turned her head, but kept her body angled towards the door.

Peter shifted on his feet for a moment. "Heather, I know that we haven't had a lot of time to spend together for a while now, and I'm very sorry about that. I know, too, that you're growing up. You'll be seventeen by the end of the summer – it's a big deal for anyone. I wanted to let you know that…" he paused. "Well, that I recognize you're probably going through a lot of hard stuff right now."

Heather couldn't hold back a snort. "You have no idea," she muttered under her breath.

Peter didn't seem to hear her. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you, if you ever need someone to talk to. I also wanted to make you a promise."

She tilted her head slightly, curious despite herself.

"On your birthday, after you've done the whole party with your friends and all that, we can do whatever you want. Just the two of us. You'll have me for the whole day – even if the biggest story of the century hits, or the university calls, or whatever, I'm yours." He locked eyes with her for a long moment, "I promise."

She swallowed, trying to process that. "I… Thanks," she said softly. "Thanks, Dad. I'll hold you to that."

Peter smiled and kissed her forehead. "Of course. Now go have fun with your friends – study hard. You're a brilliant girl, Heather. I know that you can do anything you set your mind to. You always have."

Heather nodded quickly, wondering why her eyes were smarting, "Right. Thanks." She reached behind her and fumbled with the knob for a moment.

"I'll, uh, see you later," she looked behind him and smiled tightly at her mother and sister. "Bye Mom, bye Audrey," she sent her sister the sign for 'I love you'.

Audrey waved and signed back. “Bye! I love you!”

"Have a good time, Heather," MJ called as she shut the door.

Heather tried to shake herself of the emotions cluttering up her mind as she boarded the train. Focus, Heather! You've got an appointment to keep.

She leaned back in her seat and watched the digital readout that reported what station the train was at. After several stops and one change over, she got off and trotted down a flight of stairs, heading along the street for the old gym. A long disused leotard was stuffed into her messenger bag, its weight bouncing against her hip.

Once at the gym, she knocked on the front door, glancing up to see that Holldar had recently repainted the warehouse a bright blue and put up a new sign. In no time, she could see him walking to the front door, waving at her through the window built into the wood frame. He unlocked it, ushering her in.

Heather couldn't hide a smile, noting that Coach Holldar looked the same as the last time she'd seen him. The coach was tall, about 6'5", with salt and pepper hair and a wrestler's physique. Although when she'd first met him, she'd been terrified of the larger than life man, eventually she'd learned that the big guy was like a giant teddy bear. You just had to get passed the sometimes intense coaching techniques, and the barked orders, to see it.

"Parker, good to see you!" he quite literally bellowed, clapping Heather on the shoulder. To her immense surprise, the blow didn't knock off her feet – didn't even hurt really. Was that her spider DNA?

"Good to see you too, Coach," she replied, flicking a stray lock out of her eyesight. "I just need to use the locker rooms real quick and change."

He nodded, pointing down a side hallway. "Go right ahead – I'll set up some equipment for you to warm up on in the meantime."

Heather thanked him and followed the hallway to the showers and locker rooms. She set her bag on a wooden bench and unzipped it. She picked up the uniform and frowned in distaste. Honestly, who let a redhead buy a pink leotard? I look like a strawberry meringue in this thing.

Wrinkling her nose, she nevertheless pulled off her shirt and jeans and slipped into the leotard, switching her Nikes for a pair of skin colored beam shoes; they were like ballet slipper in appearance, and were commonly used by gymnasts for extra padding. Grabbing a hair tie and brush from her bag, she pulled her hair up, twisting it into a tight, makeshift bun.

Heather grimaced as she eyed herself in a mirror. Note to self: if this superhero thing turns long term, I am never having a pink uniform – ever!

Aside from the god awful color, she had to admit, she looked different compared to the last time she wore the uniform. She'd always thought of herself as skinny, her limbs long and sharp angled. Now however the muscles were more defined in her arms and legs, her stomach flat.

Still thinking about this, she hurried back out to the main room. There she found the Coach setting up bench press weights for her. He noticed her entrance and waved her over.

"I thought we'd start small and work our way up – we have to know where you are now before we can improve," Coach explained as Heather laid down on the bench. "I'm starting you at one hundred."

She nodded and with Coach spotting her, lifted the weights off the rack and started pumping them up and down. She couldn't believe how light it felt – maybe he'd been fooling and had really only put seventy-five or fifty on? After pressing the weights about ten times, Holldar told her to put the bar back up. He slid another weight onto either side as Heather rotated her neck to loosen it up.

"Alright, try these," he said.

"Okay." Heather reached up and gripped the bar, lifting it up as if it were a feather. She pressed the weights fifteen times before Coach had her stop. She waited while Holldar put on two more weights on either side of the bar.

Without being told, Heather began lifting the weights again. After thirty, Coach again had her stop so he could add more weights. I'm not even winded, that’s so weird!

The process went on until suddenly Coach Holldar halted her just after she'd done one hundred compressions with the latest weights. Minuscule beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead, but other than that, she didn't feel any strain on her body from the work out.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, baffled.

Coach gave her a wry look, folding his arms across his massive chest. "I'm out of weights. You just pressed seven hundred pounds and you're not even out of breath. You sure you haven't been working out somewhere without telling me?" He raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling in amusement.

Heather was suddenly grateful for the slight flush of her skin, as it hid her blush. "Uh, yeah, I'm sure. I guess they're just really working us hard in gym class these days at school," she bluffed, hoping she sounded convincing.

"Uh-huh," Coach merely shook his head. "Let's get you on a treadmill – if your arms are that strong, I want to see how far your legs will go."

Shrugging slightly, Heather got up and followed him to a running machine. He pressed a series of buttons and she began at a quick walk, which soon became a jog and then running. Remembering her brief stint in the track team, she soon fell into an internal rhythm. Step, step, breathe. Step, step, breathe. Step, step, breathe..

As she ran, gradually the speed increased. She glanced down after awhile and noted the speed was moving rapidly towards twenty miles per hour, and she'd been going for almost two hours. The belt on the treadmill was even beginning to smoke.

This is starting to look suspicious, she thought, panicking. I'd better do something.

Thinking fast, Heather wheezed heavily and purposefully lost her running pattern, decreasing speed rapidly. Coach immediately turned off the machine and Heather staggered off, collapsing on a bench. Chest heaving, she gingerly massaged her calves and thighs, as though the leg muscles were screaming in agony.

"You alright, Parker?" Coach asked, handing her a bottle of water.

Playing her part, Heather nodded weakly, but gave no verbal reply. Huffing and puffing, she took several large gulps of water, even adding in a fake cough like she'd swallowed the wrong way.

Finally when she figured sufficient time had passed, she said breathlessly, "I'm okay, Coach."

"You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard," Holldar reprimanded her sternly, a glint of concern in his eyes. "Geez, Parker, you're only human."

Heather privately thought that was amusing. Outwardly, she appeared contrite. "Sorry Coach. Just didn't want to disappoint you. I had it there for awhile, but I guess I finally reached my limit at the end."

Holldar clapped her on the shoulder. "That's alright, kid. Just remember – know your limits. Even Captain America isn't invincible."

"Right, Coach, sorry," she wiped some imaginary sweat from her face. "So, what now?" she asked, trying not to look eager.

Coach regarded her critically, not speaking for a few seconds. Heather felt a shiver of alarm run up her spine, terrified she'd overplayed her part. Finally he said, "How about you show me a routine, hmm? Let's see if you've still got that magic touch."

"Right," she held back a sigh of relief, "I can do that."

"Let's start on the balance beam, then the mat and maybe the parallel bars afterwards," Holldar suggested.

Heather nodded. "Can do, Coach."

For the next two hours, Heather pushed herself hard, trying to find her limits. She found quickly that her balance was better than it ever was before – practically perfect. Not only that, but her flexibility would've made a contortionist jealous. And while her strength was mostly in her arms, the muscles in her legs definitely weren't lacking. Coach was right – she wasn't Wonder Woman... but damn she was not too far off.

When her time slot was up, she went back to the lockers and pulled on her jeans and switched her balance beam shoes for the runners, but decided to keep the leotard on. She came back out to see Coach Holldar reviewing a chart he'd kept of her workout.

"So, what's the prognosis doc?" Heather questioned jokingly. "Am I ready for the Olympics?"

Holldar gave her a long, shrewd look. "Parker, you'd put the Olympics to shame. I don't know where all of that came from. Frankly, I'd be afraid to know." He shook his head, and Heather's stomach fell to her toes.

Crap, he knows something's wrong! He'll call my parents, she thought, trying to keep cool outwardly. "Really?" She managed aloud. "Come on, Coach, it wasn't that impressive," she refuted weakly.

"Parker if I still had a girl with your ability on my team, we'd have won nationals. Hell, the whole team would have gone to the summer Olympics and won every gold medal." Coach paused, considering Heather for a long moment.

"Listen," he said in a quieter, more subdued tone. "I know that what I saw in there wasn't necessarily…" he ran a hand through his hair, "average – for anyone. So whatever you're into now that's made you like this," he gestured at her form vaguely, "just be sure you know what you're getting into, and that it's not going to get yourself or anyone else hurt. I've seen what some of those new enhancing drugs can do to a body," he shook his head. "I don't want that to happen to you. Got it?"

Heather nodded slowly, suddenly realizing she'd been holding her breath. "Got it. But I'm not on anything, Coach, I swear," she added quickly.

Holldar held up a hand. "Don't know, and I don't want to know either way. This isn't normal, Heather," he gestured at the clip board with her numbers. "I know you're a good kid," he went on encouragingly, as her face fell a little. "Just promise me that whatever is going on, you'll make sure it's not hurting anyone – including yourself."

Heather swallowed. "I promise Coach. You won't," she hesitated. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?" She bit her lip. If Dad found out this way… she left the thought unfinished.

Coach smiled slightly and crossed an x over his chest, approximately where his heart was. "I'll take it to my grave."

Heather smiled back, relieved. "Thanks."

He nodded. "Anything for one of my girls," he winked, and opened the door for her. "Say hi to your folks for me. And those siblings of yours – what were their names again? Uh, Adam and Harriet?"

She giggled as she stepped through the doorway. "Something like that. See you around, Coach."

He smiled and shut the door behind her.

Letting out another relieved breath, Heather headed back towards the subway station. She was almost to the stairs when three police cars, their sirens blasting and lights flashing, roared down the street. She paused and watched thoughtfully as they turned a corner, heading uptown. She glanced back at the dirty staircase, then again to where the black and whites had disappeared.

Butterflies flew in a frenzy through her stomach, excitement lighting up her nerve endings and making her spider sense twitch. But what if someone sees me? I don't even have a proper disguise...

A few yards away across the street, a bell jangled over a doorway, catching her attention. The sign over the storefront read: “Costumes, Baubles and Bling!”

Heather blinked. "What are the odds?" she wondered under her breath.

Quickly checking for traffic, she rushed across the street and into the shop. It didn't take long to find what she wanted. A few minutes later, she walked out of the store and darted into a nearby alleyway. She slipped a white and pink full theater mask over her face, and pulled on a pair of cheap, thin white gloves to make sure she didn't leave any fingerprints.

I'm not exactly a ninja here, she thought, pulling her jeans off and tossing them into her bag. The pink is definitely killing the mood, but it'll have to do for now. At least I had the sense to pass on the cape the guy offered me – that would have just been ridiculous.

After first checking that no one was looking her way, she jumped onto the wall and began crawling up the brickwork to the roof. Reaching the top, she secured her messenger bag, backed up several paces, then jumped from roof to roof.

As the alleyways passed beneath her and she gained on the police cars, she couldn't help wondering what the big emergency was. Is it a burglary? Car chase? Bank robbery?

Heather gave her head a sharp shake, coming back to reality in time to leap over a ventilation duct and notice the police cars take a left. Unable to make the leap across the street, Heather held up her wrist and flicked it at the corner of a brownstone across the street. Giving it a tug, she swung down almost to the street level, narrowly avoided slamming into a taxi by raising her feet up in the nick of time.

"Phew!" she muttered, "Gotta work on my entry angles."

As her arc swung upwards once more she let go of her web and did a somersault, landing on another rooftop parallel to the route the police cars were taking. Resuming her former shadow work of rooftop running, her mind drifted again to the question of where on earth New York's Finest were headed. She got her answer soon enough as the police headed up into the Upper East Side and turned onto 5th Avenue.

Maybe someone got shot in the park, or drove into the JKO Reservoir? She considered, gracefully doing a handstand on a parapet before launching herself off of a roof and twisting through the air. She could hardly hold back a shout of excitement as the wind rushed past her during her free-fall. Before she could become a splatter on the asphalt, she grabbed the arm of a traffic light, swinging around it twice like it was just another parallel bar. She jumped onto the top of a moving bus, as having the park on one side and sky scrapers on the other making it hard to use her webs.

She wondered for a moment if the people inside the bus worried about the thump she'd made when she landed, or if they just figured it was Spiderman or another Meta that hung around New York catching a ride. There were quite a few of them after all. I wonder if I'll meet any of them… Spiderman is rumored to have worked with a lot of different heroes.

The bus rumbled on down the street, but had to stop for a red light. Not wanting to lose the police cars that were still speeding up 5th Avenue, Heather checked a side street where a bus was just about to turn onto the street going north. Thinking quickly she backed up several paces until she reached the back of the roof, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Timing it just right she ran down the length of the vehicle like it was a runway, jumping up, turning one somersault and landing on the new bus with ease.

Heather watched intently as the police cars came to an abrupt halt and surrounded the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where already other officers had cordoned off the building and were keeping people away from the main doors. She wondered why someone would have attacked or robbed the museum, when she caught sight of large banners flapping lightly in the breeze between the sweeping columns of the front steps. They read, "New Exhibit: Come See the Royal Bavarian Jewel Collection! Two Weeks Only!"

Well, that would be a good reason, she thought. Feeling the bus shift under her, she realized the driver was going to turn at the light and she had to move fast or miss all the fun. She glanced at the high slanted roof of the museum thoughtfully. I can make that, she figured.

Aiming her arm, she flicked her wrist and felt the webline stick to a corner of the rooftop. Leaping off the bus – and avoiding any cars with a lot more finesse than before – she swung over to the side of the building and grabbed the wall just under the eave. Poking her head out slightly, she was relieved to find that no one had seen her. How, she had no idea. She wasn't exactly dressed for stealth in the silly pink leotard and theater mask. But then again, this was New York. Weird stuff was just so normal around here that if anyone had noticed her, they probably figured she was a large balloon or a strange pink bird.

After once more making sure no one was looking, she crawled further up the wall and hauled herself onto the roof. Keeping to a half crouch, she darted across the concrete and tiles to the huge glass skylight, which she knew from numerous visits was located over the heart of the building. Peeking in, she could see multiple groups of officers and a handful of museum employees wandering around, or clustered in groups of two or three. She noticed in particular that most of the officers moved back and forth from the rear of the building, towards the park.

That must be the direction that the exhibit was kept in, she decided. Now, question is, do I leave now? Or do I try and get inside? Then again, what the hell I'm supposed to do once I got inside is anyone's guess. Ugh, what am I doing? I haven't got the faintest clue what all of this means!

Just as she was resolving to leave and let it end at that for the day, her spider sense kicked up a notch. Panicking, she pulled out of her crouch by spinning on a heel and kicking out with her other leg. Her foot collided with something solid that grunted.

Oh crap, Heather stood frozen in place. Her foot had slipped behind her, and her fists were stuck raised by her sides. Inadvertently, she looked ready to attack anything that came at her, but in reality she was petrified.

Because standing right in front of her – rubbing his abdomen slightly – was the man she knew so well and yet not at all. The one she'd both idolized and ignored. The one she couldn't stand and most admired.

Spiderman.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Nine

Well, to be fair, he did say he was going to be covering an opening at the Met, so I’m not sure what I was expecting. Still half crouched Heather narrowed her eyes behind the theater mask, wondering why Spiderman hadn't said a word so far. He seemed to just be studying her at the moment.

"You know," he said at length, making her pulse jump when her ears recognized the familiar baritone of his voice. It was a wonder no one else had figured it out, really. "Last I checked, Broadway is in that direction," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Heather glared, but unfortunately – or maybe not – he couldn't see it. "Oh ha ha, you're a comedian. Do you work birthday parties?" she retorted.

"Just saying," Spiderman shrugged and put his hands on his hips as he began circling her, like she was some strange piece of modern art he couldn't understand.

Heather loosened her stance and rose up to her full height, watching his progress from the corner of her eyes. "Can I help you with something?" she asked coolly, trying to cover up how panicked she was.

Spiderman paused and shot her a look. Or at least she assumed he did. With the full mask it was a little hard to tell. "Mostly I'm trying to figure out if you're the one who stole the jewels downstairs, and you're still here so you can gloat; or if you're a performer that got lost on the way to Cirque de Soleil. Frankly, I'm not sure I really want it to be either of those."

"What's wrong with the circus?" She asked, playing innocent while casually shifting her footing, aiming to make a fast getaway.

Spiderman shrugged. "Nothing really. Thought of joining one once. Now are you going to tell me what you're doing here, Pinkie, or am I going to have to guess?"

Heather felt herself bristle. God, she knew it was a hideous color. There was no need to rub it in. She tried to keep her cool as she replied. "Just a concerned citizen passing through, wondering what the commotion about. And my name is not 'pinkie'," she added icily.

"Oh? And just what is your name?" Spiderman challenged, standing in front of her once more with his arms now crossed.

Heather's mind went blank.

Aw hell, I never thought of a name! What is wrong with me? Okay, don't panic. Just think for a moment... Spiders! It should have something to do with spiders. Uh, Spider-Girl? Blech, no, I’ll come across as like some stupid fan girl. Madam Web? No, I think that name's taken by some weirdo villain. Spinneret? Okay, now I'm just getting desperate. Er… Wait! Those articles I read online – what did they say was the most deadly spider on earth?

"Widow!" Heather blurted and then felt like smacking herself.

"You don't look old enough to even be on husband number one," Spiderman said wryly, clearly getting a kick out of her flustered state.

Heather was suddenly grateful for the mask over her face so he couldn't see her blush. "What I meant was," she clarified in a calmer tone, "My name is Black Widow."

Spiderman seemed to absorb that for a second, staring at her and tilting his head to the side as he clearly took in her runners, pink leotard, white gloves, pink and white mask, and her messenger bag. "Oh yeah, I can see the resemblance. I'm quaking in my boots from fear," he retorted, tone flat.

Heather felt herself flush scarlet again, but forced herself to calm down. "My other suit is still at the tailors – this was the backup," she said, only half lying.

"I see," Spiderman shook his head. "Look kid, I appreciate the support but I don't need, nor want, the help. You're just going to get hurt. So go home now, okay? I've got a whole city to look after, I don't need some kid too." He turned and started to walk away.

Suddenly all Heather could see was red. He doesn’t need a kid hanging around? I'm his daughter for Green Lantern's sake!

"Hey!" Heather shouted after him.

He turned, his exasperation apparent in his movements, but she didn't give him time to burn her twice. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped a webline out onto his torso and tugged, yanking him off his feet and onto his back. Heather threw herself into a series of front flips, before launching up into the air, somersaulting three times and planted her feet firmly next to Spiderman's still prone form. Reaching down she grabbed the front of his costume and gave him a good shove down onto the concrete, pinning him there while getting right in his face.

"I don't know where you get off talking to me like that, and I don’t really give a damn what you think of me. But I am nobody's groupie or fan girl. I'm here because you need me, whether you want to acknowledge it or not." Heather released her hold and back-flipped to the edge of the parapet. She stood with her back to the open air, the traffic on 5th Avenue rushing beneath her.

Spiderman slowly got up, apparently unaccustomed to having someone take him down so quickly. For that matter, he wasn't used to encountering someone with powers so much like his own. He turned towards her, his tone angry now, "Who are you? What do you mean, I 'need you'?"

"Who am I?" Heather shrugged slightly. "I’m no one important. Just your new partner – whether you want me around or not. You can't keep going forever, not even Captain America is immortal. Someday, you'll need a replacement; someone who can carry on the mantle, and keep New York safe. That person is me."

"I don't even know who you are! How could I possibly work with you?" Spiderman demanded, taking a few steps closer.

"That doesn’t matter right now," Heather replied, tone edgy. "I’m just Black Widow – another aspiring vigilante in a long line of new teen superheroes. I'm the future, Spiderman. The sooner you realize that, the better.

"And don't think too much on the identity thing. After all, I don't know who you are," she went on, trying to sound convincing. "This just makes us even." She spread her hands out, a gesture of what-are-you-going-to-do.

She looked down beneath her, noting that a small crowd had gathered, apparently having spotted the very pink person who might or might not be getting ready to jump. "Well I'd love to stay and chat," she said in mock sorrow. "You know how it is though: things to do, people to see. But don't worry – I'll be back soon. See ya around, Boss." She gave a mocking salute and free-fell backwards off the rooftop.

Spiderman rushed over to the parapet, ready to dive after her, but was disconcerted to find that she'd caught herself with a webline, and was now swinging down one of the side streets. After another moment, she turned a corner and was gone from view. He looked down, fingering the sticky and frighteningly familiar webbing on his suit.

"Who was that girl?" he wondered aloud to himself.

'That girl' was now making her way over to a construction area, putting as much distance as she could between herself and what she had deemed a total disaster. The site was deserted today, which was just fine for Heather. She needed a moment to breathe. She set down in a shadowy corner behind the foreman's office, leaning wearily against the siding.

"What a nightmare," she muttered, rubbing her neck. "That was so not how I wanted our first meeting to happen!" She went on aloud, trying to settle her nerves by pacing back and forth on the dusty concrete. She hoped that maybe hearing her own voice in her ears would also help. "Out of all the stupid things I've ever done, this really takes the cake! Why didn't I just go straight home? Or go to Rhi's place? Ugh!"

Frustrated, she ripped off the theater mask and threw it to the ground, pulling her auburn locks out of the hold of the bun in the process. Glaring at the mask, which now lay face up on the asphalt while staring back calmly, she let out an irritated grunt, gripping her head. "What am I doing?" she asked softly. "I can't even understand why my father does this."

She slowly released her grip and looked up through the slanting light of the skyscrapers above her, thinking. What really had started all of this? It couldn't have been as simple as he got powers and 'poof!' instant hero. Like her mom was fond of saying, 'there's a story behind everything and everyone'.

Frowning, Heather picked up the mask and shoved it into her bag along with the gloves. She pulled out her jeans and shirt and slipped them both back on over the leotard. Walking casually, she found a hole cut in the chain link fence just big enough to crawl through and rejoined the foot traffic of the city. Finding the nearest train station, she descended the stairs and studied the map lines, tracing the route into a familiar Queens' neighborhood with one finger.

After all, she reasoned while boarding the correct train, gripping the handrail in the crowded car. My parents keep saying I need to get out to Aunt May's more often.

"I'm so glad you came to see me, Heather dear," Aunt May said for about the third time as she bustled through the kitchen.

Heather watched as her great-aunt pulled another tray of cookies from the oven, which she had been making ‘for the charity bake sale you know but of course you can have a few Heather dear I insist’, and put them on a cooling rack. She couldn't keep a smile off her face, taking a sip of milk and another bite of the chocolate chip cookie in her hand. "I'm glad I came too, Aunt May," she replied.

"I know how busy you are at school," Aunt May went on, "what with all those AP classes and other things you do, it's a wonder you have time for anything else." She chuckled. "Peter was the same way, you know. Always rushing around, I have no idea how he ever got any sleep, or managed to hold down his job."

The cookie Heather was eating suddenly didn't taste quite as good, and it definitely wasn't due to Aunt May's baking techniques. She put it down on the plate Aunt May had given her, and frowned in the general direction of the cat clock above the sink with the pendulum tail.

"Aunt May?"

"Hmm? Yes Heather dear?"

The red head half smiled. For the longest time, she'd thought her full name was Heather Dear May Parker. She'd realized somewhere around first grade that her aunt added the title to anyone she was especially fond of, which had made her a little sad for reasons she never could explain.

"I just wondered," the younger woman hesitated, "well, am I really that much like my dad? I mean," she added hurriedly. "What was he like at my age? He never talks about it." If he talks to me at all, that is. "All I really know is that Grandpa and Grandma died in a plane crash when he was little, and he came to live here. Then, I think somewhere around his sophomore year, Uncle Ben died. And that's about it…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"Oh Heather dear," Aunt May sighed and sat down at the small kitchen table. She took off the oven mitts she'd been wearing and rubbed her wrinkled hands, her face appearing years older than a moment ago. "Your father has had a very hard life. Ben and I, well, we tried to give him the best childhood that we could but it wasn't always easy. He hardly remembered his parents, and I think that affected him somewhat. As he got older, things didn't get much better.”

"He was bullied a lot in school; always such a small thing, without a lot of people to look out for him. Around your age though, he finally seemed to fill out, thank goodness, but it didn't stop the bullying. Of course he didn't talk about it – he wanted to handle it on his own and not worry Ben and I. He was always very independent that way," the older lady smiled fondly to herself.

Heather kept quiet, wanting to hear as much as possible about this person. They couldn't be the same man as her father, could they? It didn't seem realistic. Her dad never got picked on – he was an important professor at the university. Sure he had it hard at the Bugle, but other than that… who would pick on her dad?

"Then things just," Aunt May continued, shaking her head. "Things just got complicated from there. Peter was so quiet at the time. He'd been dating this lovely girl, Gwen Stacy, but she died in a horrible accident. Spiderman had tried to save her, but he couldn't. Ben and I were so worried about your father, so Ben gave Peter a ride to the library and they talked – I don't know much about it, Ben wanted to keep it between them. Later that night, Ben drove off to pick Peter back up. While he was waiting, a man came up and said he needed Ben's car. Of course your uncle refused and well…" she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Heather slid her hand over Aunt May's and squeezed reassuringly. May smiled gratefully, squeezing back.

"It's alright, Aunt May," Heather said quietly. "You don't have to tell me."

"You deserve to know, dear," her aunt replied simply. "At any rate, the thief took the car after shooting Ben. Your father was coming around the corner just after Ben was shot, and he saw him lying on the sidewalk. Ben died in Peter's arms." She took a deep breath, wiping away a stray tear from her cheek.

"Not long after, Peter graduated and moved out. He got an apartment with his best friend Harry Osborn in the city. The boys lived together for a while and things were looking up over all. Your parents were dating at that point, and I knew they would end up together. The hardest part was Harry also liked your mother. It put a strain on his relationship with your father. Eventually, they decided to get separate places and your parents got an apartment together.”

"Then," Aunt May went on, her voice drained. "Poor Harry, he had something of a nervous breakdown and was in a car accident. He died instantly. Peter was heartbroken. They'd had their differences, but Harry and Peter had been best friends all through high school. He was never really the same after that. He tried, but I'm afraid a part of him died with Harry that day and never came back. He seemed to get better after he married Mary Jane, and when you were born," she smiled and reached out to stroke her great-niece's cheek. "He was the happiest man in New York."

Heather frowned, even as her Aunt's soft fingers ran through a loose piece of her hair. "Then why doesn’t he talk to me? Why is he never around anymore?" she wondered aloud.

May sighed, a bit sadly but with a gentle smile on her face. "Your father loves you, Heather dear; you, Harry, Audrey, and your mother. You're his whole world. But he has a lot of responsibilities, sweetheart. He works very hard to provide for his family, and sometimes he gets a little too caught up in work for his own good. But in the end, dear, he'd move heaven and earth for all of you."

Heather returned the smile tentatively, "I know Aunt May, I know." But inside, she wasn't so sure.

Later while making her way home, Heather couldn't help thinking about what her aunt had told her and how it all fit together with what she knew already about her dad. She'd made quite a few connections as a result.

First off, the name Gwen Stacy had sounded familiar. Her mom had on occasion mentioned her as being one of her best friends from school. That was why Gwen was Audrey's middle name. Her father had never talked about Gwen though.

‘Osborn’ rang a bell as well. She remembered in civics class learning about the creation and history of the biotech company Oscorp, which had been founded by a man named Norman Osborn. The CEO had only one son, Harry, and they’d both died under unusual circumstances within a relatively short period of time after Harry graduated high school. Harry Osborn, her father’s best friend in high school, and who her little brother was named after.

Overall, the day had only left her with more questions than answers, and she couldn’t help feeling frustrated. My dad acted like I was a crazy groupie today, and both of my siblings are named after people who were close to my dad, but who are now very much dead. That’s just a tad creepy is all I’m saying. As if my life wasn’t complicated enough.

While boarding the train back to Queens, she literally had to bite back a groan as something else hit her. I have school tomorrow, and in addition to all the looks I’ll be getting, I’ve still got several papers that are due in the morning. She sighed and sat back in the hard plastic seat. I wonder if other teen heroes have to go through this much of an emotional roller coaster?

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Ten

Riding the train to school the next morning, Heather couldn't help the sense of dread building in her stomach. Rhi was right, she realized. Even with the whole weekend having transpired for something else equally as scandalous to happen, I'll still be the talk of the school. It would make perfect sense. She was unique for her lack of scandals – of course she'd be hot gossip. Heather had to resist the urge to bang her forehead against the side of the train. This is going to suck.

She was disappointed though. Or maybe confused would be the correct term. When she walked through the doors, no one gave her a second glance, if they looked at her at all. There were a bunch of students crowded in clusters lining the corridors, talking loudly or whispering breathlessly. But weirdly enough, none of it seemed to be about her.

Or so she'd thought.

"Did you hear?" Rhi inquired, wide eyed when she ran up to Heather's locker a few minutes later.

"Hear what?" Heather asked in return, trying to find the essay she’d left in her locker.

"There's a new teen superhero in the city!" Rhi said voice full of wonder and excitement.

Heather nearly dropped her AP calculus book in surprise. "Wait, what? How– I mean, where did you hear that?"

Rhianna took this as a cue and began spilling the whole story in her normal, rapid-fire manner. "It's, like, been all over the news – the papers, the internet, the TV, everything! I saw it this morning. Of course, The Bugle broke the story first. Don't know how, they're always getting stuff wrong about superheroes – but anyway, yesterday at the Met there was this collection of jewels or something that got stolen. Spiderman was checking it out – I don't know if he caught the thieves or not, the news people never said, and I guess it really doesn't matter – when all of a sudden, some chick shows up in this weird outfit. I mean, yeah, it was a hideous shade of pink, even for my tastes, and the mask was funny too, but it was definitely the type of suit that superheroes wear."

At this point, Heather had begun feeling shaky and sick, slumping against the bank of lockers while staring at her feet. Rhi prattled on obliviously.

"Anyway, no one got a really good shot of her except one of the field photographers – don't know which one. Now granted, some people are saying that this girl's some kind of new villain, but I really don't think so. I mean, if she'd done anything wrong, like say, stolen the jewels? She totally wouldn't have stuck around, you know? Plus there was just something about her…"

Rhi trailed off for a second, appearing thoughtful. Finally, she just shook her head. "I don't know. She just didn't look like she was trying to do anything wrong. I think she was trying to help, but maybe Spiderman scared her off or something. Hey, you alright?" she asked suddenly, noting how pale her friend had become.

Heather forced herself to take a deep breath and swallow. "Yeah, I'm –"

Whatever excuse she might have been able to come up with, if she could've at all, proved unnecessary as the five minute bell rang out through the corridor.

"I'm fine, Rhi. I've got to get to class. I'll see you later," Heather spit out quickly, sprinting down the hallway. Within a matter of seconds, Heather was lost from view and Rhi was left standing alone by the lockers.

"…Was it something I said?"

Heather had never felt so panicked in her life.

She knew, of course, that people had seen her yesterday. She’d sort of made a spectacle of herself after all. But The Bugle? Seriously? Not to mention the national news? She knew exactly who’d provided those pictures too. Thanks a lot, Dad.

As soon as she'd finished in her first class, she practically ran to her computer sciences course. Normally, she'd never consider breaking school rules and logging onto sites that weren't in the curriculum for the day's lesson. Yes, she knew everyone did it, but she never had. She’d been too terrified of being caught and getting anything put in her permanent record… yeah okay, so she was a nerd, sue her. But today, this was far too important to worry about detention.

Checking carefully over her shoulder, though trying to be casual, Heather brought up The Daily Bugle's website and scrolled through the headlines before finally coming to the article about the “Rosy Vigilante” as she was being called. The article was full of questions, assumptions and was biased as usual – no doubt having been especially reviewed and edited by one John Jonah Jameson himself – but the pictures were clear. The camera had got her as she'd swan dived off the museum building and a few of her speaking with Spiderman. As well as a few pictures of their little 'disagreement'.

Thank God that I bought the stupid mask. I looked ridiculous but at least no one was able to identify me, Heather thought with a silent sigh. Then she frowned thoughtfully. I have to get rid of the costume permanently. Not like I was going to stick with that color scheme anyway. I hope that Coach won't say anything to anyone – he's got to have seen this by now. But he promised he wouldn't, and I trust him.

With a slightly more relaxed attitude, Heather skimmed the rest of the article and then closed down the website, deleting her history so no one would know immediately what she'd been doing. Granted, if anyone really wanted to know, all they’d need to do was check the computer's hard drive. But she was hoping that for once, luck would be on her side and there would be no reason for anyone to do so.

Hopefully.

At lunch, she met up with Rhi and Mike at their usual table.

Mike, who was not much of a gossip, simply greeted her like normal and offered to trade his Oreo cookie pie with her for the slice of cheesecake on her tray. She agreed readily. If there was one thing she hated, it was cheesecake, but there had been nothing else left at the end of the lunch line.

Rhianna however wasn't quite as subdued. "What the heck happened to you earlier, anyway? You just bolted after I told you about the Rosy Vigilante," she demanded, throwing her arms out expressively, nearly nailing Mike with one hand and a passing student carrying a loaded tray with the other. Fortunately, both were able to dodge.

"Oh, that," Heather tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "No big deal, I just felt sick all of a sudden. The milk in the fridge smelled sort of funky this morning, but I had some on my cereal anyway since I was in a hurry. I'm fine now, but I'm definitely having Harry pitch it out with the trash when I get home."

She took a bite of soggy pepperoni pizza and chewed for several seconds. It was a bit difficult to swallow though. She hated herself for the lies she was feeding her best friends. After all they'd been through together… the thought of deceiving them actually did make her stomach churn.

Rhi gave Heather one of the blonde's rare serious searching looks, before finally shrugging. "Anyway, you never told me what you thought of the new girl. Think she has any interesting powers?"

"She could be like Robin – or Artemis, Green Arrow's apprentice. No powers, just really talented," Mike observed mildly, playing with the lasagna on his plate.

Heather listened with half an ear, most of her mind focused on how she was going to be able to finish her little home-ec project without her parents finding it.

"So, what do you think, HM? Powers or no?" Rhi said cutting into her thoughts once more.

Heather took a moment to respond, considering her words carefully. "I think it's likely she has powers. I mean, I could be wrong, but the way she got around? It didn't look like she used jump lines or a grapple. I don't know though, I guess we'll have to see."

Rhi nodded and Mike shrugged. The conversation switched gears to something that didn't require as much of Heather's attention, allowing her mind to wander. I guess I did end up being hot gossip today, just not the way I thought I would be.

When Heather got home later that day, she dashed to her room quickly and shut the door, though no one else was home yet. Digging through a pile of clothes purposefully put in the back corner of her closet, she pulled out the condemning leotard, along with the mask and gloves. She'd been mulling over how to get rid of the clothes all day, finally coming up with the most straightforward solution.

Straightforward, but not exactly easy to come by, she thought absently, stuffing both into a brown paper bag she found in the kitchen. She dashed back out of the apartment and down to the street level. Walking a couple of blocks brought her to a seedier part of the neighborhood. It wasn't exactly the 'hood' perse, but her parents did often encourage her not to be there after dark… and sometimes not even during the day. However, considering their track record with her lately, Heather wasn't particularly in the mood to listen to all of their rules.

After a short bit of searching, she found what she wanted. Across the street was a shelter, closed at the moment for repairs, and in the alley next to it were half a dozen homeless men standing around three different trashcan fires. Admittedly, it wasn't her brightest idea to date, but what else could she do? If she just threw it away in a dumpster somewhere, inevitably it would be found, and the police could obtain DNA from it easily enough. If she threw it in the river, she would be A) littering (if she was going to do this whole superhero thing, she fully intended to go all the way), and B) it could wash up on shore somewhere else and again be found and recognized.

Heather glanced around before backing into the alley behind her. Once concealed in the shadows, she flipped up the hood of her jacket and climbed up the side of a building. Once on the roof, she took a few steps backwards and ran, leaping off the parapet like a springboard.

She felt a rush of adrenaline pump through her systems as gravity momentarily forgot about her. Then it realized someone was defying its laws and promptly took over. But fortunately, Heather had already reached the other side of the street, landing on the building next to the alley with the trashcan fires in a neat tuck and roll.

Heather hurried over to the edge of the building and peered down into the alley. There was a fire right beneath her that two men were trying to warm themselves by. She took one last look at the bag in her hand, took careful aim and threw it down. The bag landed directly in the fire, the flames eagerly licking up the new fuel, while one of the bums began yelling about the sky falling and another turned to his neighbor and muttered something about government spy drones.

That takes care of that.

"How was school today?" Mary Jane asked Heather later that night at dinner.

Heather thought that over for a second. "Fine," she finally said, "there's no bodily harm to the male populous on my part to be reported." She glanced across the table at her father's suspiciously empty chair as she forked a bite of salad.

"Good to hear," MJ replied dryly. Her eyes slid to Peter's chair as well, but quickly looked away again, checking instead on Audrey's progress on her peas.

Heather noted with a smirk that most of the green little vegetables were on the floor instead of the tray of her sister's high chair. Audrey, at the moment, looked more intent on figuring out how messy she could get eating spaghetti. The project seemed to be coming along nicely.

"Is no one going to ask how my day went?" Harry complained halfheartedly, eyeing his baby sister's red sauce stained face with a wrinkled nose.

"Well, since you talked me into it," Heather began teasingly, "how was your day, dear? Would you like a tall glass of milk and some homemade brownies?"

Harry gave her an exasperated look. "You've been watching Leave it to Beaver again, haven't you?"

"Full House, actually, but close enough," Heather shrugged.

"Tell me she's adopted, please?" Harry begged their mother.

MJ merely raised an eyebrow.

Harry sighed, dropping his head to the table for a moment. "Fine. Anyway, I got a B plus on that Shakespeare paper Heather helped me with."

Heather smiled. "Awesome. Now, what do you say?"

"Go me?"

"No, I mean to me."

"You're annoying?"

Heather slapped the back of Harry's head, making Audrey giggle. "No! For helping you with your paper, what do you say?"

Harry rubbed his head and pouted, "Geez, just kidding. I was going to say thanks, there's no need to crack my skull open."

Heather flushed slightly. Whoops. Gotta watch that enhanced strength. "Sorry."

Audrey giggled. 'Again!' she signed, squishing more spaghetti between her fingers.

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Brat,' he signed back.

Audrey stuck out her orange tongue, 'Stinky brain.'

The only son of the Parker household growled and lifted his hands vindictively.

"Harry," MJ warned. "She's two. You're twelve. Get a grip."

Heather snickered as her brother sat back and huffed, crossing his arms. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Now you know what it's like trying to be the responsible older one."

He shot her a shrewd look. "'Responsible' and you, do not belong in the same sentence."

Heather frowned. "I’m responsible," she muttered.

"Yeah right," he retorted, smirking now.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She demanded leaning forward.

“I mean, you couldn’t even remember to come to my soccer game,” He said, clearly still sore about it. “Better be careful,” he muttered, “you’re starting to turn into Dad.”

“I – no I’m not! I’m nothing like Dad,” She denied, standing up from the table so fast her chair clattered to the floor.

“You’re exactly like Dad!” Harry snapped, slapping the table.

“Heather! Harry! That’s enough,” MJ said firmly, glaring at her oldest children.

Heather could feel angry tears starting to form. “Maybe I was adopted, because there’s no way I’m related to you,” she spat. She stomped to the door and grabbed her bag. “I’m going out,” She said shortly.

“Heather! Get back here,” MJ said, standing from her chair too.

But Heather was already gone.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter  Eleven

Okay, so, maybe I overreacted, Heather thought, walking down the sidewalk towards the park she usually went to with Rhi and Mike. She'd stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, and the scowl on her face was deep enough that it was beginning to hurt.

Heather reached the park and took a seat under the tree, laying her arms across her bent knees. She stared up at the night sky, trying to perceive the stars through the golden haze of city lights and sighed. Harry didn't mean it, I know he didn't. Doesn't mean it stings any less.

"Heather? What are you doing here?" a voice asked.

Heather looked up and found Mike standing a few feet away. Behind him, Rhianna waved from inside the idling Oldsmobile.

"I, uh… nothing. Just came here to think," Heather replied slowly.

Mike gave her a searching look, and she hoped her face looked innocent enough. After a long moment, he glanced back at the car then to her again, "We're heading to the club. You wanna come?"

Heather's eyes slid to the dark, deserted street in the direction she'd walked from the apartment building. She sat quietly thinking, before turning back towards her friend and standing. "Yeah."

Mike nodded. "Cool. Come on."

Heather shoved her hands back into her jacket pockets as she followed him to the Oldsmobile.

When they got to the club, Rhi did her 'Rhi-zzle' act with the bouncer and got them inside in no time flat. Once they were in, she also pulled her strings to get drinks for them.

"What do you want, Heather?" Rhi called, glancing her way.

"I don't care, just something strong," Heather glared in general at the pulsing lights over the dance floor. She'd left her bag in the car and she sat on her bar stool with her arms tightly crossed. With her dark expression, her heavy though now slightly smudged make-up, she fit right in with the rest of the patrons.

Rhi lifted a manicured eyebrow but nodded, turning back to the bartender. "Irish Car Bomb for the redhead. And a bourbon and ginger ale as well – three fingers," she told him, slipping the guy several more bills than necessary.

The bartender smiled. "You got it. Tell your sister I say hi?"

Rhi winked. "Of course."

Taking a seat at the bar, Mike leaned close to his girlfriend's ear. "Which sister did he mean?"

Rhi shrugged. "Who knows, who cares? All that matters is my dear big sisters' reputations precede me, and I will never have to bother with fake ID's." She clinked her glass against his bottle and took a long sip.

A few moments later, the three glasses containing Heather's drinks were dropped onto the bar in front of her with simultaneous clinks. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. Just make it all go away – I want to forget this whole thing by tomorrow. She quickly grabbed the shot and dropped it into the first glass to make the Irish Car Bomb. Without waiting a second, she lifted the drink and chugged it down before it started curdling. The drink gone, she slammed the glass down onto the counter. One hand gripped the edge of the bar tight as the alcohol burned down her throat and hit her stomach.

"You okay, Heather?" Rhi shouted over the techno beat pounding in their ears.

Heather nodded and swallowed thickly. "Yeah," she rasped, her words inaudible in all the tumult. Rhi seemed to understand though and let it go, turning back to Mike.

Breathing heavily, Heather let the drink settle a bit before sipping the ginger ale and bourbon. She was glad Rhi hadn't ordered a beer or wine-cooler for her. She'd learned from experience that liquor with beer or wine was a tricky combination. Trying to find the right balance was like walking on the edge of a knife.

After nursing her second drink for a while, Heather's attention strayed from the pattern in the granite bar to glossing over the dance floor dully. The lights pulsed different colors, strobe lights occasionally adding to the hypnotic kaleidoscope affect. People danced mindlessly on the floor – pushing, bumping, grinding, and jumping.

Heather leaned back on her stool against the bar, sipping from her drink as the DJ transitioned to a new song. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't want to be like Dad, I want to be like Spiderman… but if they're the same person then where does that leave me? I don't even understand how they could be the same person!

"Hey, we're going out on the floor. You coming?" Rhi shouted, pushing her empty glass away.

Heather was going to say no, but then she looked out again at the floor. She wasn't much of a dancer. For whatever reason though, the mosh pit of pounding bodies looked really appealing. She blamed it on the alcohol. "Yeah. I'm coming," she called back, finishing her drink in two large gulps.

Rhianna grinned. "Cool!" She grabbed her friend's hand as well as her boyfriend's and dragged them through the crowd to the dance floor. Once in the middle, she immediately dropped Heather's hand and pulled Mike close.

Heather stood awkwardly for a moment, feeling like a buoy in the middle of a hurricane. The song changed again. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, eventually finding the rhythm and letting her body follow it.

She couldn't be sure how much time passed. The DJ switched tracks a couple of times, but other than that, she really couldn't tell how long she'd been swaying with the rest of the crowd. It was selfish, she knew, to be staying here and ignoring the rest of the world. Childish, to be pretending that her problems were gone and nothing else mattered but this moment in time. Honestly, she didn't care. She didn't think about it, or anything else. She just moved.

The repose was shattered when a large, sweaty hand grabbed her arm. Hot breath crawled across her neck as a voice called into her ear, "Hey baby, you wanna dance?"

Heather's eyes shot open, then narrowed dangerously. The guy clutching her arm was somewhere in his mid-twenties, with greasy black hair, dark eyes that were almost black, and heavily tattooed, muscled arms.

"Not in a million years," Heather snapped, yanking her arm out of his grasp easily.

The guy didn't look like a pushover by any means, so the fact that a relatively small teenage girl was able to escape him so quickly came as a surprise. "Hey," he called as Heather tried to push her way out of the crowd. "Where you goin'? We haven't gotten to know each other yet!"

Heather searched the club desperately. Where were Mike and Rhianna? How had they gotten separated? She couldn't have been in her trance for that long, right? Had they left her? It seemed unlikely, but still, no matter which way she turned she couldn't see them.

"Oh baby girl…" a familiar voice crooned.

Heather turned to find that the creep from before had followed her all the way to where the private booths and back door was. Her fists shook as she pushed back her rising anger and panic. "I told you to get lost!" she snapped.

"Now why would I do that?" the guy sneered, eyeing her form hungrily. "When we're just getting to know each other. I'm Stan, by the way. And you are?"

"Back off, or I'll call security," Heather growled, moving slowly towards the exit behind her.

"That's an awful long name for such a pretty girl. How about I guess it?" Stan grinned, "Ashley? No? Veronica? Nah. Stacy?"

She kept backing up, but Stan only continued his pursuit. I obviously can't lose him in the club… but maybe I can ditch him in the alley. It's worth a shot at least.

"How about…" Heather suggested sarcastically, "See ya, loser!" She turned and sprinted for the exit, managing to keep ahead of Stan well enough by grabbing a table and chair, and overturning it in front of him. Once outside, she turned and darted down the dark, wet alleyway towards the street.

Behind her, she could hear Stan's heavy breathing and cursing getting louder. He may have been a tool, but he was a fast tool. Even though she loathed the idea, she knew her best chance was to use her powers.

At the corner, she turned left and ran up the deserted street, splashing through murky puddles and dodging dumpsters and trash cans, while still trying to maintain a normal human top speed. After all, she may want to get away from this jerk, but not at the price of being discovered as a… well, whatever she was.

The thought had actually been nagging at her for a while – was she a Meta? Mutate? Mutant? Presently though, she was more concerned about staying alive. The debate could wait until she was safely away from the scumbag.

Turning another corner and out of sight of her pursuer, she leapt onto the wall of a building and climbed quickly to the roof. At the top, she flipped over the parapet then crouched down and collapsed against it, as much hiding as trying to calm her nerves. She hadn't actually exerted enough energy to really be winded – it was mostly fear and adrenaline that had left her breathless.

She waited anxiously and soon heard Stan's footsteps below her. She could hear him cursing loudly as he searched and she pulled her legs up to her chest protectively. Eventually, his footsteps stopped and she could somehow tell that he was standing directly below her in the alley. Though there was no way he could hear her from four or five floors up, she nevertheless held her breath and waited.

A couple of minutes passed in silence.

Heather knew this because she kept checking the time on her cell phone, waiting for Stan to get bored and leave already. She couldn't leave ahead of him and risk him seeing her jump across rooftops. He didn't seem like the smartest bulb in the pack, yet even an idiot would be able to tell his friends about the weirdo girl with superpowers, and then they would tell their idiot friends who would probably tell someone else.

She did not need that kind of scrutiny when she had just decided to give up this ridiculous hero idea.

After the fortieth time of checking her phone, and being annoyed that she still didn't have signal, that tingling feeling at the base of her skull cranked up again. Curious despite herself, she peered over the parapet into the alley below. At the corner of the alley and a side road, a small sedan pulled up under the flickering light of a street lamp and the passenger window rolled down.

"Stan! That you?" someone asked.

Stan wandered over to the car, still looking steamed. "Yeah, it's me. Whaddya want?"

"Where's the chick? The one you picked out in the club?" a second person, this one behind the wheel, questioned. Heather craned her neck and could see there were actually three people in the car, and judging by the shape of their shadows they were all male.

"Got away," Stan grumbled. "Fast little bitch. Too bad, she looked like she might give me a bit of fight," he grinned suddenly. "You know I like it better when it's more of a challenge."

The three men guffawed loudly and Heather shivered.

"How about you three? Any luck?" Stan leaned against the passenger door.

"Not for me. Couldn't get a bite from any dame," the man in the back seat said.

The driver spoke up, "Same. But Ricky here scored big! We've got our target in the trunk now." He clapped the man beside him on the shoulder. "We'll get some fun out of tonight yet. You in?"

Stan smirked nastily. "Oh I'm in. Move over, Pete! And step on it, Dave!" he opened the back door and climbed in. The car sped off into the darkening night.

Heather swallowed thickly, her face deathly white. Oh my god, they're going to – she couldn't even finish the thought. I have to call the police! I have to tell them, tell them… tell them what? That she'd been chased out of a club where she wasn't supposed to be in the first place by a guy named Stan, had climbed to a rooftop to escape him and had overheard a bunch of men talking about a girl knocked out in the trunk of their car that they were most definitely going to rape?

She dropped her head in her hands. They'll never believe me. Not in a million years. Oh sweet Scarlet Witch, what do I do? I can't just go back to the club like nothing happened! That girl – what if it's Rhi in the trunk? Or someone else I know? Even if it's not, I can't stand around and do nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Heather stood up and pulled her emotions together as best as she could. She stepped back to the edge of the parapet and pushed off, running across the roof towards the next building. She hurdled and sprinted as hard as she could, ignoring human boundaries and letting the length of her limbs help rather than hinder her. She'd covered several blocks heading south when she spotted the sedan at a changing light. The car turned left, and so did she, leaping across the intervening space like she was jumping a small puddle.

The car drove at an easy pace, the driver obviously in no hurry, letting Heather pull back slightly and collect her thoughts. She didn't want to go into this situation blind, after all. Finally, the car parked in front of a dilapidated brown stone that had obviously been vacated for quite some time.

Heather watched from the shadows of the roof above them as the four men, Pete, Dave, Stan and Ricky, got out of the car. Stan and Pete went to unlock the front door while Ricky and Dave went to the trunk. They opened the rear and pulled a rolled up blanket with a suspiciously human form from the compartment. While the driver Dave slammed the lid down, Ricky slung the girl across his shoulder. The foursome then preceded into the building.

Heather backed away from the edge, gripping her head as the gravity of the situation descended upon her. "Oh shit, shit, shit…" she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Get a grip, Parker! You don't have time to panic. That girl, whoever she is, needs your help. So quit being a crybaby and get in there! She took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths.

"Right. Okay, okay, I can do this. I can do this!" Slowly she released her hold and stood up, glancing around to try and find an entrance from the roof into the old building. A few feet behind her was a doorway. She ran over and tried the handle. Locked. Naturally, she thought, rolling her eyes before narrowing her gaze. Alright, let's test just how effective enhanced strength really is.

She grounded her footing, then lifted a leg and kicked viciously near the handle. The ancient wood crunched slightly, but held. Frowning, she gave it another harsh blow. The door dented in more, wood splinters fracturing off in several directions, yet the stubborn entrance stayed intact.

Heather backed up a few paces. No more playing nice. With a roundhouse kick and a furious grunt, the door gave way and popped off the hinges. Grabbing it, she pulled it free completely from the frame and tossed it behind her. Her way clear, she ran down the nearly pitch black staircase until she came to the top floor of the four story building. Here, the door was missing completely, though she couldn't begin to guess why. Stepping through, she squinted in the dark hallways for her targets. They didn't seem to be anywhere around, which meant they were probably holed up somewhere closer to the ground floor.

She held in a groan.

There was no time to climb all those stairs and search every floor! She began looking around again for an alternative route, taking tentative steps on the worn out wooden floor. As she searched the hallway, she passed by a broken dirty mirror propped against the wall. In the soft light filtering weakly through the grimy windows, her reflection blinked back, her naked face pale, grimy and coated in a sheen of sweat.

I can't let them see my face, she fingered her cheek and bit her lip, the mirror copying every move. As her hand moved down from her face, her thumb brushed the gathering of the shirt's hood at her shoulders. The mirror smirked at her as she grabbed the fabric and pulled it up over her head, obscuring her features in shadows. Perfect.

A blood curdling scream, followed by raucous laughter, broke the silence.

I don't have much time left – I may already be too late. Heather scanned the walls and floors, eyes finally falling on a grate in the corner of the floor leading to the air vents. Bingo.

She pried the grate off easily and threw it aside. It clattered noisily before finally coming to a stop against the opposite wall. By this point, she'd dropped into the ventilation system and began crawling towards what she hoped was a quick way down through the building.

I may not be a hero, but I'm going to do what's right, no matter what.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter T welve

They make this look so easy in the movies, Heather grumbled mentally, crawling through the filthy shaft. Thank god I'm such a twig – otherwise I probably would've gotten stuck at least half a dozen times by now. She reached up and rubbed her nose with the back of her dust covered hand. Ugh, and this is beyond disgusting! I'm likely to spontaneously develop asthma from all the dust I'm breathing in.

Deciding she was getting tired of her own whining, Heather continued down the shaft. She'd already made a quick stop on the third floor, listening at the vent grate for any noises that sounded remotely unlike an abandoned apartment building. A chuckle, a scream, or a whimper for instance.

Nothing.

Now on the second floor, she stopped at every available grate and listened carefully, assessing the likelihood that the would-be murders/rapist might be around. So far, still nothing. She had just reached the last grate when she hit pay dirt.

Through the filthy grate beneath her, weak light from a bare bulb illuminated a large open space in the room beneath her, and not too far away from the light source lay an unconscious girl. Heather crouched closer, ignoring the dirt and dust flying around her as she peered down and around to assess where the kidnappers had gone. The light from the bulb couldn't reach into the farthest corners of the room, making it hard to judge whether the girl was alone or not.

Heather worried her bottom lip between her teeth, deliberating. Go now, risk getting caught and end up dead too? Or wait and possibly let an innocent girl be violated and killed? Yeah, like that's really a choice.

She let out a soft breath and ran her fingers along the edges of the grate, trying to find a way to open it. The screws were rusted beyond comprehension, it was a miracle the metal cover hadn't fallen to the floor yet. Using what felt like only regular human strength, she ripped off the cover without making too much noise and dropped through the hole. She landed on the floor in a crouch, glancing around in the darkness quickly, before hurrying over to the girl.

Rolling her onto her side, Heather carefully took the girl's face in gentle hands and turned it towards the light. Beneath messy waves of black hair was a long face with a small nose, thin lips and closed eyes with long lashes. Heather felt her breath catch in her throat as she recognized her as Iris Chen, a girl from her high school. She didn't know her well, but Iris was also on the honor roll and had an almost perfect reputation.

So what were you doing in a club in the middle of the night, Iris? Heather thought, furrowing her brow.

Before she really had a chance to think about it, or to remove the duct tape binding Iris' wrists, someone chuckled behind her. Heather jumped up and whipped around, glaring into the darkness beneath the hood of her shirt.

"Well, looks like we've got another for the party." Stan stepped out from a shadowy corner, gripping a long pipe and grinning.

He doesn't remember me. Good. That's one less thing to worry about. "You wouldn't like my kind of parties," Heather replied, dropping her voice a few octaves. She kept her knees soft and shifted to the balls of her feet, her hands half fisted but still hung loosely by her sides. "They never end well for guys like you."

"Is that a threat, girly?" Stan chuckled. "Look around you. You ain't got no way out."

Pete, Dave and Ricky stepped forward, holding various weapons – a baseball bat, a switchblade and a 22 mil. The gun, Heather knew, used small bullets and unless fired at close range or shot at vital areas most likely wouldn't kill her. Didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. She was more concerned, however, about the baseball bat, knife and pipe – those weren't going to run out of ammo any time soon.

"You think so?" Heather's smirk was just visible beneath the shadow of the hood obscuring her face. "Then let's find out, hmm?"

She ran towards Ricky, who was holding the gun. The men seemed too stunned by her direct approach that for a moment, they could only gape as she kicked the gun from his hand and sent it skidding across the concrete into the dark. She followed it up with a left-right combo punch to the man's abdomen and jaw. A controlled roundhouse kick to the side of the head, and Ricky was on the ground, out cold.

One down, three to go. Her kick had landed her in a crouch facing her adversaries once more, and she grinned at the looks on their faces.

Evidently, Stan and Pete decided they weren't taking chances fighting her alone this time. Both charged, swinging their weapons.

Heather couldn't really say what happened after that. It was like the world hit 'slow motion' and she knew exactly where she should go, what would happen, all before it did. She'd always had this strange sort of precognition, but now it was like the back of her skull was lighting up more than the Fourth of July, telling her what to do.

As Stan and Pete approached, Heather rolled under their dual blows, turned and flicked her wrists, catching them both with her webbing. Giving a sharp yank, she pulled them off her feet, knocking the wind out of Stan. Pete, however, was a bigger man and was not so easily taken down.

Pete staggered to his feet, glaring at Heather darkly. He gripped his baseball bat tighter, gritting his teeth. "C'mere you little bitch!" he grunted.

"No thanks," Heather quipped. As Pete swung the bat, she flipped backwards once, twice, three times out of his reach. "You were never in Little League, were you?" she added.

"Why won't you hold still?!" Pete roared as she dived to the side.

"My parents always did say I had ants in my pants," Heather let out an adrenaline induced giggle that turned into a sharp breath. That weird tingling was happening again and it was telling her to flip to her left – now!

Once she was on the other side of the room, she looked back over her shoulder to see Dave had come after her with the knife. Both he and Pete were advancing on her now, anger glinting in their eyes.

"Hey now fellas, let's take it easy, alright?" Heather said, gaze flicking back and forth between the two men warily. "You wouldn't hit a lady, would you?"

"I don't know what you are, and I don't care," Pete retorted. "Soon you'll be nothing more than a spot on the pavement."

Heather wrinkled her nose. "Seriously? Are you going to get me and my little dog too? Because I gotta tell ya, I haven't got one."

Dave growled, switching his blade from one hand to the other and taking another lunge at her.

"Whoa!" Heather leaped up and was suddenly sticking to the ceiling. Didn't know I could jump that high, she thought. She glanced down – or was it up? – at the men below – above? – her. "Um… I was using a lot of tacky glue for a science project earlier?" she said, grimacing at how lame that sounded out loud.

"What the hell is she?" Pete muttered, backing up and appearing genuinely freaked.

"Don't know and don't care. Whatever she is, she'll be dead in a minute!" Dave retorted, using about the same words Pete had used earlier. Apparently he wasn't too bright, but he did have remarkable aim. He threw his knife up at the ceiling, intending to hit around her left kidney.

Whoa, Heather thought a second later after releasing her grip and falling on her hands before flipping back to her feet, if my reflexes weren't so unbelievable, I'd be skewered and ready for roasting by now. I'd better wrap this up before I become a pincushion.

Dave was charging her now, and though it seemed cliched and probably wouldn't work… she jumped up and grabbed the knife still stuck above her head and used her momentum to kick him in the chest, knocking him back. The knife, of course, was yanked from the crumbling plaster by this move. However, Heather was able to land back on her feet without too much difficulty.

She turned to face Pete, whose face had drained of color. She still had the knife, but hesitated to use it. This wasn't her goofing around on a rooftop – this was a flesh and blood human being. Sleazy, rapist, jackass... but another human nonetheless. Was it really her place to decide whether he lived or died?

Heather's indecision proved costly, as Pete charged her. Regardless of being able to know something was coming, this time she couldn't move fast enough. The bat connected to her side with a thud, knocking her onto the floor and sending the knife skidding off out of sight.

Heather barely had a moment to take in a painful breath before Pete swung down again, this time striking her thigh with a solid blow that she could feel all the way to the core of her femur. That's… gonna hurt tomorrow… she thought, cringing.

Pete went to hit her again. This time, Heather was having none of it. She caught the bat with both hands before it connected with her skull, and with a well-placed foot in the man's abdomen, lifted him bodily and threw him over her. He did a face plant on the concrete, making his nose bleed profusely, as well as knocking him out.

Heather put down the bat and slowly climbed to her feet, favoring her injured leg, and rubbing her sore side. She wasn't a doctor, but she had a strong suspicion that something was cracked if not broken in there, and damn if it didn't hurt! She felt lucky though that she was still walking and decided not to complain… too much.

I wonder, do superheroes invest stock in companies that produce painkillers? I have to say, vicodin sounds like a great business opportunity right now, Heather probed her throbbing ribs and barely bit back a yelp as she found a particularly sensitive spot. Or maybe heroin is the way to go? Not that I'd know where to get that kind of stuff – although that one kid in Dad's weekend lecture class might be able to hook me up if I offered to do his homework.

Before her errant thoughts could ponder that any longer, the part of her brain that was still normal reminded her of the reason she showed up in the first place. While she was turning in the direction of where she'd left Iris, her senses suddenly lit up brighter than ever.

The warning came too late.

Something hard and fast struck across the back of her neck, scrambling her nervous system's communications. Though the force wasn't intense enough to knock her unconscious, it did slam her to the concrete and made a kaleidoscope of colors mixed with blotches of darkness dance before her eyes. She swallowed hard against a sudden urge to vomit, wincing as she tried to lift her head and get her arms beneath her.

There was a low chuckle, and painfully loud thuds from a pair of sneakers stepping around her. "All that fuss, all that bravado, and all it took to bring you down was a single blow."

Heather squinted up, her blurry vision taking far too long to focus for her liking. When the images finally quit spinning, she almost wished they hadn't. Stan, whom she'd assumed was still laid out from earlier, stood between her and Iris holding the lead pipe – which must've been what hit her – and the gun.

Heather's gut tightened seeing the twenty-two millimeter and how Stan was aiming it – directly at Iris. She'd thought, foolishly, that the gun had been permanently lost in the darkness of the room; that it was out of the equation entirely. She'd been wrong.

"You –" she groaned, feeling nauseous just trying to speak, "you leave her out of this. Let the girl go now, before…ugh…" She attempted to get to her knees, but had to stop halfway. She swallowed again as a wave of dizziness overcame her.

Heather's senses were on overload and everything was suddenly coming at her at once: she could hear the traffic outside spanning at least three blocks; the groans and breathing of the men around her; the dull light bulb overhead flickered and buzzed in time with the pounding of blood in her skull. She blinked hard to stop the black spots from converging and making her pass out.

"Before what?" Stan challenged with a sneer. "Before you stop me? Ha! I think I'm going to do whatever I damn well please. And there's nothing you're going to do about it." He leveled the gun at Iris' head.

"What – what happened to pleasure before business?" Heather wasn't exactly sure why she was still taunting him. She could barely stand, let alone defend herself or Iris. Yet a small part of her mind kept up the constant flow of insults, in the off chance that it bought more time. "Then again, maybe you're already spent for the night. Ever heard of Cialis?"

Stan growled, bearing his teeth at her angrily. "Shut up!" His aim lowered slightly, and Heather took the chance.

Fighting past the dizziness, she jumped to her feet and tackled Stan head on, bringing the surprised man to the floor. It only took a second for him to gather his wits however. He swung the lead pipe at her head, intending to knock her out once more, but she was ready this time and ducked, using the momentum from the strike to grab the pipe and fling it away from them. The only other weapon gone, two then began grappling for the gun.

Heather gritted her teeth as she struggled to get the gun away from Stan. Where was that stupid enhanced strength now, when she really needed it? She chalked it up to still being a bit off kilter from her trip down the rabbit hole earlier, but it was more than a tad concerning that she could be taken down so easily from one direct blow. She didn't have long to contemplate it though.

Stan had managed to move the gun so it was aimed right at her sternum. Although she continued to hang on for dear life, his finger was the one closest to the trigger and was slowly inching towards it. Ready to squeeze. Ready to kill her.

Heather looked on, horrified as Stan's finger suddenly found purchase on the smooth curve of the trigger. Moving faster than she knew she was capable of, she gave up her hold on the gun and threw herself to the side, out of the path of the bullet. The report of the shot echoed in the empty building, and for a short few seconds there was silence.

As quickly as Stan shot to his feet to go after his quarry, Heather was right there, socking him with a double fisted blow to the jawline. The force of the punch spun him around and left him lying on the concrete, dazed and moaning.

It was only then that Heather allowed herself a moment to breathe and process. She stared around at her handiwork, hardly believing it was really over.

I just took down four full grown men and saved an innocent girl, Heather thought, mystified.

Stan suddenly started laughing softly, shaking Heather from her thoughts. "Don't look so proud girl," he goaded, even though he couldn't see her expression above the tip of her nose. "You've done more damage than me or the boys ever could've dreamed," he laughed again.

"What are you talking about?" She asked in a growl, beyond irritated with this piece of scum.

"See for yourself," he invited, waving at Iris.

Heather turned her attention to her classmate and felt the air freeze in her lungs. Iris was lying completely still in a rapidly increasing pool of blood, the fluid flowing from a small hole in her neck, right where the jugular vein was located.

"No," Heather whispered. She ran to the girl's side and dropped to her knees, cupping Iris' neck to try and staunch the flow of blood. The red liquid only continued to gush through her fingers as Iris' skin grew paler and paler. "Iris? Please Iris, you have to wake up! Please wake up!"

Tears gathered in Heather's eyes as she wracked her brain for what to do. There was no exit wound, which meant the bullet was still lodged somewhere in Iris' neck, most likely her spinal column. Iris was barely breathing, and when Heather pressed her fingers to the other girl's wrist, the pulse was practically nonexistent. Even the throb of the vein beneath her hand was weakening with every second.

"Iris," Heather pleaded helplessly, "please, for the love of God open your eyes! You can't die. You just can't!"

Iris didn't respond. Within moments, her breathing stopped and the pulse in her wrist ceased.

Stan began chuckling again and Heather was suddenly looming over him, blood dripping from her hands. She abruptly kicked him in the gut, turning his laugh into a strangled wheeze. She pinned his body with her own and pressed her hands to his windpipe. She squeezed, fury flashing in her hidden blue eyes.

"You killed her!" Heather's voice was nothing more than a hiss and held only a fraction of the anger that was burning inside.

"I – I may – hav- pulled… the trig-trigger," Stan rasped, skin a tinging blue. "But… you – you du-ducked!"

Heather didn't acknowledge this comment outwardly, but she felt a bolt of lightning strike her heart as the truth of the words resonated in her mind.

You ducked.

YOU ducked.

You DUCKED.

YOU DUCKED.

The words repeated themselves over and over in her head, playing on a loop, cutting her soul into tiny pieces with each repetition. Anger and fear running high, Heather lifted Stan up and slammed his skull against the ground, making his eyes roll in the back of his head.

Immediately realizing she might've killed him as well, she released her hold and crawled away rapidly from both bodies. Trembling, she wiped her hands against her shirt frantically, desperately trying to get rid of all the red staining her hands. Even after rubbing her skin raw, she still could feel the blood. Marking her. Tainting her.

It was then, and only then, that everything that had happened that night and over the last several days really hit her, and hit hard. And it was then that she let it all out the only way she knew how.

She broke down sobbing, curling into the smallest ball she could while her whole form shook. She cried until she physically couldn't anymore as dehydration depleted her of tears. Even then, she heaved dry sobs.

After a long time, Heather stood up, and working solely on autopilot, did what needed to be done.

Later that night, a 911 operator would receive an anonymous tip from an unidentified woman calling from a payphone in a seedy neighborhood.

The tip would find the police outside of an abandoned apartment building where four men were hanging from a street lamp, all knocked out and tied with spider webbing similar, if not the same as, Spiderman's.

Inside the apartments, they would also find a young, Asian girl's dead body lying in a pool of her own blood. Alongside the body would be four weapons lined up in a row: a switchblade knife, a lead pipe, a baseball bat, and a twenty-two millimeter gun. The gun had been recently fired, and forensics would prove that it was the weapon used to make the bullet hole in the girl's neck, leading to death by major external hemorrhaging.

In the girl's front jeans pocket, the police found a note written in messy scrawl that didn't match anyone in their databases. The note detailed how the four men were rapist who'd kidnapped the girl, Iris Chen, and how the man with the strangulation marks around his neck had been the one to pull the trigger.

The note wasn't signed. The payphone that had been used was located, and did indeed hold traces of Iris Chen's blood on the buttons and handset. No finger prints were recovered, however.

The young woman who'd reported the crime was nowhere to be found.

Rhi blearily opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness. The green numbers on her digital alarm read four am. She frowned. What had woken her up?

Suddenly there came a tap on her window, and out of the corner of her eye, Rhi could see movement just on the fire escape, back-lit by the street lamp. That must've been the source of her unscheduled wake up call. She sat up in bed, running a hand through her messy blonde hair and rubbing her eyes. Throwing off the covers, she swung long bare legs over the side of the bed and stood up, tugging at the loose shirt until it was positioned more modestly. She leaned on the wall with one hand and peered out her window.

Eyes widening, Rhi threw open the window and pulled her trembling best friend inside the room. She glanced outside once more, checking for anyone else that might've seen Heather, but the alleyway was empty. She shut the window, and turned back to the other girl sitting on her bed.

Heather was wearing the same red blouse she'd had on in club, but it was torn on the right sleeve and it was stained with a dark, sticky liquid. The ginger was trembling, cheeks wet with tears and she seemed close to hyperventilating. Rhi did not like the look in her friend's blue eyes. It reminded her too much of the look that had been in her mother's eyes the day she had her nervous breakdown. She was not about to watch it happen again to her best friend.

"HM? Heather, honey, can you hear me?" Rhi crouched down in front of her, forehead wrinkling.

Heather took a deep shuddering breath, centering in on Rhianna's features for the first time. "Rhianna… oh god," she gripped her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh god, oh god…" she muttered.

"Heather, please you need to focus!" She took Heather's hands away from the girl's head and clasped them tightly. "What happened, HM? Just breathe and tell me what's going on."

Heather shook her head but breathed deeply and evenly as she'd been advised. After a long few moments, she finally said in a shaky voice, "I can't tell you, Rhi."

Rhi frowned. "Why can't you tell me? What can't you tell me? What happened to your shirt? What's that stuff?" she pointed at the dark fluid on the fabric.

Heather glanced down and blanched. "Rhi…" she growled, pain and revulsion etched in her voice, "please, whatever you do, get this shirt the hell off me!"

Rhi lifted both eyebrows, taken aback by the forceful tone.

Seeing the desperation in Heather's blue orbs though made any questions she could've asked die on her lips. The blonde nodded, wordlessly pulling the shirt up and off, leaving the ginger shivering in her bra. Rhi's eyes widened catching sight of the red stains on Heather's flat stomach, but she swallowed back her demands once more.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Rhi held up the shirt.

Heather grimaced and looked like she might be physically ill any second. "Throw it away – burn it if you have to. Just get it away from me, Rhianna."

"Okay, okay," Rhi murmured, "hang on just a second, hon." She darted out of her room quickly and dropped the blouse in the trash bin in the kitchen before returning. At first she didn't see Heather, when her ears perked at sound of water running in her bathroom. She poked her head around the corner, finding Heather throwing water on her face to clear the tear tracks and washing her abdomen with a cloth.

When Heather was finished washing all the red off herself, she put the cloth on the counter and turned off the faucet. She leaned on the counter, head bowed and just stood there for a long time. The red head looked up when she felt a hand on her shoulder, meeting Rhianna's gaze in the mirror. The blonde held up a new shirt, this one blue and baggy.

"Thanks," Heather mumbled, pulling the shirt on over her head.

"Heather," Rhi hesitated. "I know I said I wouldn't ask questions but… what happened to you tonight? You were there one second and then you disappeared. Mike and I had no idea where you'd gone. We had to leave eventually. When your mom called asking for you, I told her you were spending the night with me – not like I could tell her you'd vanished from a club. I have your bag and jacket by the way."

"Thanks," Heather said again blankly, her eyes back on her reflection.

Rhi shivered at the haunted shadows she could see in Heather's normally bright gaze. "Please, HM. Whatever happened – I can help you, if you let me."

Heather mulled that over for a long time, before sighing deeply. "I – you have to understand. If I tell you this, it could get you hurt. You and Mike. I don't want that to happen."

"I can take care of myself, Heather, believe me. So can Mike. Just let me help you. Please, you're scaring me," Rhi's eyes sparkled with tears. She wrapped her arms around her middle protectively.

Heather shook her head. "I'm scaring me too, Rhi… a lot." She turned around and locked gazes with her best friend. "You have to promise me, Rhianna, that you will never tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Please, promise me?" She gripped the other girl's shoulders tightly.

Rhianna bit her lip, uncertainty clouding her face at Heather's forcefulness. "I…"

"Promise!" Heather implored.

Rhi nodded slowly. "Okay. I promise. Swear on my life and on our friendship."

Heather breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright. Now, the best way to tell you, is for you to see the truth for yourself. Please do not freak on me, 'kay?"

Rhi gave a weak chuckle, relieved that her friend didn't look quite so intense anymore. "You're making me promise an awful lot of things today, Heather."

Heather's smile was watery at best, barely lasting a second, "sorry. Been kind of a crazy day. Crazy couple of days actually. Now, don't freak but…." She jumped up and landed on the ceiling of Rhi's bathroom, making her friend gasp as she hung there.

"What – what the hell, Heather?" Rhi managed to lower her voice quickly to a loud whisper, rather than the scream she'd originally intended. "How are you doing that?!"

"It's not the only thing I can do now," Heather confessed, dropping back to the floor. She held out her arms so Rhi could see the white patches on her inner wrists, then flicked one at the corner of the room, shooting a spider web there.

"How are you doing all of this?" Rhi stared in awe at the auburn haired girl, like she was seeing her for the first time.

"Truth?" Heather rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed.

"That would be nice, yeah."

"You won't laugh?"

"Why would I laugh?"

"Because it's sort of… ironic I guess."

"How so?" Rhi cocked an eyebrow.

Heather's cheeks reddened. "Remember that day on the bridge? The field trip to the zoo?"

Rhi's eyes widened. "That time with Hobgoblin and the bus?"

"Yeah. Remember the scrapbook I started after Spiderman saved me? And how I told you that I quit doing it back in seventh grade? I uh, sort of lied. I still have it, and up until a few days ago I was still updating it."

"Seriously? Heather I told you it was creepy then and it's still creepy now," Rhi shook her head, then frowned. "What does that have to do with anything though?"

Heather sighed. "Dude – I can stick to your walls and I can spontaneously produce webs. Do the math."

A wrinkle appeared between Rhi's eyebrows. "Um… not sure I follow."

Heather looked down, fiddling with the hem of the borrowed shirt. "A few nights ago, when I came back from the club after breaking up with Josh, I saw something I shouldn't have. My father came home and had a long conversation with Mom, but he didn't come in the apartment the normal way. He came in through the window… in a red and blue suit," she stared at Rhi's green eyes, watching the emotions flicker across the other girl's face. She knew Rhi was smart, even if she didn't always let on. She would make the connection.

Sure enough, understanding lit up Rhi's face like a bolt of lightning. "Your dad's Spiderman – and you're the Rosy Vigilante… holy crap!" She sat down heavily on the edge of the tub, processing.

"I know," Heather nodded sympathetically. "Took me a while to get used to the idea myself. I totally thought I was hallucinating that night when Dad pulled off his mask."

"It makes sense," Rhi admitted after a long moment. "The way Mr. Parker's always running off for one reason or another, and those pictures he gets of Spiderman in action… can't believe no one made the connection before to be honest."

"Guess Dad's had plenty of time to learn to cover his tracks," Heather shrugged, leaning against the tiled wall.

"No kidding. It makes sense with you too though. That precognition thing you do. And now there's the sticking to walls, the web stuff – what is that anyway? Nanotechnology or something?" Rhi stared hard at Heather's wrists, like she might be able to see some wires or microchips if she looked long enough.

The ginger shook her head. "Nope. All me. The patches showed up a few months ago, and the sticking to walls stuff began a few days back. Best I can figure, the powers have been dormant in me from day one. Can't say why exactly they chose now to appear, but I think it has something to do with when they occurred to my old man; something tells me he wasn't always the way he is."

"You think it was a science experiment gone wrong? Like, he was a part of something illegal?" Rhi frowned.

Heather's mouth twisted to the side in thought. "Doubt it. Dad may be terrible at parenting, but a criminal he's not. There's no way he would've been mixed up in something shady. At least not willingly."

"Then how did he end up as Spiderman?"

"I don't know… I guess I'll just have to ask him," Heather smirked.

Rhi eyed her, excitement growing on her face. "You're going to join him, aren't you? And be his sidekick?"

Heather pursed her lips. "I prefer the term 'partner', Rhi," she retorted. "And yes. I'm going to try. I have a responsibility now, and I can't ignore it… not for one second," she bit her lip, gaze far away from the present.

Rhi frowned suddenly, narrowing her green eyes. "When you came here tonight, you were a wreck. What happened, Heather? The truth."

Heather's expression darkened instantly and she looked away. "Rhi, I –"

"No. Tell me now. If you can trust me with your biggest secret, you should trust me with this as well."

The female spider took a deep breath. "I… I messed up tonight, Rhianna. Really, really badly. I was chased out of the club by this creep who wanted to…" she swallowed. "I got away, but I overheard him and his friends. They'd taken another girl – Iris Chen – and were going to hurt her. I followed them and I thought everything was going to be okay. I was kicking their asses and I – I got distracted. Careless."

Tears dripped down her cheeks as she swallowed. "Iris is dead, Rhi. They shot her and I couldn't stop them. M-might as well have pulled the trigger myself!"

"Oh, Heather honey," Rhi shot to her feet and gripped her best friend in a tight hug. "You can't think like that. You're only human. There was nothing you could do!"

"That's the thing, Rhi. I don't think I am – how can I be when I let an innocent girl die?" Heather sobbed into her friend's shoulder. "It was my responsibility to get Iris home safe and I failed! I should've just grabbed her and ran. Now… now I don't know if I will ever be able to live with myself. What am I going to say to the Chen's? How can I look them in the eye knowing I let their daughter die in my arms?"

"It'll be okay, HM," Rhi squeezed her best friend reassuringly. "We'll figure it out."

It took several minutes before Heather was able to calm down again. She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm, taking in several shaky breaths. "I guess these stupid powers come with emo mood swings," she joked.

Rhi's answer was gentle as she guided Heather back into the bedroom and they sat down on the green sheets of the bed. "Girl, you just watched someone die – I'm pretty sure this is a normal reaction."

Heather nodded dully and sighed, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know how I'm going to face tomorrow. Mom's going to know something is wrong when she sees me."

"Why don't you tell her what happened?" Rhi wrinkled her brow, "Doesn't she know about… well, you know?"

Heather shot her a pointed look. "Yeah, right. That would go over so well. Neither of my parents know anything about this, and they're not going to know."

Rhi rubbed her forehead, like she was getting a migraine. "Do you seriously think you can keep this from them forever? Eventually, they're going to know something's up."

"Have you met my parents? They hardly notice whether I'm home or not, let alone what I do with my free time," Heather argued.

"This is different than sneaking out to go clubbing!" The blonde protested, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "What if you get really hurt doing this? No matter how absent minded your dad can be, he's bound to notice a trail of blood leading to your bedroom if you break a limb or something!"

The auburn haired girl sighed, resting her head in her hand. "I – I know I'll have to tell them something eventually, but…" she hesitated.

"What?"

"I need to do this without them knowing, at least to start. Weird as Dad can be, if he knew about me, he'd never let me help him and I have to do this."

That seemed to make Rhi pause. "Why is that?"

"I don't know," Heather shook her head, appearing just as baffled. "It's just this feeling I've had since this all began. Something my father's always told me: with great power comes great responsibility. Rhi… I have powers, amazing powers, which could make New York safer for everyone. I can't ignore them. If – if I hadn't been so distracted showing off tonight and remembered my duty, Iris Chen wouldn't be in the morgue right now. I never want anyone to die again because of my carelessness. As long as I have the power to make a difference, I have to use that power."

There was a long silence as Rhianna simply watched as her best friend sat and continued rubbing her temples, evidently beginning to lose the battle to exhaustion. Without a word, she disappeared into the bathroom and appeared once more a moment later with a glass of water and two painkillers. She handed both to Heather who accepted them gratefully.

"I'm not going to pretend that I understand everything about this – and I'm also going to ignore how you already lied about this to me, back when you claimed you were doing a research project on spiders to get into college," Rhi shot her a look and Heather had the decency to blush slightly. "But even Miss Marvel needs help every once in a while. Whatever you need, know that I'll be here for you. Homework, covering for you with the parentals, therapist if need be – and something tells me it probably will be at some point. You're not alone. Kay?"

Heather pulled Rhi into a tight hug. "I don't deserve to have a friend like you. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now, I dunno about you but, last I checked," Rhi glanced at her alarm and grimaced. "We only have about three hours left to sleep, and I'd like to make them count. You can borrow some of my clothes tomorrow for school."

Heather suddenly got a scrutinizing look on her face and smiled. "Speaking of clothes, you still remember Ms. McGuiness' pointers from home ec class?"

Rhi tilted her head to the side thoughtfully as the girls climbed into bed for what remained of the night. "Sure, why?"

"Because I've got a little sewing project in mind I could use a hand with."

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Thirteen

"Heather? Heather, hon, wake up."

Heather moaned as Rhi poked her arm repeatedly. "Leave me alone," she mumbled, turning over and burying her face deeper in the pillows.

"Not a chance – you've only got thirty minutes to get ready, or we'll miss our train," Rhi yanked the sheet off of her friend, making the ginger shiver from the sudden chill. "Come on, spider girl!" she teased.

Heather turned her head and cracked one eye open, glaring at Rhi. "Do not call me 'Spider Girl'," she mumbled tiredly.

Rhi rolled her eyes, "then what should I call you? I take it 'Rosy Vigilante' wasn't your idea?"

Heather sat up and sighed, running her fingers through her messy hair. "I was thinking of calling myself 'Black Widow'," she replied, finally crawling out of bed and shuffling to Rhi's closet.

Rhi pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Has a nice ring to it, but you know someone else has that name, right?"

"So? Not like I look like her," Heather said, pulling out a pair of shorts, a white tank top and a loose gray-blue shirt that hung off her shoulders.

Rhi gave her friend a once-over, raising a skeptical eyebrow while she dressed in a pair of jeans and a cream blouse. "Um, actually, you look almost exactly like her. Tall, athletic, red hair – if you had a Russian accent, I'd think you were her daughter, or sister at least."

Heather sighed again, irritated this time. "What do you want from me? I don't have a lot of options. Besides, I already told him that was my name."

"Who?"

"Spiderman."

Rhi's forehead wrinkled as she considered this, "Oh that's right, I forgot The Bugle had pictures of you guys talking on the museum's roof. What else did you talk about?"

"Not much," Heather shrugged, ducking into the bathroom. Rhi was quick to follow, and the blonde watched as her friend located a hair tie and pulled her auburn locks into a messy bun. "Mostly he wanted to know what I was doing there. We had a small argument. I told him I was going to help and would not take 'no' for an answer."

"Good for you," Rhi grabbed her toothbrush, squirted some paste on it and stuck it in her mouth. Heather grabbed a spare from a new package under the sink and did the same. It was quiet for a few minutes as the girls brushed their teeth.

"So," Rhi said after rinsing her mouth. "What did he say to that?"

"I didn't really give him a chance to say anything. But he didn't seem happy," Heather's lips became a thin line. "He didn't even know me. Didn't know what I could do, and he judged me anyway."

Rhi nodded but didn't reply, since it was clear Heather was still thinking.

"You know what hurt worse though? He had no idea it was me. Not a clue. I mean, I know I had on a mask, but I didn't disguise my voice and my hair at least should've been a clear tell. Plus, who else would have powers like his?"

"Well, I don't think your parents ever really thought that his powers would be passed on to you or your brother and sister… even if they did," Rhi added, picking up her school bag. "They probably expected for them to show up when you were a little kid. When they didn't, they must've assumed you didn't get them. Same with Harry and Audrey. How were they supposed to know it would take so long for it to happen?"

Heather nodded, remaining silent. She'd begun to get a far-off look in her eyes, worrying Rhianna enough to snap her fingers in front of the girl's face. When Heather refocused her attention, she found Rhianna giving her a wary but assuring smile.

"I know today's going to be hard," she murmured, squeezing the red head's shoulder. "But remember, you need to talk, just say so. Kay? Don't do that brooding thing you do. It'll only get worse if you do."

Heather absorbed this, and after a second she nodded. "Have I mentioned I don't deserve a friend like you?"

"You could stand to mention it more often," Rhi smirked and winked. "Come on, I wanna go see my Chocokitty!"

Heather giggled. "Does Mike know you call him that?"

"Of course. After all," her smirk turned wicked, "he calls me his Rebel Angel."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Let's go, you weirdo."

Rhianna only laughed.

When the girls walked through the front doors of their school just a while later, another small issue suddenly dawned on Heather. Mike was waiting by Rhi's locker, and as the two exchanged a quick kiss and cuddle, Heather's brain kicked into overdrive. She and Rhi hadn't discussed it, but what were they going to do about Mike? She couldn't very well only tell Rhi this secret, and expect the girl to keep it hidden from her boyfriend – those two shared everything. Besides, Mike was her friend too. She trusted him and didn't want to lie to him.

In the amount of time it took for Rhi to exchange books from her locker, Heather's mind was made up. The trio headed in the general direction of homeroom. The red head turned to her male friend as they weaved through the traffic of the hallways. "Hey, Mike?"

"What's up, HM?" Mike answered easily, his arm draped loosely around the shoulders' of both girls on either side of him. This action served a dual purpose. He was able to hold his girlfriend without some teacher complaining about PDA, as he was also holding a mutual friend. It also created a kind of wall that other pushier students couldn't break through, sending a clear message: Don't mess with his crowd.

"Rhi and I need to tell you about something," Heather replied, hesitating.

Rhi shot her a look around Mike's hulking frame, and said hulking frame raised an eyebrow. "You two better not have decided to play for the other team and are dumping me for each other. That'd be so messed up," he said, only half-joking as Rhi often assured her friend she'd go gay for the sake of Heather's love life.

Heather blushed while Rhi burst out laughing. "No! Of course not," the auburn haired girl said, glaring at her giggly BFF.

Mike glanced between the two of them, considering this. "Either one of you preggers?" he guessed. Heather's blush deepened, and Rhi only laughed harder.

"Pretty hard to do for Heather," Rhi managed to choke out between laughs. "And you know I've got us covered, Chocokitty," she cooed, snuggling into her boyfriend's side.

Mike grinned and Heather groaned, having overheard the remark. "Please stop talking before either of you makes me puke," she begged. "Talk dirty on your own time, would you?"

Rhi only shrugged, "when you find a guy that's not a total jerk, you'll understand."

"If you say so," Heather said flatly.

"Uh, girls? I thought you were going to tell me something?" Mike reminded them.

"Oh, right…" Heather glanced at Rhianna, but the blonde shook her head.

"Uh-uh. Your story, you tell him," she said, answering her friend's silent plea for help.

Heather sighed and looked like she was about to begin, but noticed that they had just arrived at homeroom. She felt a twinge of unease at how many people were around. "Um, how about later? Maybe over lunch or something," she finally said.

Rhi seemed to realize why Heather was delaying and nodded, pulling Mike along to their usual seats before he could pester the red head with questions.

Relieved, the arachnid took a seat and waited for her teacher to finish writing something on the white board. The relief was short lived though. Rhi and Mike sat at the back of the room – mostly so they could hold hands uninterrupted – which meant she was here in the front by the door, alone with her thoughts at long last. And her thoughts were less than pleasant.

Up until now, Rhi had been able to keep her mind occupied with mundane topics, so she wouldn't have time to 'do her brooding thing' as the blonde called it. Now… now, she didn't have any distractions, which was giving her merciless subconscious the opportunity it had been waiting for.

Immediately, she picked out the empty seat by the window and the three other girls eyeing it while whispering among themselves, deep in discussion. That was Iris Chen's vacant seat and her three friends. They were wondering where she was. Why she wasn't in school. She was never tardy. Ever. Why would she be today? Why…?

Heather knew.

Looking down while biting her lip, she noted how her arms were crossed, hands clenched into fists while fingernails dug into her palms. She felt her stomach do a flip as she remembered the red coating her hands. They still seemed dirty, as if they were permanently stained with blood. She wondered if everyone could see the red liquid dripping down her fingertips, falling on her shorts, onto the school desk, to the linoleum floor, seeping into the cracks, down to the basement, sinking into the very foundation of the school…

"Attention, all faculty members. Please come to the Principal's office immediately. All students are to remain in their homerooms until the return of their teachers, and are instructed to study over any upcoming assignments or information. Once again, all faculty please report to the Principal's office."

The announcement over the loudspeaker startled Heather out of her thoughts. While the majority of the students around her cheered for the free time or began discussing why this was happening, she turned and caught Rhi's eyes.

Although Rhi tried to smile reassuringly, Heather caught the hesitant pucker of her brow. Did this announcement have to do with her? Had she been found out? Was she about to get expelled? Could superheroes get expelled?

Their teacher told the class that the room better be in one piece when he returned, then left in a hurry.

The next several minutes felt like pure agony. Heather struggled to keep her emotions bottled up and not show a crack in the otherwise solid armor she showed at school. Yet the longer she sat at her desk, the more anxious she felt.

The increasingly familiar tingling sensation in the back of her neck forewarned her before a paper airplane flew into view, descending to the floor, and skidding until it bumped against her shoe. She glanced around, and caught Rhi's frantic waving for her to pick up the paper. She reached down and did so, unfolding the lined notebook sheet and smoothing it out on the desk.

'You don't think this has to do with Iris, do you?' – Rhi

Heather looked back and made a flat downward palm, touching her fingertips to the side of her head, then flicked her hand outward. Rhi understood this as American Sign Language for 'Don't-Know'. Having a Deaf sister, Heather used ASL around her friends enough that they could have a simple conversation.

'You okay?' Rhi asked now, pointing at Heather before tapping her thumb to her chest, palm flat and down.

Heather glanced quickly at Iris' still unoccupied chair, shaking her head. She made a fist, then patted her index and middle finger together against her thumb twice. 'No.'

Rhi's eyebrows knit together as she frowned. 'It's not your fault,' she assured.

The auburn haired girl turned away and stared at the clock on the wall, forehead wrinkling. How could it not be my fault? I should've realized the bullet would have to go somewhere. I should've known it would hit Iris. Why didn't I sense it? This stupid cognition thing is supposed to detect danger, but it didn't detect anything! What is wrong with me? First I get random, weird super powers and now they don't work?! It's like I'm living in a bad comic book! Or worse… a bad fan fiction.

She grimaced at the idea, slinking down in her seat. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the fractured images flashing through her thoughts – grappling with Stan, ducking from the gunshot, knocking him to the ground, seeing Iris' life drain from her body, her hands squeezing around his windpipe.

Heather flexed her fists uncomfortably in response to this last image.

At that moment, her teacher Mr. Peterson returned to the classroom, his face grave. "Class, I have an announcement" he said in a controlled voice. This was a marked contrast from his normally joking demeanor, immediately getting everyone's attention.

Once everyone was quiet, he slid his gaze around the room, hesitating ever so slightly on Iris Chen's chair. The pause was brief enough that no one else seemed to notice, but one quick look over her shoulder confirmed to Heather that both she, and Rhianna, had caught it.

"Class… I'm very sorry to have to bring you this news, but the rest of the faculty and I feel it's best that you hear this from us and not through the news or the internet. You might've noticed that Iris Chen is not in school today," he gestured at the empty seat and shifted from one foot to the other. "The reason for that is… Iris died last night."

There was a palpable silence before the whole room broke out in whispered conversations, loud questions, and troubled looks. Mr. Peterson held up his hands for quiet and the noise ceased. "I don't know anything about what happened last night – none of us do. The police are investigating now. They may be coming to see those of you that knew Iris personally, so please keep in mind they're just trying to find out the truth and you should answer all their questions honestly. In light of this development, the school board, Principal Fields and all the teachers have decided to cancel classes for the rest of the day. Please study hard and be prepared to make up for the lost time tomorrow. Class dismissed."

The noise level rose again as everyone gathered their bags and speculated on what had happened to the class valedictorian. Heather sat frozen in her seat, staring at a spot where someone had drawn a broken heart on the desk.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up. Rhi stared at her hard, and it was only then that the auburn haired girl realized she was tearing up. She quickly rubbed at her eyes.

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

Rhi shot her a look that showed she doubted this. "C'mon, HM, I'll buy you a milkshake at the Moonbeam."

"Kay," Heather said softly, climbing to her feet and slowly shuffling out the door with her best friends by her side.

Mike eyed Rhi, clearly wondering what was wrong. She shook her head, indicating she'd tell him later. Mike shrugged and did what he did best – put his arms around his best girl and his girlfriend, and hustled the threesome through the crowded hallway, out of the school and to the subway station.

They rode the train to the closest stop to the Moonbeam Café and walked the rest of the way there. Inside, they got a booth in the back and true to her word, Rhi ordered a round of milkshakes. Mike and Rhianna shot each other concerned looks as Heather sat on the other side of the booth, forehead resting on the table.

"Heather, you're starting to scare us," Mike said after a while. "Well, scare me, actually. Rhi seems… oddly calm."

Rhi rolled her eyes. "You act like I've never been serious before in my life," she muttered.

"You have to admit, it's a rare sight. Like the Loch Ness Monster, or Bigfoot, or Godzilla. I'm not sure if I'm going crazy or if the world I live in is just that messed up," Mike replied dryly.

"Technically, Godzilla seems to show up a lot. The dude's got around fifty or more movies to his name. Not that rare at all," Rhi argued. "And did you seriously just compare me to a bunch of monsters?" She demanded, sharp green eyes glaring at him.

"Guys."

Both looked up at the quiet but firm single word from their troubled friend. Heather was sitting up now, which was a good sign, yet the haunted shadows in her eyes hadn't diminished.

"Please shut up for a sec, okay? I need a moment to get everything straight in my head." They nodded and watched as she rubbed her temples and took several deep breaths.

"Okay. What I'm about to say, doesn't leave this table. Rhi already knows pretty much everything and I made her swear not to speak a word of this. Mike, I know I can trust you to do the same."

"Of course," Mike said instantly. "You know I always keep secrets."

She nodded slowly. "I know. The difference is… this time it's not about avoiding being grounded or sneaking out past curfew. This time is more serious. This is a secret that could get one or both of you hurt, maybe even killed."

He slid his gaze between Rhi and Heather a few times, measuring their expressions silently. "What do you mean?" He asked eventually.

"More like who…" Heather muttered, eyeing her knife and exposed forearm speculatively.

Rhi, smart girl that she is, quickly grabbed the utensil and pulled it over to the other side of the table, ignoring the glare this earned her. "We've been over this, hon – not your fault, remember? You're not Wonder Woman for crying out loud."

"That's true enough. Wonder Woman would've won," the red head replied sourly, crossing her arms.

"Will you stop it, already?!" Rhi shouted, banging her fist on the table and attracting the attention of several patrons around them. Heather blushed while Mike cleared his throat. With a weak smile, Rhi waved off the curious on lookers, "sorry folks, PMS. The curses of being a teenage girl, right?" She received several sympathetic nods from a group of middle aged women at one table, and a few sighs and head shakes from another table of two older men who'd been reading newspapers. Finally, everyone went back to what they were doing before, and the teens were essentially alone again.

"What exactly am I supposed to stop, Rhi? The bullet? Bit late for that one!" Heather hissed, narrowing her eyes.

Rhi returned the scowl. "Look, Heather, I know this is hard right now and I promised I'd be there for you so you can get through this. But my God, it was a poor judgment call that anyone could've made. It was a mistake. It was not your fault. If you keep bitching and moaning for the rest of your life about this one slip up, which happened when you've still got training wheels on, you'll always be miserable. You'll never be able to move forward with your life. You want this so badly, then admit you made a mistake and move on. Use this experience as a learning curve, and become better because of it."

There was a short, stunned silence as the other two absorbed the most profound speech Rhianna had ever uttered in her life. Rhi started playing with her hair self-consciously. "My sister's a psych major. She's been rubbing off on me, that's all," she muttered.

Mike shook his head and sighed. "I still have no clue what the hell you two are going on about. I'm starting to think neither of you is ever going to tell me. We'll be old, decrepit roommates at a nursing home, senile and going deaf or blind or something, and you two will still be chatting in double-not spy talk, while I'll be yelling for my applesauce."

This earned a snort from Rhi and a small smile from Heather, then a sigh.

"Alright. Let's just start over from the beginning…"

The next few hours was spent filling in Mike on everything that had transpired over the last several days, coming to a head with the events of the previous night. When the topic was finally exhausted, the trio sat back and sipped on their third round of milkshakes, staring alternatively at each other, the table, out the window at the traffic, and sometimes the other patrons.

Mike spoke first. "That's… kind of crazy."

Heather nodded. Rhi stirred the fudge in her drink with the straw.

"You still going to do it?" he continued.

Heather fiddled with her spoon. "I have to. I'll never be able to live with myself otherwise."

Mike and Rhi didn't ask any questions, but from their expressions, Heather knew they were waiting for her to elaborate. "My great-uncle Ben died when Dad was my age. He was mugged by some thug who wanted his car. Dad always has had this guilty expression whenever he talked about Uncle Ben. Now I think I understand why. I don't know exactly, but I think Dad had a chance to save his uncle's life and he blew it."

"It would explain why he became Spiderman," Mike said slowly.

"And it's why I have to become the Black Widow now."

Rhi ran a fingertip along the lip of her glass. "You know, every good superhero needs a team of some sort backing her up."

Heather raised an eyebrow. "This better not be leading to Black Widow getting sidekicks named Spinneret and Wolf-Spider."

Mike snickered while Rhi rolled her eyes. "No Spider Chick, it's not."

"What did I tell you about the dumb nicknames this morning?"

"You said don't call you Spidergirl – Spider Chick is completely different, and you're not allowed to keep changing the rules anytime you want."

"It's best not to be threatening the girl who could drop you from the Top of the Rock," Heather replied dryly.

"Whatever," Rhi waved her off impatiently. "What I was trying to say, is while the two of us being in the field with you seems a bit… risky, we can still do things to help you out. Like cover for you with your parents, pick up school assignments you might miss, help you with training and stuff like that."

Heather smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good, cause we weren't taking no for an answer," Mike said and winked. "We honor the code, remember? Thou shalt not get caught and thou shalt not blow the whistle. Otherwise, consider thy self a total jerk."

"Aw, you guys," the redhead smiled, touched. "What would I do without you?"

"Be grounded for all eternity due to the multiple times you would be caught trying to sneak out," Rhi said in a matter of fact way. "Oh and you'd still be wearing that God awful, yellow corduroy jumper from elementary school."

"It was a gift from Aunt May!" Heather protested. "Will you please stop bringing that up? I don't feel the need to point out how you used to wear your hair like DJ from Full Houseall the time back in third grade."

"You promised never to speak of that again!" Rhi said, flushing as well.

Mike grinned, "You know… I had a big crush on Candace Cameron as a kid."

"Oh, did you now?" Rhi asked, suddenly forgetting her embarrassment as she cuddled up closer to him.

"Check please!" Heather called, holding up her hand for the waitress.

"What are we doing here, Heather?" Rhi asked for about the tenth time since her friend had insisted they get on a different train line than they needed to get home. She and Mike followed uncertainly behind the red head as the girl took the stairs two at a time down from the platform.

Heather glanced around the small neighborhood before crossing the street without checking to see if Rhi and Mike were behind her. "Don't you trust me, Rhianna?"

"Mostly…" the blonde glared at an over enthusiastic taxi driver that beeped at her impatiently.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Heather turned and frowned at them, cocking an eyebrow as she walked backwards.

"You did kind of lie to us for a few days," Rhi pointed out.

Heather blushed. "What was I supposed to do? I was scared, and excited, and totally freaked at the same time. All I could think about was how it could get you guys hurt."

"She's got a point," Mike said and Rhi sighed.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," She grumbled back. "And where the heck are we going? Home is that way!" She pointed behind them to emphasize her point.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Heather said simply, turning around to walk forwards once more. Mike and Rhi exchanged puzzled glances, hurrying to catch up with their friend. The trio approached a large blue warehouse and Heather knocked on the sliding door, before tugging it open.

"Coach!" Heather called out. "You here?"

Meanwhile, Rhi and Mike gazed around them, taking in the various gym equipment. From punching bags, bench presses, treadmills and weight lifters, to ceiling rings, parallel bars, balance beams and a boxing ring. The warehouse was filled to the brim with everything an athlete could ever want to train with.

There was a rustling noise, followed by a thud and muffled curse from a back room that seemed to be some sort of office – if the stacked filing boxes visible through the dirt streaked window was anything to go by. A moment later the door opened and a massive man emerged, rubbing a spot on the back of his head, mussing his salt and pepper hair. He grinned when he saw them.

"Heather! I was hoping to see you again," he boomed as he approached, pumping her hand vigorously.

"Nice to see you too, Coach Holldar," Heather said, hardly bothered as he clapped her on the back. At the very least, that super strength seems to be working just fine, even if my precognition is kind of fickle.

"I, er, heard you took a stroll up to the Met after we worked on your form the other day," Holldar said, looking uncertainly at Rhi and Mike.

Heather glanced to the side thoughtfully. "Yeah… they, um, had this new exhibit I wanted to see, but I had a little trouble getting in. Is," she flicked her eyes around the gym, "is anyone else here today?"

Holldar shook his head. "Nope. Just me. I had an appointment cancel, so I thought I'd try and organize my back office." He sighed, glaring in the room's general direction. "Damn paperwork," he muttered. "Why do you ask?"

Heather exchanged brief eye contact with Rhi and Mike, then gave a sigh of her own. "Coach… you might want to sit down. This is a bit of a long story."

With her friends' help, the red haired arachnid was able to tell her story in about half the time it had taken in the diner; although they did agree silently that they'd leave out Heather's connection to Spiderman, feeling there was no need to reveal all of their cards just yet. When they'd finished, Coach Holldar sat in silence for a long moment, drinking it all in. Finally, he whistled.

"That's quite a tale, Parker," he murmured, looking at her with a fresh perspective. "You okay?"

Heather frowned, a small 'v' forming on her forehead. "I guess. I still just feel so…" she swallowed, shaking her head. "I don't think there are enough words in the dictionary," she said, only half-joking.

"It's understandable," the older man said, standing up to pace. "My brother was in Vietnam. He was never the same after he came back to the states. Doctors eventually started calling it PTSD – too much trauma to the system, overloads the brain and senses. Some learn to cope, a few manage to almost completely beat it… most have to live with it for the rest of their lives."

"There's a cheerful statistic for you," Rhi muttered, cradling her head in her palm while sitting on the stairs of the boxing ring.

Holldar gave a dry smile. "Well, at any rate, I'm sure you didn't come to me for psychological advice."

"Not exactly, no," Heather said. "Actually, I was hoping for some more physical help. I want to become a vigilante, but I don't think gymnastics and a few parlor tricks are going to cut it. Can you help train me?"

Coach rubbed his neck. "You could lift a car with your bare hands. Not sure how I can help, to be honest."

"I need to know how to fight, and I need to tone myself up. I have the powers – now I need the skills to match them. Who better to train me than you?" Heather replied, her eyes flashing with eagerness.

Holldar considered that for a moment. "I'd need help," he said eventually. "And you'd have to come after hours every day."

Mike pushed off from the support beam he'd been leaning against. "I can help," he said, speaking for the first time in several minutes. "My brother did some kickboxing when we were younger. I was the only one he could train with, since my Dad's never been around and my Mom sure couldn't help."

"And coming after closing is no problem," Heather added. "I'll just tell my parents I got a job lined up before the start of summer break."

Rhi suddenly pouted. "If you guys are all going to be here, working out and stuff, what am I supposed to do?"

Heather restrained the urge to roll her eyes. "Keep in mind that little project I was telling you about last night. I still need help with that."

Rhi snorted. "Oh, right, sewing. Yay," she muttered.

"You get to help with the design," Heather reminded her. "C'mon, I'll even let you decide if I need a 'boob window' or not!" she pleaded.

Coach started to laugh, which turned into a cough that he muffled with a fist. Mike only stared at his friends, clearly confused.

Rhi shook her head, "If I've said it once, I've said it a dozen times. Power Girl is an awesome chick – why she feels the need to show off her cleavage like that, I'll never know!" She crossed her arms, reconsidering. "Alright," she shrugged. "Just as long as I get the majority of control over the suit."

Heather blew out a breath. "Fine. But the Spiderman symbol is mandatory, and I am not budging on the color scheme, or the custom boots and gloves I already spent a good chunk of cash on."

Rhi held up her hands in surrender. "Deal." She smirked, "Operation: Super Hero is in effect."

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Fourteen

Thursday, Three Days Later…

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Heather's pencil bounced from her fingers onto the desk, beating out a random pattern. To say she was ready for the school day to be done was an understatement. She'd been done since the first bell.

She knew there were probably a lot of important things she'd missed in her classes, but she couldn't find the motivation to make herself care. What did it matter anyway? She was somewhere in the top three candidates for valedictorian. She wasn't much for bragging, but still… with her GPA? A few slipups wouldn't mean much in the long run.

Besides, there was something infinitely more important she'd rather be doing.

The past couple of days were full of moments like this. Long, boring hours spent stuck in school, learning things she knew for a fact would never be useful. This would be followed by even longer but much more enjoyable hours spent honing her skills. Every day, she couldn't help but be in awe of what had changed in her body.

Though she knew if she ever said as much to someone else, she'd probably be stuck getting another 'puberty is a beautiful but confusing time in your life' speech from her Mom. That was painful enough the first time, thanks.

Heather glanced up at the clock longingly, then caught the eye of her teacher, who was glaring at her offending pencil. Emitting a small sigh, she steadied her hand and tried to focus on the whiteboard in front of her.

'Cuban Missile Crisis: 1964' was done in her teacher's swirly, slanted handwriting, and as if that didn't make it hard enough to read, it had been penned in red marker as well. There were several bullet points done beneath the heading, listing off important fast-facts: John F. Kennedy. Cold War. USSR. Threat of Nuclear War. Mutually Assured Destruction. School Bomb Drills.

I understand this really happened and was very scary at the time, Heather thought, slumping in her seat, but what does it have to do with me? I've never seen the purpose of history class in general. Give me science, or math, or literature classes – at least I'm doing something proactive in those. There, I'm trying to change things. History is history. Done and over with long before I was even born. By the time the events happening around me are being taught in school, I'll be dead and gone too.

As if in answer to this, the bell rang.

Heather grabbed her mostly empty notebook, textbook and bag before joining the herd of students crushing each other in the hallway. She managed to make it to her locker without injury, then reluctantly rejoined the throng rushing for the front doors and freedom.

She was just passing the front offices when Ms. Sweet, the desk clerk who hardly fit her name, leaned her head out the doorway. "Parker!" The silver haired woman barked. "Principal's office – now!"

Heather stopped to look at Ms. Sweet, then glanced at the door just a few feet away, chewing her bottom lip. So close… she thought, maybe I can…

"Parker!" Ms. Sweet snapped.

Heather groaned, dropping her head in disappointment. Damn. "Coming!" She said, hurrying through the thinning crowd towards the thin, sour-faced clerk.

"Keep up that kind of tardy attitude, and you'll wind up a juvenile delinquent, Parker!" Ms. Sweet told her sternly. Heather suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Heather was pretty sure the woman wasn't human – a creature from The Twilight Zone seemed more likely.

"Why does Principal Byers want to see me, ma'am?" Heather asked in the most polite tone she could muster, standing up straight just for good measure.

"It's not just Principal Byers," Ms. Sweet said, looking down her hooked nose at Heather. "There is a detective here from the NYPD who wants to speak with you as well."

Heather felt the blood drain from her face, and knew her voice sounded strained as she asked, "Oh? Why is that?"

"Standard procedure in situations such as this," Ms. Sweet replied with a sniff. "They want to have all their facts before arresting ruffians who could be capable of such a crime!" She shook her head, 'tsking' beneath her breath as she stepped back behind her desk. "Don't dilly dally, Parker! They're expecting you."

Feeling the bottom fall out of her stomach and her heart hammer against her chest, Heather nodded faintly. "Yes ma'am," she managed to murmur, moving to the door marked 'Principal' like a woman walking to the gallows.

Inside, she found Principal Byers in deep, hushed discussion with a tall man in his mid-to-late-twenties. The gun peeking from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket and the badge on his belt identified him as the police detective.

Principal Byers noticed her first. The thirty-something Asian woman smiled reassuringly at Heather, though there was tension and weariness behind her eyes. "Heather, thank you for coming. Please sit down. Close the door, if you would, dear."

Byers was soft-spoken and kind, yet she managed to govern the school with hardly a problem. Nearly all the students liked her, and if they didn't, they at least respected her. Now, she folded her hands on the desk and nodded at the policeman as Heather settled into one of two hardwood chairs.

"Heather Parker, meet Detective Hal Jenkins, he'd like to ask you a few questions."

Detective Jenkins sat in the other chair and smiled at her, holding out a weathered hand, which Heather shook gently, still unsure of her strength.

"Call me Hal." His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. His brown hair almost looked blonde in the slanted light coming from the windows.

Heather cleared her throat, "Questions about what exactly?"

"Iris Chen," Detective Jenkins said, "I understand you were in the same class, and I just need to ask you a few things about her."

"Iris and I really weren't friends," Heather said quickly, though she felt a glimmer of relief.

"Detective Jenkins is talking to everyone in your class, Heather, as well as Iris' close friends and family. He's the lead investigator on Iris Chen's… case," Principal Byers said gently, though the girl noted how she said 'case' rather than 'murder'. Probably a good thing. Even thinking the word made the teen's stomach churn.

"Oh," Heather murmured. "Well… what do you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me about her," Hal replied easily, pulling out a recorder from his pocket and switching it on. "Anything at all that comes to mind."

Heather shrugged and shifted in her seat. "I don't know. She was… quiet I guess. She didn't really talk much, especially to me. She was smart though. Other than me and one other person, she was in line for valedictorian of our class. She probably would've won."

"She did well in school, then?" Hal prompted.

"Yeah. Really well," she nodded. "Iris was intelligent in general. Like…" she paused thoughtfully. "You know how some people are good with book smarts – taking tests, studying, getting good grades – while others are good with street smarts – being able to recognize a bad area and avoiding it, knowing how to take care of yourself, having common sense? Iris… she seemed to have both. Which is why…" Heather stopped suddenly. Something had been bothering her about Iris' murder for some time, but she hadn't been able to put her finger on it until now.

Byers and Jenkins exchanged glances. "Why what Heather?" The Principal asked.

The redhead blinked, remembering she wasn't alone. "Um nothing. Just that it's weird someone would be able to hurt Iris. I know she took some self-defense courses, and I'd heard rumors from other kids that she was really good. I just can't believe she hadn't been able to protect herself." Please buy it. Please buy it. Please buy it.

Hal studied Heather's carefully crafted expression of confusion and grief. Neither were hard to fake. It had been days after the murder, and she was still mentally grappling with it. She hadn't – and wouldn't – admit it to her friends, but she'd rubbed her hands raw several times since that awful night with repeated washings. Even now, her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her jacket. Her subconscious wouldn't let her forget the slick feel of blood gushing between desperate hands. No matter what she did, she still felt… tainted. She wondered if she'd ever feel clean again.

As she thought about this Jenkins seemed to be weighing her words, like her Dad always did. Heather kept her features in check, but she knew there was no such thing as a fool-proof poker face. She could only hope the detective was either really bad at reading people, or at least as oblivious as her father.

Finally, after a small eternity, Hal nodded. "Yes, it is odd. We weren't aware of that, thank you for mentioning it."

Heather nodded as well. "Um, I don't mean to rush you, but I have an after school job I have to get to…?" She let her voice trail off suggestively while gesturing at the door, always a surefire way to leave an uncomfortable conversation.

"Sure, sure, of course." Detective Jenkins stood up and she did as well. He offered her hand and she shook it. He reached inside his coat with his other hand and pulled out a slip of paper. "If you think of anything else, anything at all that you can tell us about Iris, please give me a call."

Heather took the card without looking at it, shoving it into her back pocket. "No problem. Nice meeting you. See you tomorrow, Principal Byers," She said over her shoulder as she bolted from the room, hurrying from the high school towards the train station.

She needed to see the others right now.

"Why was Iris there that night?" This question was not so much asked as shouted as Heather burst through the front doors of Coach Holldar's gym, startling the occupants inside.

Mike, helping move some equipment, dropped a box of dumbbells and somehow managed not to hit his feet. Rhianna had been toting several sewing supply items down a flight of stairs from the second floor – including piles of fabric, a thread caddy and a cutting board – and promptly lost her footing, falling on her rump at the last two stairs and managing to toss all her supplies sky high. Holldar himself had been coming out of the back office, reading over paperwork and drinking a mug of coffee. Said coffee was now splashed over most of said paperwork, as well as him.

"Heather! What is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill us?" Rhi folded her arms as she glared at her friend while a section of fabric fluttered down and settled onto her head. She tossed it off angrily.

"Oh, you're fine!" Heather said, dismissing this with a wave of her hand as she made a beeline for the back office. She almost collided with Holldar, who smartly darted out of the way and pressed himself against a support pillar until the danger had passed.

"Fine, my ass!" Rhi retorted, running after the red head.

"Actually, your ass is pretty fine," Mike said thoughtfully, a huge grin on his face as he followed her.

"That's beside the point!" Rhi said, but winked all the same.

Holldar only shook his head, "Kids today."

He fell in line behind Mike into the office. The three found Heather typing furiously on the computer, a small 'v' forming on her forehead as she concentrated. The others exchanged glances as Heather brought up the internet.

"Um… HM? What are you doing?" Rhi asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"I don't know why I didn't think about it before – it was staring me right in the face!" Was her cryptic reply.

"Come again?" Mike frowned.

"Did anyone else think it was a little strange that Iris Chen of all people was slumming in the club district that night?" Heather questioned, not looking up.

"This was the girl who uh… met an unfortunate end, correct?" Holldar looked at Mike for clarification, and he nodded.

"I can't say I gave it a lot of thought, no," Rhi shrugged, leaning back and crossing her arms. "So what? Everyone needs a break now and then. Even Iris Chen."

Heather shook her head. "Iris Chen wasn't just in line for valedictorian and on the honor roll. She was privileged, came from a family with a ton of money, and her idea of fun consisted of shopping on Fifth Avenue and taking vacations in Europe. Iris Chen didn't slum. Ever."

"I'm sorry, but when did you become an expert on Iris?" Rhi asked, raising an eyebrow. "We never hung out with her. She and her friends were kind of snobs. Especially Dana Jacobs," she added, narrowing her eyes.

Mike and Heather traded looks. "Rhi, it's been ten years. Can you please let it go?"

"She stole my Lisa Frank lunch box, broke all my new colored pencils, and shoved me into a mud puddle on the first day of second grade. So the answer is, no! I will not freaking let it go," Rhi snapped.

"Well, the others are pretty nice," Mike said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like, uh, Courtney Queen. She's cool, right?"

"Wasn't she the one who tried to slip you tongue at that party last summer?" Heather asked, tilting her head as she tried to remember that night. It was all a tad hazy around the edges, probably due to the spiked punch she drank.

Mike swallowed, eyeing his girlfriend. "Oh, right. Sort of forgot that part."

"I didn't," Rhi replied, then added a bit smugly, "I'm the one who gave her a black eye, just in time for picture day a few weeks later."

Holldar watched this verbal debate with a growing look of concern on his face. "Do you kids ever talk about anything other than beating people up and making out?"

"They don't," Heather replied instantly.

"Hey!" Mike and Rhianna protested.

Their friend shrugged. "I call it like I see it. Now hush, I think I've finally found what I've been looking for."

"Which would be?" Mike made a 'please elaborate' gesture.

"I pulled up Iris' Facebook page, and googled her family name," Heather explained.

"Isn't 'Chen' a pretty common Chinese-American name?" Holldar said, "There's got to be at least four or five different families named 'Chen' down near Chinatown alone."

"But only one that matters," Heather replied, pulling up the pictures section of Iris' page and clicking on what seemed to be a professional family photo of three people.

She zoomed in on the middle aged man standing on Iris' left. He was clearly the girl's father, and had his hand laying on her shoulder. But the gesture wasn't gentle or kind – it was formal and cold, the same as his expression. Even Iris was putting on a show, her smile merely a shadow of the real thing. Only the woman standing on the girl's right side was beaming genuinely at the camera, her fingertips barely visible on top of her husband's broad shoulders, the other hand holding Iris' warmly.

"That's her dad, right?" Rhi asked. "It's weird, I don't ever remember seeing him around. Not for school functions or even just picking her up. Then again, I don't remember seeing her mom either."

"That's because Iris' mother is dead," Heather said, frowning at the screen. "Look at this. There's a post here, an old one: 'Yesterday, my life changed forever. My wonderful Mom, Anna, passed away after losing her battle with cancer. Mom was amazing, and she taught me so much. I'm not sure yet how I'll be able to live without her, but I'm going to make her proud no matter what.'"

"That's rough," Mike said softly after a moment. "I don't know what I'd do without my Mom."

"Same," Rhi murmured.

"Losing anyone you love is one of the hardest realities we face in this world, and I gotta tell ya, it doesn't get any easier as you get older," Coach gave them both an uncharacteristically gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

Heather simply sat back in the desk chair, making it creak. She stared at a spot on the wall, clearly thinking, before sitting forward again and typing another long string of commands into the computer.

"What are you doing now?" Rhi asked.

"Something about Iris' father, Stephan Chen, bothers me," She shook her head, chewing her lip, "I can't really say why. I just feel like I've seen him somewhere before, and like you said earlier, it definitely wasn't from a school function."

Holldar leaned forward and squinted at the screen, studying the picture. "Come to think of it, the name rings a bell with me too. You sure his daughter never trained with me?"

Rhi snorted slightly. "Iris was fit and tiny, to be sure, but she was not an athlete. Other than martial arts, she didn't do other sports. She always looked super bored in gym class, like she would've rather been anywhere else."

"Can you blame her? Coach Taylor is brutal, not to mention he seems to always be staring at all the girl's boobs," Heather said, giving a small shudder.

Holldar grunted, "Men like that get my blood boiling. It's not enough for some people to objectify adult women, but gawking at teenage girls is a new low."

Mike nodded, pulling Rhi close and kissing her temple. She smiled up at him, and he winked.

"What the hell?" Heather muttered, getting everyone's attention.

"What is it?" Mike asked.

"This website claims Mr. Chen runs several successful nightclubs in Soho," Heather answered, still scanning the screens.

"Claims?" Rhi tilted her head.

"Well, think about it," the red head spun around in the chair to face the others. "If Mr. Chen owns these clubs, why wouldn't Iris have gone to one of them that night? Why would she be in a club in a different part of the city? She probably would've been able to get in for free at one of her Dad's, and because she's the boss' daughter, no one would've batted an eye at her being there even though she's underage."

"So the question becomes," Holldar began.

"What was she doing on the other side of town?" Rhi finished.

There was a short silence as that question and others settled over them.

Eventually, Heather sighed and shut off the computer. "I don't think I'm going to be able to find out much else from here," she said. "It's not like I can hack into the police database and find more answers there or something."

Mike slowly smiled. "Maybe not, but I think I know somewhere we can go to find more answers. Some place that doesn't require mad computer skills."

The others just looked at him, puzzled.

"Heather, when was the last time you participated in 'bring your daughter to work day' with your dad?" Mike questioned, grinning.

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Fifteen

"This is a bad idea," Heather said for about the hundredth time.

She jogged after Rhi and Mike as the trio wound through uptown Manhattan foot traffic. Mike in particular was leading the charge towards The Daily Bugle . It was an odd shift, really, for the normally laid back member of their click to be so forthright about something. This time however he had come up with the plan, and he was determined to go through with it, even though Heather definitely had her reservations.

"This is a bad idea!" Heather reiterated, finally catching up when the others had to stop for a crosswalk light.

"You keep saying that, yet you're still with us… Why is that?" Rhi smirked.

Heather glared at her, then decided to just ignore her and focus her efforts on Mike. "Dude, I could get my Dad fired. I could be grounded for life. This is a terrible idea !"

"On the other hand, if you don't do this, you might never be able to learn anything more about the case. You won't be able to become who you want to. You'll spend the rest of your life – or at least the rest of high school – wondering what would've happened if you had pursued this angle and found out the truth," Mike gave her a pointed look.

"Dammit," Heather muttered, now glaring at him. "Why do you guys have to be right all the time? It's really irritating."

The light changed and they continued on to The Bugle .

When the building came into view, Heather felt something sink in her stomach. Not a good idea. Not a good idea. Not a good idea.

The thought repeated on a loop in her head like a mantra, as she rode the elevator with her friends up to the newspaper's floor. Once there, it was all a matter of being inconspicuous… which was pretty hard when you were three high school seniors skulking around an office building. Heather was sure they looked as guilty as the cat who swallowed the canary, even though they technically hadn't done anything wrong yet.

"You've been here before right?" Rhi asked as they stood next to an unoccupied mailroom cart, trying to act like they were there to deliver packages.

Heather nodded. "Once. I was about four. My Dad brought me in for a few hours while he tweaked some photos on the computer, then we went out on an assignment to photograph some senator giving a press conference after he cheated on his wife."

The other two shot her an unbelieving glance, evidently waiting for the punchline. It never came.

"Wait, seriously?" Mike questioned.

Heather finally turned her attention back to them, away from the floor plan she'd been studying on the wall. "Yes. We got ice cream afterwards. Why?"

"Never mind," Rhi said, cutting off Mike’s next question. "Do you know where the paper's morgue is?"

Heather hummed positively. "Just down the hall from here. We better hurry – it won't be so bad if we run into Robbie, but if Mr. Jameson catches us, there will be hell to pay," she had started walking towards the corridor, but was watching her friends as they followed behind. Naturally she was puzzled when they froze with expressions of pure panic. About the same time, she bumped into an oddly shaped wall.

Her eyes slid up and her mouth went dry.

"Oh… um, hi Dad."

Peter raised his eyebrow as he took in his oldest daughter and her friends. "Heather, what are you doing here?" he asked, oddly calm if puzzled.

"Uh…" Heather's mind went blank.

"We have a special project at school!" Rhi jumped in, sliding up next to her best friend and wrapping her arm around the red head's shoulders in a death grip. "It's part of our science class. Our teacher said we had to do a project detailing the metaphysics and logistics of beings with superpowers, and recommended we do some deep, old fashioned research away from our computers to complete it."

Wow. I knew Rhi was good at lying, but I figured it only applied to getting alcohol and into dance clubs. I ought to give her more credit, Heather thought, trying not to gawk at the blonde beside her. Instead she forced a tight smile, attempting to appear relaxed. "Yeah. We're all partners for the project, and we figured the best place to learn about the different metahumans who've inhabited New York is at The Daily Bugle ."

"You think you could help us out, Mr. P?" Mike asked, finally managing to find his voice.

Peter studied their faces, eyes darting from one teenager to another. His bullcrap meter worked overtime to process the story they had fed him. Finally, after Heather had decided that he didn't believe them and was about to kick all three out of the building, he spoke, "Yeah. Sure, I can help you. What can I do?"

"Just point us in the direction of The Bugle's morgue," Rhi said sweetly.

"Please?" Heather said, lips aching as she stretched them into a pained grin.

Peter gave them another long searching look, then turned and pointed down the hallway. "At the end, take a left and go through the fifth door on the right. Try not to choke on all the dust," he added with a smirk.

"Awesome! Thanks, Dad. See ya – c'mon guys, let's go!" Heather grabbed both Mike and Rhi's arms and marched them down the hallway.

"Y'know, I never quite got what your beef with your dad was, anyway?" Mike commented, not bothering to hide how befuddled he was by his friend's newfound strength.

"Long story," Heather muttered. "I'd rather not get into it right now. Let's just find what we need and get out of here."

They reached the newspaper's morgue in no time flat, and began searching through the archives in the 'C' section for Chen . Unfortunately, the 'C' section was quite large. It took them at least an hour and a half just to comb through the first four file boxes, and even then they were still stuck in the 'CE' segment.

"This is pointless!" Rhi complained as she stood up to stretch from the box she'd been bent over. "We'll never find anything. How do we even know there will be something on the Chen's in here? We could be searching for something that doesn't exist."

"She has a point," Heather said reluctantly, sneezing as another puff of dust wafted up from a freshly opened box. "I wonder why The Bugle hasn't converted these yet. It's the twenty-first century – has Mr. Jameson never heard of a computer?" She asked no one in particular, flipping through the pages of a paper she'd fished out of the bottom of the box.

"I'm telling you guys, this is a good lead. We just need to keep looking," Mike insisted, brow furrowed as he skim read the newspaper in front of him.

He was sitting at a narrow table tucked into the corner of the room, several stacks of papers piled around him. Heather sat on the floor to his left, working out of three different boxes of consecutive years. Rhi was working in another corner of the room, rifling through boxes lined up on metal shelves placed in rows like in a library. The newspaper's morgue itself was, by Heather's estimation, about twice the size of her apartment, and filled to maximum capacity with file boxes stuffed with newspapers. As far as she could tell, they had hardly made a dent in the massive archive, and they weren't getting any closer.

"Girls," Mike said suddenly. "I think… I think I found something."

"What?" Rhi worked back over to his side by picking her way through various piles of boxes.

Heather had a harder time. She had to carefully stand and squeeze between two box stacks and the edge of the table, without knocking something over. She stood opposite Rhi, and read over Mike's shoulder as he presented his find.

The article was pushed into the bottom right corner of the page, in a back section of the paper, like someone was trying to hide it. Even the text seemed lighter than in the rest of the paper, making it more difficult to read. The headline declared: Chen Family Accused of Gambling and Money Laundering.

"Says here the FBI busted up a gambling racket going on in a back room of Mr. Chen's biggest night club, 'The Golden Iris'," Mike said, skimming the article. "Took Mr. Chen and his two brothers, Adam and David, into custody. The evidence was pretty strong against them. They also found evidence that the brothers had been laundering funds from some undisclosed sources, pumping it into their personal bank accounts and making it look like profits from the club."

"What happened?" Rhi asked. "Were they convicted?"

Mike shrugged. "Doesn't say. Probably comes up in a future edition. Here, I found it in this box; start looking through the issues that were published afterward. There's bound to be a follow up article." The two began digging through the box together.

Heather frowned at the original article, her forehead creased in thought. She hardly noticed as Mike and Rhi flipped through newspapers quickly, tossing them aside when they didn't find anything of interest. She finally came out of her trance when Rhi uttered a cry of triumph.

The blonde held a newspaper open, making the only part of her visible her purple and blue painted fingertips. "Listen to this. Stephen and Adam were acquitted of all charges, but David was sentenced to five years in prison for racketeering and illegal gambling charges."

"When did all of this happen?" Heather asked, the gears clearly whirling in her mind.

"Uh…" Rhi flipped back to the front of the paper to check the date. "Around four and a half years ago. It'll be five years come October."

"Does anyone else find it interesting that Iris was abducted and killed, only a few months before her uncle was scheduled to be released from prison?" Heather posed the question with a raised eyebrow.

Her friends traded looks.

"Quite a coincidence," Mike said slowly.

"A very big coincidence," Rhi admitted doubtfully.

"I'm beginning to think coincidences don't exist," Heather muttered.

Rhi set down the paper gingerly, her face troubled. "So, what does all this mean? You know, for us?"

"It means there's more to Iris Chen's death than meets the eye," Heather replied grimly.

"What's our next move, webgirl?" Mike brushed dust off his jacket and frowned when it stuck.

"First off, we need to move up our deadline," Heather said. "I don't have as much time as I thought – I'm going to need to convince Dad to listen to me and take me on as an apprentice ASAP. That's the only way I'll be able to find out what happened. Otherwise, we'll just be stumbling around blind while the killer gets away."

"You've got a plan?" Rhi guessed.

"More like a really dangerous, really crazy idea," Heather conceded. "How long will it take you to finish that suit?"

Rhi shrugged. "Working by myself, it'll take about two more days."

"What if you have help?" Mike asked.

Rhi pursed her lips, eyes slipping up and to the right in thought. Finally she shrugged. "With help, I can have it done by tonight."

"Consider us your helpful sewing mice, Cinderella," Heather smiled.

"Sweet," Rhi grinned.

Hours later found the trio gathered around a cluttered table, back at Holldar's gym.

Mike winced as he pricked his thumb with yet another pin he was trying to put into two pieces of fabric. "Damn, how did people manage to make all their clothes by hand? My fingertips look like giant grapes!"

Heather rolled her eyes. "Oh poor baby. I got hit in the head so hard I practically saw cartoon birds flying around me a few nights ago, and you're complaining about a few pin pricks?"

Rhi shrugged from her spot as she bent over the sewing machine. "He's a guy," she said, like that explained everything.

"How's it coming?" Holldar suddenly asked, trotting downstairs.

As they had found out, the gym was not only his workplace but his home as well. Holldar had a small bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen tucked away on the second floor of the warehouse, where he lived when the gym was closed. Heather had been afraid they'd keep him up with the noise of the sewing machine, but the Coach had assured them he was a sound sleeper and had put in extra insulation when he'd remodeled the building.

"We're almost there," Rhianna reported, sticking her tongue out the side of her mouth as she navigated a tricky round seam with the sewing machine. "Just need to pull a few final pieces together."

"Thank God for that," Mike muttered, sucking on his thumb pathetically.

"Mike, don't make me slap you," Heather deadpanned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's late, and I'm about this close to collapsing," She held up her other hand, displaying her thumb and forefinger as being an inch apart.

"Well that's going to have to wait," Rhi muttered, snatching the piece Mike had finished pinning and placing it into the sewing machine.

"Which part, the slapping or the collapsing?" Her boyfriend asked.

"Both, since I'm almost done," the blonde muttered, concentrating.

"Finally," Heather stood and stretched her limbs.

"I hope you plan on using this costume for a while," Rhi added, "because this was a project from hell. Would've been easier if someone had stuck to the pattern they got from the fabric store." She shot her friend an irritated look.

Heather waved her off. "It was unflattering and generic, and you know it," she dismissed.

Rhi paused the machine for a moment and considered that. "True. But still. Would've been simpler, even if it didn't turn out as fabulous." She put her foot back down on the pedal and the needle began whirring once more.

"How much longer do you think it will take?" Holldar asked, coming over to inspect what had already been done.

"Not long."

"In the meantime, I could use some more boxing lessons," Heather said, rotating her arms. She took a seat on the floor and began her warm up stretches.

"What happened to being close to collapsing?" Mike appeared amused.

She shrugged. "Dunno. Sometimes, when I think I'm completely spent, I'll get moving again and suddenly get a burst of energy. Is that weird?"

Holldar came over and helped hold her feet while she did sit-ups. "Kid, you're a metahuman – I think we bypassed the luxury of just calling something 'weird' a long time ago."

"Point taken," Heather admitted, finishing up her repetitions. She took his hand and he hauled her to her feet. Cracking her knuckles then shaking them out, she held up her hands in front of her face, making loose fists. "Okay, hit me, Coach."

Holldar shook his head. "Parker, what have I told you a thousand times? If you punch something harder and/or denser than yourself, you'll break every bone in your hand if you're not in proper form. C'mon, kid," he held up his own fists, the thumbs tucked in and fingers curled tight, "like this."

"Right, right sorry," Heather adjusted her hands, widening her stance for good measure.

"Better," Coach encouraged. "Now, let's spar. Remember, fight dirty and fight hard. If you were fighting in a regular match, against regular humans, because you were in a regular league, I'd say fight fair no matter what anyone throws at you. If ." He held up one finger, a hint of a smirk on his rugged features. "Supervillains, unlike civilians, aren't going to cut you a break. They'll do anything to throw you down – you'll need to meet the challenge they present with as much vivacity and stubbornness. Just remember one thing–"

"Match their strength, not their viciousness," Heather repeated like a mantra.

Coach grinned grimly, "Exactly. Now show me what you've got, kid." He took the first swing, and she ducked under it.

Heather twirled to the left and aimed a punch to his lower back. Expecting the move, Coach turned with the blow and threw a reverse kick that should've connected with her hip. The tingling up her spine alerted Heather and she threw her body up and into a tight spiral over Coach's leg, twisting in midair to land in a half crouch, one leg spread out to the side.

"Excellent," Coach said, his own kick putting him so they were now facing each other. "You can do better," he told her, "Keep trying." He advanced and sent a downward arching punch that should've hit her collarbone and left her stunned on the floor. Instead, Heather threw up her crossed arms and blocked the blow, taking the full force of the punch which pushed her down.

Holldar grunted, "Not bad. But remember, you'll be facing opponents made of sterner stuff than me, and a hit like that could shatter your bones. Deflect whenever possible. Now you're pinned. How do you get out?"

Heather gritted her teeth, shoving sharply upwards and sending Holldar flailing while she back flipped out of range. She landed a few feet away, quickly throwing her fists back up, ready for any retaliation. She didn't have to wait long. Holldar approached cautiously, advancing a few paces a time while studying her stance. When he got within a few feet, she took several steps to the side and he matched her pace. Soon, they were circling each other in an eerie dance.

"You can't evade enemies forever, Heather," Coach reminded her. "Sooner or later, either they'll go for it or–"

"Aaahh-ah!" Heather cried, throwing her weight into a spin kick that collided with Holldar's broad chest, shoving him backwards. She hardly gave him a chance to regain his footing before she pounced, forcing him into an old fashioned boxing competition. The two traded blows back and forth for several minutes, landing some, but deflecting most.

Finally, Heather saw an opening. While throwing one of his infamous left-hooks, she noticed how vulnerable it made his right side. Taking this in stride, she waited for Holldar to throw another hook, which didn't take long given it was his favorite move. Just as his fist reached full momentum of its arch, she ducked and slid to the side thrusting her fist just under his ribcage. Holldar let out a whoosh of air as she connected with his diaphragm, and she followed with an upward thrusting, double-fisted blow to the jaw.

Coach Holldar fell back from the hit and collapsed on the floor, spread eagle. Groaning, he blearily opened his eyes to find Heather standing over him, fists still curled and ready. Though beads of sweat had broken out across her forehead and she was breathing audibly, there was a determined look in her eyes.

"Ready for round two?" She challenged.

Coach blinked at her and chuckled, then coughed as he fought to steady his breathing. "I think that's enough for now, kid. You did good."

Heather held her stance for a moment longer, then sighed and stood up straight, relaxing her muscles. She grinned and offered Holldar a hand like he had done earlier. "I always like sparring with you," she commented.

"Only because you usually win," he retorted.

"Well…" She grinned and he gave a belly-shaking laugh. He ruffled her hair affectionately, "You're too much kid."

"Yes!" Rhianna suddenly exclaimed, catching everyone's attention. "Finally finished!"

Grin widening, Heather ran over and examined the suit as her best friend laid the pieces out on the table for display. "Oh, wow. It's even better than I imagined," she stroked the flexible but strong material.

"Well don't just stand there fondling it," Mike smirked. "Put it on webgirl!"

Chapter Text

A Few Hours Earlier At "The Daily Bugle"…

"Just point us in the direction of the morgue," Rhi said sweetly.

"Please?" Heather said, giving him a pained smile.

Peter gave them another long searching look, then turned and pointed down the hallway. "At the end, take a left and go through the fifth door on the right. Try not to choke on all the dust," he added.

Heather looked relieved. "Awesome! Thanks, Dad. See ya – c'mon guys, let's go!"

Peter watched Heather and her friends disappear around the corner, frowning to himself. School project… right. He thought, shaking his head and continuing on to his tiny desk. He didn't have time to worry about what kind of trouble Heather was getting into right now. He'd just have to hope that whatever it was, she wouldn't end up in trouble by the end of the day.

He sat down and started sorting through the paperwork on his desk. There were several memos from Jameson demanding the photos from a press conference the mayor had held this morning. He had to hold in an eye roll. The art department wouldn't be finished with the files for another thirty minutes, since they were backlogged with other projects.

Speaking of which…

He opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a file folder. He sat back in his chair, keeping his back towards the wall to prevent any casual observers from seeing the contents. Sometimes having a corner desk has its perks, he thought.

Peter reread his hand written notes and studied the photos carefully, forehead furrowing. A few nights ago, he'd been out patrolling when he'd overheard some police units responding to a call in the nightclub district. Curious as always, he'd followed. His curiosity quickly turned to disbelief, then suspicion.

The police had been sent there because of a 911 call. An unidentified woman reported that they would find a murdered girl and three assailants at the address she gave. The responding officers found said girl inside an abandoned apartment building. Iris Chen, 16 years old; she'd clearly been the victim of an abduction, with cause of death being a gunshot wound to the neck, leading to massive hemorrhaging.

The three assailants were found hanging upside down from webbing attached to a streetlight. Beneath them, lay a gun, a baseball bat and a knife. Testing would later confirm that the gun was the same one used to kill Chen. The assailants themselves were all pretty beat up, one of them even had strangulation marks on his neck, coated in the blood of the victim. Obviously someone had fought back, but it hadn't been Chen.

The thing that bugged him most, was that it wasn't his webbing… but it was pretty damn close when he ran an analysis on it from a sample he'd obtained. Someone had framed him for attempting to stop a murder; though Peter was still trying to figure out if that was good or bad.

It didn't matter though. What was important was finding out who did it, and how. How in the world did someone manage to use a webbing almost exactly like his? How was that possible? It was feasible, he supposed, to manufacture his webbing, and load the artificial substance into something that could shoot it out the same way he did.* But that still didn't explain how someone could possibly make the fake version so close of a match - on both a chemical and biological level.

Every answer he found only led to more questions. Plus, there was something else that bothered him about this case.

Chen.

That name struck a chord with him immediately, but it wasn't until later that he remembered why. Iris Chen was a student at the same high school as Heather, and was around the same age. When he started looking into it more, he realized they were actually in the same class. He wondered if the girl's knew each other, but it seemed unlikely. Heather only hung out with Michael and Rhianna, and whoever she was dating that week. She had a much more active love life than he did in high school, but he wasn't sure it was very healthy.

Peter closed the folder and ran his hands through his hair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. He still couldn't make sense of this. At best, someone was imitating him and apparently trying to be flattering. At worst, someone was trying to replace him–

Wait… He thought, sitting up straight.

He jiggled his mouse and woke up the computer. He brought up recent photos he'd taken of Spiderman. It only took a few clicks to find what he wanted. That girl in the pink leotard. The one who called herself 'Black Widow', she had webbing like mine. He enlarged the photo he'd gotten of their confrontation on the roof, and zoomed in to fill the screen with the masked face of the girl with long auburn hair.

Could it have been her? She said she was going to help me, whether I wanted it or not. Maybe she caught those guys, but she couldn't save Chen; possibly because she was already dead… Unless. Peter's frown deepened. Unless Black Widow murdered Iris and used those three guys as scapegoats. Though it seems a tad sloppy if that's the case. Why use three, when she'd only need one fall guy? Too bad the police couldn't lift any prints from the strangulation marks. It would've certainly helped me figure out who this nutty girl is.

Fed up with his speculations, Peter closed the picture and checked his watch. The art department should be finished with his photos by now, just in time for the evening edition. Jameson… well, he was never happy, but maybe he wouldn't be pissed. And that was good enough for Peter.

He opened the bottom drawer back up and dropped his notes inside, locking it tight. He only had a few hours left of his 'day job'. After that, there would be plenty of time to find out what was really going on.

That Night, Downtown Manhattan…

Holy Wonder Woman, this rocks! Black Widow could barely contain the bubble of laughter in her throat. She morphed it into an ear to ear grin instead. She'd thought that webbing through the streets in the daytime was awesome. But this…

"Wa-hoo!" She shouted, unable to hold it back anymore.

Her body curled up as she came to the end of her trajectory on a line. She released the web and somersaulted twice before flicking her wrist at another building, never losing her momentum.

Black Widow glided down another two blocks before using a particularly powerful thrust to swing up onto a building and land. Her landings, unfortunately, weren't quite as smooth yet as her web swinging. She stumbled and took several extra steps to keep from falling flat on her face. Straightening, she lifted her face up to the moon and grinned. She was panting a little from adrenaline. She could feel her pulse in her neck and the night air felt chilly on her moist skin.

She had never felt so freaking alive.

Her eyes traveled down, and impossibly her smile grew bigger. Rhi is a genius, she thought appreciatively. The suit was everything she had wanted, plus some awesome extras she hadn't even thought of. It was technically one piece, but essentially worked and looked like two. Her custom made black combat boots, which had gotten finished faster than previously scheduled because of some cancellations, fit snug and comfortable on her feet. Tucked into them were the legs of the suit – black with purple piping in the pattern of a spider's web.

Draped around her hips was a purple utility belt Rhi had custom made, and that Mike and Coach Holldar had filled with what they deemed as 'necessary supplies' (part of her was sort of afraid to look). At her midrift, the fabric changed to a thin, translucent purple fabric with the same spider web pattern overlaid, now in black.

Just below her rib cage, the fabric changed again and became three separate sections of material that made up the top. There was black with purple webbing on the sides and up the back of the suit. Purple with black made up the center section with a point at the bottom and a black spider symbol – like the one Spiderman wore – over her sternum. The whole top was sleeveless, since it was one thing to give up midrift baring tanks in the summer, it was another for her to have to constantly wear long sleeves

That is just not going to fly! She remembered telling Rhi.

The purple in the middle eventually became a faux turtleneck. It attached itself to her cowl mask with a short, invisible zipper, for easy changing. The mask had honestly been one of the trickiest parts to design – Heather had too much hair to tuck into a full face mask, but she wasn't about to do the domino mask look. Her Dad was dense, not stupid. He'd recognize her if all she covered were her cheekbones.

After some intense internet research – intermixed with breaks surfing Tumblr and Pinterest – Heather and Rhi had agreed upon a cowl style that would work. It covered the bridge of her nose up to her forehead and wrapped around to the back, allowing her hair to flow down in a long braid or ponytail. It had only taken the mutilation of three pairs of cheap, dark sunglasses before they managed to fit the lenses into the mask eye holes. She honestly wondered how Spiderman had made his look so seamless, and hoped someday he'd divulge that secret to her. The sunglasses were her best temporary solution.

Peering over the edge of the building, Black Widow drank in the sounds and beauty of her favorite city in the world. She'd only been this high once before, on a school field trip to the Empire State building. She could see the landmark from here, lit up in bright white lights. Sirens cut through the night, and it only took a few moments to spot several police cars barreling towards the high-end shopping district. Heartbeat racing, Heather ran to the other end of the building.

Jumping off buildings was a lot like jumping off a high dive. First, there was the anticipation that lit up every nerve, all your muscles tensing at once while your brain thinks: 'what the hell am I doing?'. Next, comes complete weightlessness as you hang in the air for those few precious seconds. Lastly, your stomach clenches as gravity remembers its job is to keep you on the ground.

Sure, it was all ridiculously thrilling. The ultimate joyride. The problem was if you couldn't fly, didn't have a parachute, or some other way to catch yourself, you'd only get to do it once and the end result wasn't pretty. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem for Black Widow. Flicking a webline at an adjacent building, she gripped it tightly and swung down the street, following the police cars she could see just a few blocks ahead of her.

I wonder how Spiderman manages to get to crime scenes before the cops – he must have a police scanner or something, or maybe he just watches the news more than I do. Black Widow pulled slightly ahead of the police, and from a quick scan of the road could finally tell what the ruckus was about.

About four blocks down, the alarm was ringing at an expensive jewelry store. It was one of those places only celebrities and millionaires shopped at. Exclusive diamond rings and watches so precise – and pricey – they made any other time piece look like a sundial. She frowned. A place like that has to have amazing security, right? So how on earth did someone manage to break in? Are they even still there now?

A moment later, she had her answer. The windows on the front of the store shattered as a wall of water gushed out, flooding the street. The water collected into a single, massive geyser that towered over most of the buildings along the street which then formed into the torso, arms, head and face of a man.

"Well," Black Widow observed. "There's something you don't see every day."

She landed on the building beside the jewelry store. She stared at the water monster that was sending police cars rushing back down the street like toys in a draining bathtub and shook her head. "I was ninety percent sure Hydroman was like dead, or in jail, or retired, or something. Apparently not though. Lucky me," she muttered.

"Not the word I would've used," Spiderman said, suddenly appearing beside her.

She gave him a double take. Why didn't my precognition feel him coming? Seriously, a little consistency would be nice with these stupid powers. "How did- ? Oh never mind, there are bigger issues at stake." She rubbed the back of her neck. "So, coach, any inspirational speeches you want to impart to your protégé before her first battle?"

He glanced over, and she could feel the intensity of his stare, even with his mask separating them. "First, you're not my protégé. Second, you are not a part of this fight. I don't care how special you think you are, or what your game is. Go home before you get hurt. Your family's probably worried sick." Spiderman threw this last jab at her before jumping off the building and catching himself on a light pole.

Black Widow scowled. "That seemed unnecessarily harsh. What'd I do anyway?" She sighed. "Guess I'm on my own. Lovely." She scanned the street below. The area had pretty much cleared of people. Okay, Heather, you're a smart girl. Think. What holds water – a dam, a cup, an aquarium? Okay, that's a stupid question. Let's be more specific here: What stops a guy made of water? Hmm.

"Hey, water boy! What are you doing uptown? You should've called me – we could've grabbed dinner, maybe seen a show; right before I hauled your ass back to The Raft." Spiderman kept up his catcalls as Hydroman roared and tried to swat at him.

Black Widow had a feeling that Spiderman was going to keep up his annoying banter for a while. Fine by me. I don't need his help anyway. Let him keep Hydroman busy – I need to stop an offseason flood. She dove off the building in the opposite direction of the villain and superhero duking it out, wondering if Mike or Coach had remembered to put some pliers or something equivalent in her belt.

"So Bench, what's new with you?" Spiderman continued, ducking under a giant watery arm that attempted to smash him in the side of a building, "You don't call, you don't write, then you just show up in the city unannounced? If I had known you were coming, I'd have baked you a cake."

Morris Bench, better known as Hydroman, growled. "Bug off, webhead! I've got a job to do, and you ain't part of the deal." He tried to fling Spiderman into a nearby row of trees, but the hero let go of his webline and dropped to the ground in time to avoid the collision.

"Oh? And what deal would that be, ol' buddy ol' pal of mine?" Spiderman asked suspiciously.

Hydroman smirked, "No point in telling you. You'll be too busy in a hospital bed to do anything about it." He rose up even higher before forming into a wave and crashed down hard enough to crack the concrete. Spiderman, with no time to move out of the way, went under and tumbled around in the current until he couldn't tell which way was up or down.

Meanwhile, Black Widow was trying to remember everything she learned from science class about electricity. It's the only thing I can think of to use against him. Now if I had a freeze ray, or some ice and salt, or maybe liquid nitrogen, I could turn Hydroman into a Popsicle. At the moment I'm fresh out. Fortunately, I do have this, she thought, adjusting her grip on the small pair of wire cutters in her hand.

Not much, I admit, but all I need is a little sparky-sparky-boom to incapacitate the guy… and hopefully not kill anyone or blow the power to the whole city in the process. Yeah, so glad I picked Spiderman to be my mentor – he just has the most awesome villains and his words of wisdom are so profound!

"Go home kid," Black Widow muttered under her breath. "Asshat."

Not that there was anyone around to hear her anyway. She was hanging upside down by her legs at a traffic light, messing with the wiring of one of said lights. At least my enhanced strength doesn't disappear on a whim – otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to rip open the metal casing around the light. Unlike the freaking precognition I supposedly have, which was working fine, but now seems to come and go as it pleases, she thought, twisting another wire.

Back down on the streets, things weren't going too well for Spiderman. The webslinger had been tossed onto a delivery truck from the wave of water and was trying desperately to breathe right again. He coughed up what felt like half a lung in the process as Hydroman lifted himself up, towering over many of the buildings along the avenue.

"You're all washed up, Spiderman," Hydroman taunted, his watery face forming a smirk.

"That's a…" Spiderman hacked and coughed, struggling to get his feet under him, "bad pun… even… for you!"

"I'll send flowers to your funeral, Spidey!" Hydroman replied, pulling back a fist to clobber the superhero once and for all.

"Better reserve some for yourself first, Aqua-dolt!" Black Widow catcalled.

Hydroman turned slowly, giving her ample time to realize what a stupid line that had been. "Aqua-dolt?" He said, echoing her thoughts.

Black Widow only shrugged, "Hey, I'm new at this."

She hefted the heavy traffic light – still attached to its electric cable – and threw it straight into Hydroman's face. The water villain was too surprised to move out of the way fast enough, and electricity arced down his body while he roared in pain.

Black Widow then quickly weblined down to the delivery truck that Spiderman was still laying dumbfounded on. "You okay, boss?" She asked reluctantly. Much as she was pissed at him for his earlier dismissal, she didn't want him dead or incapacitated – he was her dad after all, absent or not.

"You could've killed me, you know," Spiderman said flatly, voice rough from the water he'd choked on. He'd raised himself up on one elbow and glared at her. At least, she thought he was glaring at her. Seriously, that mask made reading facial expressions impossible.

"No, I wouldn't have," Black Widow answered confidently. "You're on top of a vehicle grounded by rubber tires. He'd pulled pretty much all the water back into himself to deliver the deathblow, so it wasn't like there was a river linking him back to you. Did you really think I was going to kill you, before I even had a chance to prove you wrong about me?" She smirked. "Besides, murder's not my style."

"Could've fooled me," Spiderman muttered, staring at Hydroman, who was still being electrocuted. He wondered vaguely why the circuits hadn't blown yet.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Black Widow demanded, folding her arms as her eyes narrowed. Honestly, you save a guy's life, and he can't even be bothered to give a thank you in return!

He stared at her, and she resisted the urge to pull that stupid mask off his face. "Iris Chen," He said flatly.

She recoiled visibly, mouth opening like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. She swallowed, licked her lips – still nothing. The silence was even more deafening when coupled with the lack of screams from Hydroman, who had finally passed out and now lay still on the sidewalk in human form.

"What about her?" She asked quietly.

"You tried to frame me for her murder – a murder that you committed," he accused.

Black Widow blinked at him, though of course he couldn't see it. What? Why would he think that? That's beyond ridiculous. No one even knew I was there that night, except those pieces of trash who were picked up by the police after I called them... And Spiderman would know about that because he probably does have a police scanner... So he checked the crime scene himself, where he found my webbing. Right. Okay, I gotcha.

"What happened to…Iris Chen," Her throat felt thick as her mind imagined sticky red blood gushing between her fingers, "it was an accident. I was trying to save her, but… I couldn't. I swear, I wasn't trying to frame you or anything like that. The thought never even crossed my mind!"

"How did you know where she was that night?" He asked, and she couldn't tell by his tone whether he believed her or not.

Black Widow shook her head miserably, rubbing her neck. "Honestly? The whole thing was one big mishap after another. I got chased out of a club by this creep. After I got away, I overheard him talking with his friends…" She wrinkled her nose in distaste, but related the rest of the events of that night to Spiderman, leaving out the parts that concerned her identity.

"And then he fired the gun and, well," She trailed off, guilt overtaking her again. Her voice was dull as she finished, "It was instinct. I moved out of the way, but I wasn't thinking about the trajectory of the bullet. I must've still been rattled from the blow to the head. By the time I realized Iris was bleeding out, there was nothing I could do."

"So you called the cops, left that anonymous tip," He stated, and she nodded.

"What else could I do? I wasn't about to leave her there all alone! Especially not with those psychos, whoever they were," Black Widow replied like the answer should've been obvious.

Spiderman frowned, "You haven't seen the news lately, have you?"

"I've been a little busy, so no." She pointed to her costume, then jerked a thumb at Hydroman, who was still out cold. Faintly, they could hear the sound of sirens. The police had apparently determined that the immediate danger was over, and were now on their way to collect the supervillain. "Why?"

"Those 'psychos' were working for someone, but the police don't know who – they won't talk beyond saying they were just doing a job. Apparently, their assignment was to grab Iris and hold her hostage, at least that's what they say. Whether they're telling the truth or not? That's debatable, but it's all we have to go on," Spiderman said, standing up and waving to the officers who were taking Hydroman into custody.

It took Heather's brain a second to catch up. "Wait, we? We who?"

He sighed, looking at her with an air of resignation. She wished she could see his face, or at the very least his eyes. Stupid mask… she thought, this is why Superman doesn't wear one. Hard to trust a guy when you can't even make eye contact with him.

"'We' means us, obviously. If you're so damn determined to be my 'apprentice'," Spiderman used air quotes for the word. "Then we might as well work together to get this case solved."

"...Seriously? Who uses air quotes?" Black Widow stood as well and followed him as shot a webline and swung off. Maybe I should have tried out for Power Girl's sidekick position… then again, if Spiderman gets mad at me, he can't throw me into the sun so there is that.

"You should probably know," She called as they soared past towering buildings. "Iris' dad Stephen Chen and her two uncles, were arrested at one point for money laundering and racketeering. Only one was convicted, and he's set to be released a month or two from now. Call me crazy, but Iris' death and her uncle's prison release being so close together? That seems like a pretty big coincidence."

"There are no coincidences, kid," Spiderman replied.

She watched the city flash by beneath her. "Yeah, I noticed," she murmured.

Chapter Text

"Where are we going?" Black Widow had to shout to be heard above the rushing wind. She was having a little trouble keeping up with Spiderman who, naturally, had several years of webslinging experience on her. Not that she would ever admit this to him. She'd sooner tell him who she was – and that wasn't happening any time soon.

"We need more information on the Chen family, so we're going to access one of the most in-depth, high tech computer databases in the world," he called back. He flicked his wrist, caught his webbing on a building and whipped around the corner like a slingshot.

Black Widow strained to copy the move, almost doing a full body slam into pane glass windows in the effort. She growled under her breath. He did that on purpose! "And where would this amazing computer be located? I hope it won't involve getting arrested. I look terrible in orange."

"You're welcome to go home now," Spiderman replied, just to be spiteful.

Heather considered tackling him to the unforgiving concrete below, but ultimately talked herself out of the idea. "Any time you feel like cluing me in, let me know. I've got all night."

Spiderman didn't reply for a second, and she hoped that her not rising to the bait was the cause of his tied tongue. "Avengers Tower. Their database contains one of the most comprehensive lists of criminals and supervillains in the world. If we can't find answers there, those answers don't exist."

Black Widow felt a surge of excitement in her chest. The Avengers? Oh my god, Rhi and Mike are never going to believe this!

"Can I just say: This is so freaking awesome!" Black Widow was this close to pinching her arm, but thought better of it. If this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.

"Will you just calm down and be cool?" Spiderman shot her an annoyed look as they walked down the corridor together, "You're being ridiculous."

"Oh please, like you didn't get the least bit excited the first time you met The Avengers!" She crossed her arms and glared at him, or tried to. This whole wearing a mask thing made dirty looks pretty difficult. At least he could unmistakably see her frown, and that was something.

"They're just people," He grumbled.

"So not," Black Widow objected. "They're legends!"

"What do you call The Justice League, then?" Spiderman seemed to be smirking underneath his mask, amused – or perhaps bemused – with her enthusiasm.

"Well, sure, they're awesome too," Black Widow replied quickly. "But I'm not walking into the Hall of Justice right now, I'm walking into Avengers' Tower."

"Ah so your hero worship is geographically based, gotcha," Spiderman definitely was trying not to laugh now.

It took a good deal of willpower not to sock him in the jaw. "You're hilarious," She said flatly. "When did you get so jaded, anyway? Superheroes aren't so common that you bump into one every five blocks. What happened to your sense of childlike wonder?" They passed through a set of doorways into a large atrium, but didn't pay much attention as they continued their discussion.

"In case you hadn't noticed, kid, I haven't been a child for a very long time," He replied, and she could tell he'd narrowed his eyes. "You do this job as long as I have, and suddenly metas do end up being every Tom, Dick and Harry that you meet."

It was amazing how much she was learning to decipher, just by watching the way the fabric of his mask pulled across his features. She wondered if he could do the same with her. It was an unsettling thought.

"Seriously, so jaded," She muttered.

"Are you two finished?" Someone asked.

Spiderman and his apprentice looked up, the former annoyed and the latter embarrassed, as they beheld the fully assembled (no pun intended) Avengers. Iron Man and Black Widow were looking at them from where they stood in front of a huge computer with a hologram screen. While Iron Man still appeared to be waiting for an answer, the Russian assassin beside him was busying herself with the computer. Off to one side, Captain America and a dark haired man Heather recognized as Dr. Bruce Banner were playing a game of chess. The god of thunder himself, Thor, was standing by the floor to ceiling windows, peering out at the city lights below, apparently lost in thought.

"Unfortunately, probably not," Spiderman said, answering Iron Man's remark. He walked over to the computer and peered over Black Widow's shoulder, while Heather remained rooted to the spot.

Spiderman seemed to smile at Black Widow, "Natasha."

She smirked, "Who's your little friend, webhead? She seems awful young for you – especially considering you're married." She kept typing as Heather felt a blush creep up her neck.

God, what is wrong with me? I know I just said that these guys are legends, but I'm acting like such a loser. Okay, okay, pull it together! You want to be a part of this community, you gotta act like you can handle this. Heather took a deep breath to steady her nerves, "Actually, I'm his new partner." She walked further into the room, pretending that her hair wasn't standing on end being in the presence of some of her biggest idols. Oh my God, Captain America and Thor are even dreamier in person! Mmmm, those muscles…. Oh, gah – focus!

"I was under the impression you were against the idea of sidekicks?" Iron Man said, glancing at Spiderman.

Spiderman seemed like he was trying not to be annoyed, but he wasn't doing a good job of it. "Let's just say there are extenuating circumstances. Mind if I borrow your database? Need to do some research, and Google just isn't gonna cut it."

Iron Man shrugged. "Knock yourself out. Hey kid, want a drink?"

"Uh," Heather stuttered, feeling like an idiot.

Captain America cleared his throat, "Call me old fashioned," he smiled like he'd just made an excellent joke, "but I don't think she's quite old enough for the type of drink you have in mind." He smiled kindly, though not mockingly at Heather. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. There was something to be said of gentility, after all.

"Well, excuse me for treating her like an adult," Iron Man responded grumpily. "Jarvis," he called, and a disembodied computerized voice responded, making Heather jump.

"Yes sir?"

"What do we have to drink that isn't alcoholic?" Iron Man sounded as though this possibility were highly unlikely.

"Water, milk, soda, tea, and coffee, sir."

Iron Man looked askance at Heather. Or at least she assumed so. The helmet was absolutely impossible to read compared to Spiderman's mask.

"Coffee would be great actually," Heather replied. "I've been running on adrenalin for several hours now."

Thor turned then, his forehead scrunched like a confused puppy. "Why wouldst thou run on Adrena Lynn? It's very rude to run over people!" He stated.

Heather was uncertain whether the demigod was joking or not – but she did remember reading somewhere that the thunder god had a tendency to misunderstand modern English, being an ancient Norse god and all. "I, uh, yes, I guess it is. I'll have to apologize to, er, Adrena Lynn when I see her next."

Thor nodded solemnly. "As you should. Now, lass, as you are a friend of the man of spider –" Heather bit her lip to smother a grin. It was hard not to laugh when her ears heard the distinctive sound of her father sighing in irritation. Thor continued, oblivious to the girl's amusement, "And as you are going to be in our company for some time, perhaps you could tell us your name?"

"Oh, of course. My apologies," Heather blushed again, "My name is…oh." Heather glared at Spiderman, and he turned his head to look at her. Smugness practically rolled off him in waves. "God, you suck," she muttered.

"What an odd name for a mortal." Thor mused.

"I don't think that's her name, Thor," Banner commented, moving his rook on the chess board.

"You really do have an IQ of 172," Heather quipped without thinking. She bit her lip afterward. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude."

"Not to worry," Banner replied easily, watching Captain America study the board. "I'm not offended."

"Yeah, he's hard to irritate – which is, frankly, irritating," Iron Man remarked. Beside him, a hole opened in the counter and a cup of coffee in a green mug appeared.

He pressed a button, and the drink floated up on a small hoverpad, then zipped over to Heather. She blinked at it, but picked up the drink. The hoverpad returned to its place inside the counter as she took a deep breath and sipped her drink tentatively. Her eyes closed for a moment in pleasure. Oh my god. So that's what billion dollar coffee tastes like. Mmm…

"Would you prefer I let the other guy out and let him ruin your nice penthouse?" Bruce asked innocently, still considering the pieces laid out on the board.

"That's okay, Banner," Cap answered for Iron Man, not looking up. "I want to finish this game, and the Hulk doesn't make a very good partner."

Bruce lifted both hands and shrugged in surrender. "Have it your way."

"Getting back on point though," Cap continued as he studied the board, though he spared Heather a glance and a smile, "What's your name, young lady?"

Heather had to resist the urge to swoon. Young lady… god, why don't guys talk like the Captain anymore? Chivalry really is dead. "Well… it's Black Widow," she rubbed the back of her neck, biting her lip.

The Russian assassin at the computer finally looked up, raising one eyebrow.

"To be fair," Heather explained, "I didn't have a lot of good options to choose from, being this guy's sidekick." She jerked her thumb at Spiderman, who pointedly ignored her and focused on his research. "I was not going to be 'Spidergirl,'" She made a face at the thought. "Not my style at all."

Black Widow considered this for a moment with one hand on her chin, the other on her hip as she looked Heather up and down, sizing her up. Heather tried not to feel self-conscious, but it was very difficult.

Heather knew she must look a little ridiculous in her skintight purple and black outfit, even if she'd picked the design herself. She was so gangly – all elbows and knees. Despite her precognition (that she'd apparently always had on some level), and the new coordination she'd gained recently, she was still incredibly awkward and constantly felt out of place. It was especially bad now in the presence of people like The Avengers.

Finally, Black Widow straightened up and did something unexpected. She smiled. Like smiled smiled – not smirking sarcastically at all. Heather didn't think it was possible for the infamous assassin to smile; then again, she'd been proven wrong a lot lately. "I agree. It suits you, as well. And frankly, I'm a little flattered. Not every day you find someone with the same name. I can deal with it."

"Oh, uh, okay? I mean," Heather shook her head, "Thank you. I'm glad you're not upset. I'm pretty sure you could kick my ass if you were."

"Oh make no mistake, I could completely kick your ass if I wanted to," Black Widow told her flatly, the smile now more akin to the smirk Heather had first been expecting.

"Heh-heh, right," Heather smiled uneasily in return.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, she could give you a run for your money."

Heather looked at Spiderman, flabbergasted. "Did you just compliment me?"

"You've supposedly got the same powers as me, right?" He asked.

"Um, theoretically, yeah."

"Noticed any enhanced strength lately?"

Heather glanced down at her hands. "I suppose," She hedged, not wanting to give anything away about the training she'd been doing with Coach and her friends. Thank goodness none of The Avengers were mind readers. She didn't think so, anyway.

"Then theoretically you could arm wrestle Cap over here, and theoretically win," Spiderman said.

Heather looked dubiously at Captain America and he shared her expression. "I don't know about that," she said. "I once heard you were strong enough to lift Mjölnir." She pointed at Thor's hammer, which was sitting on a table by the window.

Thor laughed, "You misunderstand, maiden. Mjölnir's weight comes not from physical substance but from the worthiness of the wielder. Only the true of heart may call on its aid."

Well, that leaves me out then, Heather thought, a little disappointed. Out loud, she only said, "Huh."

"What are you waiting for?" Spiderman demanded, still typing. What is he looking for anyway? "Give it a shot. You want to train under me, prove you're worth my time."

"You want me to arm wrestle the First Avenger to prove I'm good enough to be your protégé?" Heather shook her head. "I knew you had gotten more withdrawn in the last few years, but I didn't know you'd also turned into a total asshat."

"It figures," Spiderman shot back, "I knew that you weren't up to this. Go home, kid, before you get hurt. You don't belong here." He didn't even look up.

Heather narrowed her eyes and straightened up, tilting her chin. "I don't, huh?" With a flick of her wrist, she webbed her empty glass and threw it forward, hitting Spiderman squarely in the chest. The mug shattered on impact, shards flying in all directions across the apartment.

It took a moment for the older hero to look up. When he finally did, he saw Heather's face was drawn into a fierce scowl. "Screw you," she spat. "If you won't train me, then I don't need you. I'll figure out what happened to Iris on my own. Go back to shoving your head as far up your ass as possible – you're good at that!"

She gave the Avengers team a quick, apologetic glance. "Sorry about the mug. It was nice to meet you." She turned and headed for the door they'd come through earlier.

"Spiderman, you owe that girl an apology!" Captain America snapped, rising from his chair, the chessboard forgotten.

"He's right," Dr. Banner agreed, but remained sitting.

"I don't owe her anything. She's been a pain in my ass since I met her. I'm still not sure that she didn't kill Iris Chen herself. She won't even tell me who she is, or how she has the same powers as me! …Besides, she's a kid," Spiderman argued, brushing small bits of ceramic from his uniform.

Black Widow rolled her eyes. "Have you told her your secret identity? Wait, don't answer that – I think we all know that you haven't. We all wear masks for a reason, Peter; she has hers, the same as us. It's not any of our business what those reasons might be."

"I think he has a point," Iron Man said, mostly so he could disagree with everyone else, but also because he could understand things from his old colleague's perspective. "She could be an assassin sent to find out his secrets and kill him. She could be an evil clone made by his enemies to destroy him."

Spiderman shot him a flat look.

Iron Man held up his hands. "What? Weirder things have happened."

"Don't go there," Spiderman growled. "Just, don't."

"Honestly, she seems like a kind hearted maiden. She reminds me of one of my old friends from Asgard, Sif. Fierce and determined, but not without compassion," Thor put in. "I see no reason to immediately distrust her."

"No offense, thunder pants, but you don't exactly have a great track record of judging people's intentions," Iron Man couldn't help commenting.

"My pants are not made of thunder," Thor growled. "And we vowed not to speak of my brother's ills any longer."

"Alright you two, enough with the pissing contest," Natasha snapped. "I am not in the mood to explain to Fury why Avengers Tower got struck by lightning on a clear night… again."

Cap noticed Spiderman's interest in the conversation had waned, his attention instead fixed on the holoscreen. "Find something?"

"Maybe. Iris Chen's father Stephan is in deep with the Triad – he's suspected of being one of the three main leaders. He was accused of laundering money through his clubs and businesses from his illegal exploits for years, but nothing ever stuck. Interestingly, it's rumored that his share of control over the Triad would be passed on to his only heir, Iris, on his death. But since she's dead now, control would be relinquished to his two brothers – one of whom is still incarcerated for a previous conviction."

"That sounds like motive to me," Banner commented, steeping his fingers.

Cap frowned, "Would Chen's brothers really kill their own niece just to get more control?"

"People have committed much worse acts of violence for a lot less," Black Widow replied stonily.

"I don't know, something doesn't feel right about this," Spiderman frowned, shaking his head.

"I agree. It feels like the pieces are falling into place too easily," Iron Man said.

Thor didn't respond. On the one hand, he couldn't personally imagine hurting anyone he cared about just to gain power. But then he thought of Loki, and felt a great weight settle upon his heart once more. Black Widow was correct, much as it pained him to admit it.

"How did the kid get involved with Iris in the first place? How does she know her?" Black Widow asked suddenly.

Spiderman frowned. "I'm not sure. She told me she happened to be in the neighborhood when Iris was taken. But I never stopped to consider how she knew the girl's name."

"Maybe they were classmates?" Banner suggested.

Spiderman's frown deepened. "Hmm. Maybe. Actually, that might give me a lead. Iris went to school with Heather – she might know who my new sidekick is. I'll have to ask her."

"How are you going to do that, without blowing your cover to your daughter?" Iron Man asked curiously.

"Easy, I'll just say I'm covering Chen's death for the newspaper, and ask Heather a few questions about it. I can also ask if she knows anything about the new teen cape running around. Who knows? Maybe she's heard something around school."

Heather stood on the other side of the doors, listening intently to the conversation inside. She backed away slowly, then ran for the entrance they had come in by.

"This is a disaster," Heather proclaimed for about the tenth time. She was lying on top of one of the exposed girders high above the main floor, her arm flung over her eyes in an effort to fight off a monumental headache, but it wasn't helping.

She had arrived back at the gym only fifteen minutes prior, explaining the whole story to her friends who had waited up for her to return. Coach Holldar had gone to bed several hours ago, as he had to open the gym in the morning.

"Might not be so bad," Mike tried to interject once more. He and Rhianna were sitting at the card table below, where most of the sewing supplies had been packed up but not yet put away. "I mean, all you have to do is lie your ass off – that's not too hard for you."

Rhi shot him a withering look. "Not helping."

"What? You both know it's true. She's been fibbing to her folks since freshman year about sneaking out to parties and clubs, how is this any different?" Mike demanded.

Rhi rolled her eyes and shook her head. "This is totally different. Mr. Parker's always been super flakey when it came to checking up on us. Half the time, it didn't seem like he cared at all what we were doing. Now though, he has big reasons to put us all under a microscope. Heather can't possibly handle that kind of pressure – she'll crack and everything will come out!"

"Now who's not being helpful?" Mike retorted.

"What am I going to do?" Heather asked no one in particular, her despair evident. "If he finds out it's me, he'll never let me leave the house again until I graduate – out of college! What am I supposed to tell him?"

Rhi shrugged. Her arms were crossed comfortably on her stomach, with her feet sitting on the table. She leaned precariously backwards in her chair, balancing on the two back legs. "The truth?"

"Awesome plan, Rhi, glad you thought of it!" Heather snapped sarcastically. She rolled onto her stomach and gazed down at her friends, not the least bit bothered by vertigo despite the nearly thirty foot drop. "I'll just march right up to Dad and say, 'hey, you know that girl who's running around with Spiderman? It's me! And you're Spiderman, and I'm responsible for someone's death – isn't that great?'"

Rhi blew a stray piece of hair out of her face, feeling annoyed. "I meant you should tell him you don't know anything about Iris, because honestly none of us do. We didn't hang out with her. We weren't friends. If anything, we tried to avoid her crowd. So tell him that. Tell him you haven't a clue what Iris Chen did with her free time outside of school. You're not lying, because you honestly don't know."

"What about when he asks about Black Widow? What do I say then?" Heather said, her tone softening as Rhi's words sank in. She had to admit, the idea made sense.

"Just tell him what all the kids at school are saying. That she's some kind of new vigilante that seems to have a thing for Spiderman," Mike answered.

"Is that what they say about me?" Heather demanded, feeling a bit indignant. "They think I've got it hot for my Dad? Ew… I mean, while I realize none of them know who I am, they must realize that I'm way too young for him."

Rhi got a predatory grin on her face. "You have to admit, in that skintight spandex, your dad looks smokin'."

"Rhianna!" Heather complained, her cheeks flaming uncomfortably. "Can you not crush on my father – it's creepy, and weird."

"Well then you better give me something else to think about, or I'm going to have that image in my head all night," The blonde replied cheekily.

Mike only shook his head, amused. Rhi was only teasing to rile Heather up, and it never bothered him when she talked about or checked out other guys. He knew she was all his. They had nearly four years as a couple to prove it.

Heather thought of Thor in his armor, and Captain America in his red, white, and blue suit, and the blush deepened.

"Ah-ha! What is it? Spill!" Rhi crowed, knowing that Heather's color had nothing to do with practically hanging upside down.

Heather permitted herself a small smile. "Thor and Captain America put my Dad to shame."

"A super soldier and a demigod will do that," Rhi replied confidently. "Are they nice?"

"Ridiculously. Cap is a total gentleman, and Thor's a dear – although you have to be a bit literal with him. Metaphors seem to go over his head," Heather said with a giggle.

"Ah well, there you are. There's no such thing as a perfect guy," Rhi said gravely.

Mike cleared his throat.

"Except for you, Chocokitty!" Rhi grinned sweetly.

"One thing's for sure," Heather said as she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the beam. She hooked a webline to the ceiling and slowly lowered herself down. "This superhero gig just got a whole lot more interesting."

Chapter Text

The next morning, Heather was rushing around more than usual. Due to the late hour of the previous night, she'd overslept by fifteen minutes and missed her first train. If she didn't hustle, she'd miss the next one too then she'd be late for class. Dumping textbooks into her bag, she tried to think of what else she was missing. Stepping towards the door, her foot struck the edge of the desk and she winced.

Right, shoes. Shoes would be good, she wanted to face-palm herself. She felt so slow today. Getting through school would be hell in handbasket.

She reached into the closet and snagged her tennis shoes, eyes frantically searching the floor for a pair of socks. There was an orange one on her nightstand, and a neon pink one lying by her trash can. Good thing I'm wearing long pants today, she thought, snagging both. She didn't bother to see if they were clean – there wasn't time for clean socks today.

Heather opened her door and nearly ran into Peter, whose hand was raised like he had been about to knock. "Morning!" She said, pushing past him into the kitchen.

Mary Jane stood at the stove, flipping blueberry pancakes that made Heather's mouth water. God she was starving. She looked at the clock by the door, and cursed internally. She didn't even have time for a pop tart. She set to work yanking on her socks and jamming her right foot into her shoe.

"Good morning, sleepy head," her mom said in her lyrical voice. Her mom always sounded like she was singing in the morning, even when she wasn't. Heather figured it was some kind of weird vocal exercise for performing at shows, but had never bothered to ask. Her mom was just her mom.

"Hey," Heather breathed, tugging on her laces.

Heather's dad had followed her and planted a kiss on her mom's cheek, then turned to face her. "Honey, I need to talk to you," Peter began.

"You seriously couldn't have picked a worse time, Dad," Heather said, shaking her head as the tongue of her shoe got tangled oddly with her laces. "Can't it wait? I'm going to be late for school."

Peter looked annoyed.

Heather couldn't bring herself to care. The longer she could put off this conversation between them, the better. She didn't even know what she was going to say. She needed time. To brace herself. To plot out a story. To create a convincing lie. To do… something, anything, to keep him from finding out the truth.

"I suppose we could talk about it after school," Peter said after a beat, as Heather finally managed to shove on her other shoe and jerk the laces into a lopsided knot.

"Great. Awesome. See you," Heather rushed out, throwing her messenger bag over her shoulder.

"Hey! Don't forget you're picking up Audrey from ballet class after school," Mary Jane reminded her.

Heather blinked. She'd completely forgotten Audrey's practice was today. "Oh, right. Yeah, okay, I'll be there!" She ran down the hallway and flew down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the ancient elevator in their building.

She reached the train just in time to slip in as the doors were closing. Breathing hard, she glanced around the car, spying an empty seat in the surprisingly thin crowd. It was rare for a subway car to not be filled to capacity on a weekday morning, but she guessed it was because most commuters had caught the earlier train she'd missed.

Dropping into the seat, she watched out the window as the buildings blurred past. She could have taken the fun way to school today, it would have been faster, but she didn't want Peter to see her leaving their neighborhood in her uniform and connect the dots.

She leaned her head on the window, ignoring the voice in her head that said you never knew who or what had touched it before you. Maybe if she got swine flu, she wouldn't have to deal with anything today.

Heather was really starting to regret her decision to not lick that subway window by the time lunch rolled around. Class had been spectacularly sucky, especially since she'd forgotten about the quiz on Shakespeare in English class. Fortunately, she'd finished reading the play several days earlier and she felt reasonably confident about her grade.

Her face must have given her away, because as soon as she sat down at the lunch table, Rhi gave her a pointed stare.

"You look exactly how I feel," she said, stabbing her fork in Heather's direction, a bit of salad shaking on the end.

"I doubt it," Heather muttered.

Mike sat down next to Rhi, kissing the side of her head before pulling a sandwich from a paper bag. "What's eating you two?"

"Didn't sleep well," Heather mumbled around a bite of mac and cheese. She was so hungry, the cafeteria food actually tasted good. She washed it down with an energy drink she'd bought from the vending machine, hoping it would help her power through the last few hours of school.

"Did you talk with your dad yet?" Mike asked.

Heather shook her head. "No. He said he wanted to though."

"Just remember the three D's," Rhi held up three fingers. "Deny, deny, and deny."

"Thanks," Heather said sourly. "If you're so confident, you do it."

Rhi shook her head. "I'll pass. Your dad could snap me like a twig."

Heather rolled her eyes. "So could I… technically."

"You think you're as strong as Wonder Woman?" Mike asked softly, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. He looked almost curious.

"Gee, I dunno. Let me just ring up the Justice League and challenge her to an arm wrestling contest," Heather deadpanned, also lowering her voice, though it wasn't really necessary. You could barely hear yourself think over the dull roar of the cafeteria.

"Guys, seriously, I have an actual problem here," Heather pleaded.

Rhi shrugged one shoulder, stabbing a cherry tomato. "You're a good liar. You'll be fine."

"I seem to recall you saying Heather was a terrible liar last night," Mike argued.

Rhi waved him off flippantly. "And now I'm saying she'll be fine. I never look back, darling!" This last bit she said with a nasally accent, trying to imitate Edna Mole from The Incredibles, a movie she and Heather had always loved.

"Great pep talk guys. I'm not nervous at all now," Heather looked out over the sea of students and saw Josh – now sporting a swollen jaw in several sickening shades of reds, purples and blues – draped over Melissa, smirking at something she'd said. God, why had she ever gone out with him? He was such a tool, and she'd known it. Maybe she was more pathetic than she thought.

She shook her head, dispelling the train of thought. Big picture, Heather. Big picture.

"You'll be fine," Mike was saying. Heather tuned back into the conversation. "Don't worry. Whatever happens, we'll back you up."

"Yeah, okay," Heather said, and pretended she felt better.

The trip to Audrey's ballet studio was uneventful and boring, especially because Heather had to take two trains, then walk five blocks to get there. She tried to use the time constructively, mentally outlining her cover story in her head much the same way she would for an essay. She had to cover all her bases. Nothing could be overlooked. If her Dad detected the slightest lie, she was toast.

I could tell him the truth. He might even be happy to find out, and train me willingly, Heather considered as she bumped along on the second subway ride of the afternoon. This thought, however, seemed rather optimistic. Naively optimistic.

Heather and Peter had a really strained relationship. Though Heather didn't have much for a point of reference on what a "good" father-daughter relationship should be like – TV sitcoms could only get you so far – she was a hundred percent sure her own was dysfunctional at best, nonexistent at worst.

It didn't make sense. It never had. As a young child, Heather had very fond memories of her father – almost picture perfect. She didn't remember her parents fighting, either in front of her or behind closed doors. Granted, memories tended to get more of a nostalgic edge the older a person got, particularly with early memories. But Heather never remembered one birthday, or school play, or family outing her dad had been absent from. He was always there for her. Kind and understanding, ready to listen and soothe any fear.

Heather had a good relationship with her mother. Even if work sometimes made her a bit absent minded, she knew MJ would always be there when it counted and even when it didn't. But she had always been a daddy's girl, and MJ never seemed to mind.

Then suddenly it was all… different. Heather had tried a thousand times over to go back in time in her mind, to dig deep into her memories to find out what went wrong. Every time she did, she drew a blank. It was like her memories were a giant jigsaw puzzle, and when she looked across the image of her life, there was a gaping hole right in the middle. It didn't feel the same as when she couldn't remember who the twentieth president of the US was, or the square root of a number, something she knew would come to her eventually. Instead, it felt like she was trying to open a locked door that she didn't have the key to.

Whatever had happened between herself and her father, they'd never been the same. Now, she hesitated to talk with him, even when he offered. She couldn't even say exactly why. It just felt… off. Like she was talking to a stranger. Which was of course preposterous, and probably just raging teenage hormones talking.

Anyway she looked at it, she couldn't tell Peter the truth, at least not yet. Not until she figured this thing out on her own. Whether she wanted to admit it to anyone but herself, she didn't trust her dad completely. She just didn't know why.

Heather shook her head, trying to eliminate the jumbled mess of crossed wires in her brain. Clearly, thinking about this right now wasn't helping. She was getting nowhere fast like this. She'd think about it later, when she wasn't feeling so edgy.

The brownstone building that housed Audrey's ballet classes was a community center. It hosted not only children's classes and activities, but also things like computer courses, ballroom dancing for seniors, and after school programs for kids with parents who worked full time.

Heather made her way quickly down the hallway, her shoes surprisingly loud on the tile floors. She peeked in the doorway of Audrey's classroom, where she could see a line of little girls from the age of two to six practicing their first positions. Audrey was easily the smallest girl in the room, but she was also one of the most graceful. Despite her young age, she had taken to ballet like a duck to water, as she did with most things.

Audrey had picked up on both sign language and lip reading with surprising speed and accuracy, baffling her doctors. Then again, Heather wasn't surprised. When her parents first found out that Audrey would be born Deaf, one doctor had the audacity to suggest they give her up for adoption as her "disability" would be too much of a burden for her parents to manage on top of two jobs, and two other children. MJ had nearly punched him in the mouth, and they'd never seen that particular physician again.

Heather saw Audrey's teacher, Miss Shultz, give the sign that they were finished for the day to her students. Miss Shultz didn't know much ASL, but she used every sign she did know as much as possible to make Audrey feel more comfortable. This was one of many reasons that Heather really liked Miss Shultz.

Heather knocked on the door, then let herself in.

Miss Shultz smiled warmly at her. "Heather, lovely to see you. Audrey did wonderful today," she said while turning off the mp3 player on her desk. The sound of Swan Lake abruptly ceased, but no one seemed to notice.

"That's great," Heather said, a little distractedly. She watched as Audrey gathered her jacket and backpack from her cubby. Audrey turned as one of the girls tapped on her shoulder to wave goodbye to her. The almost three year old girl smiled, but her grin widened ear to ear when she spotted her sister.

Audrey ran over and leaped into Heather's open arms. Older sister gave the younger one a tight squeeze before pulling away. Audrey's fingers flew, still grinning. 'I'm so happy you remembered!'

'I always remember,' Heather replied, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Audrey shook her head. 'You forgot Harry's soccer game.'

Heather's lips formed a small 'o'. She'd actually forgotten about the day she'd blown off Harry's game. To be fair, a lot had happened to keep her occupied. Learning you had superpowers was time consuming. She shook off the thought.

'I know. But I'm here now. I would never forget you,' Heather's smile softened. She poked her sister's nose, making her giggle. 'You want ice cream?' she asked.

Audrey clapped her hands, signing enthusiastically, 'yes! Yes! Yes!'

'Let's go,' Heather took Audrey's hand, waving to Miss Shultz as they left the building, heading towards the bus stop that would take them to the diner. It was a short ride, or felt that way, as Heather let herself be engrossed in Audrey's animated description of what she had learned in class that day. The little girl only paused her story when there was ice cream in front of her.

The girls' passed the time by people watching out the window while enjoying their ice cream. Audrey practiced her descriptive signs with Heather in their own kind of 'Guess Who?' game – always one of Heather's favorites. The older girl soon found herself laughing so hard that the other customers were giving her dirty looks, as Audrey stuck her nose up in the air, puckering her lips and signing 'high heels' to describe a snobby looking business woman striding past the window. For a while, Heather's problems seemed very far away and unimportant, watching her baby sister grin joyfully over her own joke.

Eventually, Heather and Audrey left the diner and arrived back at their apartment, the little girl immediately running to change into play clothes. There was a note on the fridge, informing Heather that Harry had gone to a friend's house to do homework and he would be back home for dinner that evening. Mary Jane and Peter, naturally, were still at work, but when Heather checked her cell she saw that her dad had called her earlier.

I must have forgotten to turn my volume up after school, Heather thought, shaking her head. Is absentmindedness a side effect of superpowers? She tapped through her phone and brought up the text Peter had sent her after the calls had gone unanswered. 'Will be home early today. Need to talk to you. IMPORTANT.' The capitol letters made her stomach twist.

Heather took a deep breath to steady herself. I'm overthinking this. I haven't done anything that could give myself away. He's just going to ask me what I know about Iris Chen, a random classmate who died – which, truthfully, isn't all that much as Heather Parker. As Black Widow, I only know how she died and who fired the gun. Both still have no idea why she died. Could it have something to do with her father, Stephen Chen? Did one, or both, of her uncles order a hit on their niece?

Heather considered the puzzle off and on over the next few hours while she did homework. If they were trying to gain more control over the Triad, then logically wouldn't they have had to kill both Iris and Stephen, eliminating both obstacles in one hit? If they go after Mr. Chen now, it'll look really fishy. I have a feeling Mr. Chen might already suspect that possibility, and will no doubt have his guard up. Iron Man was right, this doesn't add up. Something or someone else is at work here. I need more information, but I doubt I'll be able to get the answers I want off of a Google search. Despite trying as hard as she could, Heather kept losing focus, resulting in her miscalculating an equation four times.

Suddenly, an idea came to her, glaringly obvious in its simplicity. True, it was a little crazy, and there were a million ways it could backfire, but it was the most logical solution. At this point, she didn't have a lot of options available to her. Sometimes, she thought, grinning to herself, my brilliance stuns even me.

She wasn't smiling for very long. Within the next few minutes, while she was mentally calculating her strategy for the night, the front door opened and Peter stepped into the apartment.

"Oh good, you're home," he said, smiling a little, but his face was otherwise uneasy.

At least he's a little uncertain about this too, Heather thought.

Audrey wandered into the kitchen and grinned when she spotted him. "Daddy!" She exclaimed aloud, running into his waiting arms. She clung to his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek, utterly delighted. Peter squeezed her tight, ruffling her red curls.

Heather felt something in her chest tighten, recalling her thoughts from earlier that day, and did her best to ignore the feeling. "Of course I'm home. We've been here for a while. Had a lot of homework to catch up on, you know."

Peter nodded thoughtfully as he finally released Audrey. "Junior year is always a pain, whether you're in high school or college. But if you put in the extra work now, senior year will be like a walk in the park, you'll see."

Heather restrained a sarcastic quip. He'd said as much to her since middle school, and the comment was beginning to get annoying. It was like when people told her repeatedly to relax – it always had the opposite effect. "You wanted to talk with me about something?"

Peter shooed Audrey back to her room and the little girl obeyed. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, absently glancing over her math homework and history textbook. "I heard about the girl from your school who passed away recently. Iris Chen?"

Heather nodded, trying to appear appropriately distressed – which wasn't hard. She still had that feeling that her hands were covered in slick blood, and she rubbed them together under the table. "Yeah, they told us about it in class the other day. It's… strange, knowing we'll never see her again."

"Did you know her well?" Peter pressed, surprisingly gentle. "The Bugle wants me to do a piece on her. The tragedy of someone so young being gone too soon, you know?"

Heather again nodded. It was a tragedy, there was no arguing over that. "I knew her, but… not well. We didn't run in the same circles, just shared a class or two together. She was first in line for valedictorian, and I know she was really athletic and gifted. I'm sorry, I don't really know anything else about her. She and her friends kept to themselves. I think," she furrowed her brow, like she was trying to remember something even though the information was actually fresh in her mind. "Her mom died a while back, and she didn't have siblings, so it was just her and her dad."

"Do you know him?" Peter asked, his tone careful.

"No," she shook her head. It wasn't a lie, really. All she knew was what she was able to piece together from Iris' Facebook page, which didn't add up to a whole lot. She knew only an inkling of the illegal activities, but only because of Spiderman's own research.

"Right," Peter said slowly, taking this in. He seemed lost in thought for a second, before coming back to the present. "Alright, honey, if that's all you know…" he trailed off, suggesting,

Heather shrugged. "It is. Iris and I weren't friends, and we weren't even really enemies. We just stayed out of each other's way. I'm sorry she's gone though. She could have gone really far in life." This, aside from the guilt over her part in Iris' death, was what bothered Heather most. Even if part of Iris' future included running a portion of the Triad, she still could have gotten into any college she wanted and from there the possibilities would have been endless. Could have, would have, should have, Heather thought.

"Do you, maybe, know the names of Iris' friends? I'd like to talk with them," Peter asked.

Heather took a fresh sheet of paper from her notebook and jotted the names down. "These are the girls Iris usually hung out with. She got along with quite a number of people, but these are the only ones I'd ever label as her friends. Iris was a pretty private person, very low key, so her group has always been small for as long as I've known her."

Peter took the paper, reading it over. "Thanks, Heather. This helps a lot." He looked back up, and something in his eyes softened. He placed a gentle hand on hers, "If you need to talk it over, you know I'm here, right?"

Heather hesitated a moment, but dipped her chin. "Right. I know Dad, thanks." She tried for a smile, but it came out lopsided and wrong somehow.

Peter didn't seem to notice. He patted her hand, once, and got up to start making dinner. Heather stared at her hand for a split second, then returned her attention to her homework, the gears in her mind turning quickly. Her secret was safe, for now. But she couldn't relax yet. There was a lot of work to be done if she wanted to find the answers she so desperately needed.

First things first, homework. Now, if x is 6 and y is 3, then… Her thoughts dissolved into numbers and symbols and formulas for the next several hours until dinner. Even then her mind was still absent from the conversations around her, focused instead on what lay ahead that night, and what she might find if her plan succeeded.

Unnoticed by Heather, her parents exchanged several pointed looks, Mary Jane's accusatory while Peter's was baffled. Neither could figure out what was on their eldest daughter's mind, and questions directed her way were mostly met with monosyllabic answers. Finally, Mary Jane decided that whatever was on Heather's mind would probably work itself out, or if it was more serious, Heather would come to her mother for advice eventually.

When the clock clicked over to three am, Heather made her move. She pointedly went to bed at ten, making comments about wanting to be up earlier the next day, and had in fact napped for four hours until she was woken by her phone's vibrating alarm.

She dressed quickly in the dark, packing a handful of extra supplies into a small backpack, rechecked her utility belt, then waited until she was one hundred percent sure that everyone else was asleep before she climbed out the window. She used the fire escape to climb up to the roof and from there took to the skies. To cut down on her commute, she rode on top of the above ground train back to Manhattan. Once across the river, she swung her way towards the southern tip of the island.

It didn't take her long to reach Soho, but once there she ran into one of the first obstacles she'd anticipated when this idea first occurred to her. She knew Stephen Chen owned several clubs in the district – the question was which one would he be at tonight? She couldn't knock on every club door and ask whether the owner was there that night.

Black Widow sat down on the parapet of an all-night pizza restaurant and pulled her phone from her utility belt. A quick Google search showed the names of five different clubs owned by Stephen Chen: Rain Room, Red Dragon, The Queen's Lounge, Element, and…Anna's Irises. She smiled to herself, bingo. A few more taps and she had the address for the club plugged into her GPS app.

Within ten minutes, she dropped onto the roof of Anna's Irises'. She crept over to the edge and peered down at the street. Below her was a long line of people waiting to be admitted, while a large bouncer – not unlike the ones Rhi was usually so good at charming – stood at the door.

Right, so the front door is out, she thought sarcastically. Glancing around the rooftop, she spotted the emergency door across the tarmac from her. She jogged over, a bass beat thumping out beneath her feet from inside. The door was, naturally, locked.

I could break the handle off, she mused. I'm probably strong enough to do that, but that seems a little reckless. Air vents? She considered the vent jutting up a few feet away with disdain. I'd rather not do that again if I can help it. Once was traumatizing enough. Hmm.

Black Widow was reaching towards her utility belt to see if she had anything to pick the lock with – though how she was going to do that was still a mystery, since she didn't know the first thing about picking locks – when a better idea occurred to her. If the front door is out, why don't I just use the back door?

Again, she peered over the side of the building, this time at the alley where she could see trash cans, dumpsters, and a flickering yellow light illuminating two armed guards standing in front of the club's emergency exit. She backed up several steps and took a running leap to the roof across the alley, for once managing to land without a lot of noise. She turned around and looked down into the alley, where the guards hadn't so much as twitched. From this better vantage point, she could see that while there were no fire escapes, piping or other obvious methods she could make use of to reach the alley. But the buildings were set pretty close together…

Right, she thought, rolling her shoulders. She shook out her arms and bounced on her toes for a few seconds, psyching herself up. Let's do this. She trotted backwards a few feet, took a deep breath, and ran forward. She thrust out her hands, catching the parapet and propelling herself into a front flip.

Time stood still for a second.

Then her boots were connecting with brick, the shockwave of impact rolling up her body like the tide. She ignored it and used the momentum to push off the wall and towards the opposite building. Again, she hit the wall feet first and bounced back to the other side. She duplicated the stunt twice more, her rubber soles echoing hollowly on the bricks, until finally she landed back on terra firma. By this time, she had definitely gotten the guards' attention. She looked up and found two semi automatics fitted with silencers staring back at her.

Black Widow gave her most charming smile, slowly standing from a crouch and lifting her hands above her head. "Evening gentlemen, I'd like a word with Mr. Chen. Is he available now, or should I call his secretary and make an appointment?"

Stephen Chen, a trim average height man with thick dark hair and spectacles, sat at his expensive oak desk in his lavishly decorated office. He held a silver frame in his hands, a picture of his late wife Anna teaching his then five year old daughter how to make traditional mooncakes for Chinese New Year. Of course, they had a personal chef who normally made all their meals, but for New Year's, Anna had always insisted on preparing all the customary food herself. He wasn't sure he understood, but he hadn't argued. If it made her happy, so be it.

He put the photo down on the desk and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He didn't have time for this. Sentimentality was for fools. Anna was gone, had been for nearly four years, and Iris was… Iris was gone too, now.

Mr. Chen took in a breath through his nose, and expelled it sharply. He didn't have time for this. He had a business to run, deals to make…

There was a knock at the door.

Chen glared at it for a full seven seconds. He hated it when his staff interrupted him. "Come in," he ordered in a soft but firm voice.

The door opened and two of his guards stepped through, a small person between them. He frowned deeply at the young woman, who was wearing some sort of superhuman style costume, complete with a half-face mask. He glanced at the guards, lifting one thin eyebrow.

"She appeared in the alleyway out of nowhere," One of them explained.

"She said she didn't want trouble, just wanted to speak with you," the other added.

"Does she have a name?" Chen asked, appearing annoyed.

"Black Widow, Mr. Chen," Heather finally said. "If I could just have a moment of your time, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Chen flattened his lips into a tight white line. "I don't have time to deal with you metas. If you have a problem with how I do business, you can take it up with the police."

"I'm not here about that," Black Widow shook her head. "Believe it or not, I'm here to help you."

"I sincerely doubt there's anything one of your kind can do for me," Chen stood from his desk and turned to face the one-way mirror behind him, staring down into his club.

She lifted her chin, annoyed with being dismissed so flippantly. "How about solving your daughter's murder?"

Chen seemed to freeze for a nanosecond, his hands tightening into fists reflexively. After a beat of silence, he turned back around and she could see she'd hit a nerve. His dark eyes held too many emotions for her to sort through, while his face remained calm and neutral. He held her gaze, reading her carefully, calculatingly.

"Leave us," he said flatly.

The two guards didn't miss a step. They nodded and stepped outside the office, closing the door behind them.

Chen stepped over to a small wet bar set against one wall, taking out a glass and a decanter of amber liquid. He fixed himself a drink leisurely, seemingly untroubled, though something about the way his mouth was set was putting Heather on edge. He finished making his drink and stepped back over to his desk. He put the glass to his lips and took a small mouthful, before finally speaking.

"Please sit down Miss Widow, make yourself comfortable. Now, what did you want to discuss about Iris?"

Chapter Text

"I'm not exactly sure where to begin. I've never been good at being diplomatic," Widow said as she took a seat across from the crime boss.

Chen took his seat, eyeing her carefully. "Neither have I. Perhaps candor is best in this situation. For instance, I'm very curious and concerned over why one of your kind is interested in the death of my daughter."

Widow couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a slight twitch in his jaw and it almost sounded like his voice hesitated for half a breath. She thought it would be rude, or even life threatening, to point this out. "It's a long story."

"The short version then," Chen said, sounding a little impatient.

"Right," Widow swallowed and fidgeted with her hands in her lap. "I was there the night Iris died. I caught the men who took her, though the police are under the impression it was Spiderman. Easy mistake to make I guess, I'm his protégé," she chuckled nervously, then cleared her throat. "Those men didn't intend to kill her. They told the police they were hired to abduct her and hold her until further instructions."

"Miss Widow, I am well aware of that. Unless you have information that is of some use to me, this meeting is over," Chen reached for the intercom on his desk.

"Wait!" She exclaimed, jumping up and reaching out her arm, not quite touching his sleeve. "I think that whoever took Iris was trying to get to you. I know that your section of the Triad would go to your daughter after your death. Kidnapping Iris might have been their way of gaining leverage over you to gain your share."

Chen stared at her for a long moment, then pulled back his arm.

Widow sat back down slowly, blushing beneath her mask. God, I really know how to stick my foot in it, don't I? I really don't want to test whether I'm bulletproof.

Chen considered his words for a long moment. "Tensions have been high between my brothers and myself for quite some time. As I assume you know, my younger brother Frank has been in prison for several years – falsely imprisoned, I assure you," he added.

Widow lifted her hands and shook her head quickly. "Trumped up charges, sure. Whatever you say."

Chen gave her a narrow eyed stare, then continued, "My older brother Joseph has been, ahem, overlooking Frank's territory during his incarceration. Frank has accused Joseph of overstepping his boundaries. I can't say whether he has or not. I try to stay out of their quarrels. But I have heard news from my people that Joseph's associates have been seen in my territory. It's hard for me to believe that Joseph would go this far to gain power… and yet," he exhaled through his nose and sat back in his chair.

"If it is your brother," Widow began hesitantly. "What will you do?"

"I have lost too much already," Chen muttered. "I will not lose my work too. If either Joseph or Frank had a hand in this, I will see to the matter personally."

Widow wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. She really didn't want to try and quell a gang war in her first few weeks on the job – better heroes than her had died trying to do the same, and she had actually been looking forward to prom. "And if it's not your brothers?" She suggested reluctantly.

"The only other scum who would dare challenge me in this heinous way would be one of those ridiculous costumed freaks," Chen took another long gulp of his drink. He paused before adding, "No offense."

Widow shrugged. "A little taken, but I've been called worse. Look," she said, leaning forward. "Mr. Chen, what happened to your daughter – I feel partially responsible." Pfft. Understatement of the century. "Please, I want to help you. Iris deserves justice. Is there anyone in particular, other than your brothers, who would have wanted your territory enough to do this?"

Chen mulled this over for a moment. He set his glass down, got up from his desk and paced his office. Widow tried not to feel nervous as he put his hands into his pockets, causing his jacket to slide back and flash the small handgun he was carrying. Again, I do not want to test my ability to heal from bullets tonight, she thought with an uneasy swallow.

Eventually Chen stopped pacing and stood by the one-way mirror once more, staring down at his patrons with a blank expression. "There have been several of your kind who have attempted to intimidate me in the past. Notice I say, attempted. They've never really come close."

"I need a name, Mr. Chen. Something concrete I can go on," Widow prompted.

Chen waved dismissively. "I do not know their names. You all look alike with your flashy costumes, ridiculous toys and dangerous powers," he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "Their leader, I remember he had mechanical arms, four of them. One of them shorted out the electricity in one of my clubs, and my staff was sweeping up sand for weeks afterward. Specific enough for you?"

Widow felt cold. She tried not to show how difficult it was for her to draw a deep breath, even as her ribs constricted her lungs and choked her. The biggest mystery though was she didn't know why. Why did this knowledge fill her with such terror? She knew, of course, exactly who Stephen Chen meant. But why would they, of all supervillains she could think of, fill her with more fear than even the memory of Iris' blood gushing between her fingers?

Chen turned to her with an irritated look, and she realized he was waiting for an answer. "…It – it'll do. Thank you," she stuttered.

Chen nodded. "If that's all you wanted, then this meeting is finished. Goodnight, Miss Widow." He turned back to the window, obviously ready to be rid of her.

Widow stood slowly, her thoughts going in a million directions. She turned to the door, but hesitated. "Mr. Chen? Sir…I, I'm so sorry for your loss. I'll do everything I can to help Iris rest in peace, I promise."

He snorted. "The promise of a woman who is too fearful to show her face. Of what value is that to me?" Chen asked, seemingly more to himself than to her.

Heather didn't know how to respond, and so she chose not to. She left Stephen Chen to his musings, whatever they were, and took off into the night. Her head was abuzz with all the implications and possibilities of what this information meant. One thing was clear to her, at least. She didn't have the full story yet. She wasn't even sure what the story was anymore. What had started as the worse day of her life had quickly evolved into a murder investigation, a brewing gang war between rival brothers, and now there was a distinct possibility that the Sinister Six was involved somehow.

"No use trying to figure it all out tonight," she muttered to herself as she traveled back home. "My brain's too tired. I'll talk to Rhi and Mike tomorrow, and maybe between the three of us we can figure out what the heck is going on around here."

"So…" Rhi said, drawing out the syllable as long as she could. "I guess the question is, was Iris murdered by the Triad or the Sinister Six?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Heather said, softly banging her head against a ceiling beam in Coach's gym. She kind of got why Spiderman was so well known for crawling on ceilings – there was a sort of Zen feeling from being so high and knowing you could catch yourself if you fell. Relaxing, yes, but she still didn't have the answers she needed.

"Excuse me, princess," Rhi muttered. "What's so wrong with pointing out the obvious?" She was laying in the middle of the boxing ring, hands behind her head and ankles crossed. She glanced at the phone lying on her stomach, but it was silent and dark – Mike wasn't out of his history tutoring session yet.

Heather could tell Rhi was irritated and bored, as she usually was when Mike was absent, and while Heather understood why it didn't make it any more helpful.

"What am I supposed to do?" Heather moaned. "I nearly got shot the other night talking to Stephen Chen – I don't want to risk lead poisoning trying to talk to Joseph, and Frank's still in prison."

"You could look into the Sinister Six…Wherever they are, anyway," Rhi said, closing her eyes.

Heather grimaced. While she'd filled her friends in on what had happened the previous night, she left out the queasiness she'd experienced hearing the name of the infamous supervillain group. She didn't understand why it had happened – why it was still happening – and she honestly didn't know how to explain it. Her fear of the Hobgoblin made sense, since Rhi felt the same way; they'd both been on the school bus when it had nearly gone into the river. But she'd never met the Sinister Six before. Why was she so shaken up?

"Yeah, I suppose I could ask around for them," Heather admitted reluctantly. "I'm sure if I ask the right people I'll find them pretty quickly."

"Hey, you could always ask your dad," Rhi sat up and leaned on her palms. "I mean, as Black Widow, not yourself."

"I don't know how much help he's going to be, though," Heather sighed and paced across the ceiling beam. "Would it be easier if he knew?"

Rhi shrugged. "Not up to me, you said so yourself. It's your decision."

"It's not even like he'd be in more danger knowing. I don't even have an archenemy yet," Heather carefully flipped forward and walked on her hands until she reached a joint, then slowly walked backwards. "On the other hand, with how much he rides me now without knowing, imagine how much worse it could get. Ugh, any way I look at it, it seems better to keep it a secret."

"It is kind of dumb he hasn't figured it out yet though," Rhi pointed out. "How many girls in the New York area have your build, height, red hair and his powers?"

Heather mulled this over, pausing with one hand on the beam and the other stretched out to the side. "Could be a few mutants out there with spider powers, you never know."

Rhi pursed her lips. "I guess."

"What? Don't like thinking about the mutants among us?" Heather asked, a slight edge to her tone.

"Don't be stupid. If I don't care that my best friend can do that," Rhi gestured in Heather's general direction as the red head pushed herself up and down on her one hand, legs still pointed up and opposite arm resting on her waist. "Why would mutants bug me? I don't really get what everyone's problem with them is. Like, we've got a dozen or more superheroes on Earth from another planet and/or species, but mutants are where we draw the line? Come on."

Heather nodded. "This planet is weird."

"Agreed. But getting back to our problem at hand, what are you going to do?" Rhi pressed.

"Well…" Heather began, but stopped when she heard the sound of her phone ringing. She rolled forward into a cartwheel to get back to her feet, and then pulled her phone out of the zippered pocket of her cargo pants. "Hello?"

"Heather, where are you?"

"Dad, hi! Um," Heather swallowed. "I'm at that new job I told you about. Remember? The one right after school?"

There was a long pause, which she knew her father was using to search his memory for any such conversation. "Uh, no, I don't. But things have been crazy here at the office, so I suppose it slipped my mind."

Heather breathed a silent sigh of relief. That was close. "So, what's on your mind, Dad?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. Listen, I know this is last minute but I just got an assignment from Jameson to cover a benefit in Gotham. Normally, I'd go with Becky to cover it so we can get adequate photos and interview the host, but she's out sick. All the other photographers are busy with other assignments and Jameson's breathing down my neck. You took a photographer's class in freshman year, right?"

"Yeah?" Heather said. Which I only did because you wanted me to, and you didn't even come to my final exhibition. I wanted to take poetry.

"If you don't have too much homework, and if you can get time off from your, ah," he paused, clearly still at a loss, "job… Do you think you come to Gotham with me and help out? You'll need something formal to wear."

"I guess I could, yeah," Heather rubbed her neck, genuinely baffled over this turn of events.

"Great! Okay, honey, the benefit is this weekend. We're going to take the train down to Gotham and we'll be staying overnight, so pack a small bag. I'll cover all the rest of the details with you when you get home. Thanks, kid, I appreciate this. See you at home," Peter said in a rush before hanging up.

Heather slowly took the phone away from her ear and peered at it for a long moment. "That was weird."

"What just happened?" Rhi asked.

"I'm wondering the same thing. Dad just asked me to go with him somewhere this weekend… just the two of us… voluntarily?" Heather shook her head. "I haven't been anywhere with only my Dad since…" she trailed off.

She couldn't remember the last time this had happened, not really. She had a vague sense that she and her father used to do things together a lot when she was little. She probably even had photos in her scrapbooks proving so, but she couldn't clearly recall when the last time was. Weird, she thought. She stowed her phone away and used a webline to drop back down to the floor.

"This is great," Rhi said, bouncing up and coming to lean against the ropes around the ring. "Right? I mean, you can use this weekend to recharge your batteries. Iris will still be dead by the time you get back."

Heather gave her a sour look. "Not funny. Not funny, at all."

Rhi had the decency to blush. "You know what I meant. Look, just take a breather and we'll figure out what to do next by Monday, okay? The mystery will still be here. While you're gone, maybe Mike and I can do some more research into the other two members of the Triad, and the Sinister Six as well."

Heather nodded slowly. "Maybe I do need a break. I should really catch up on my homework before I fall anymore behind, too. That science test kicked my butt today."

Rhi rolled her eyes and climbed out of the ring. "As if. Even when you haven't studied and there's a pop quiz in science class, you still get a good grade."

"Not good enough to get into NYU," Heather muttered.

"You're letting your dad's college babble get to you," Rhi playfully pushed Heather's shoulder. "When we walk across the stage, every Ivy League college in the country will be shoving scholarships in your face. And the rest of us poor peasants will just have to cross our fingers and hope New York College will accept our measly applications."

"If they don't let you into their fashion program, I'll beat them up for you," Heather offered, grinning.

"Deal," Rhi giggled and hugged Heather. "There's the sarcastic brat I know and love. I was getting really tired of this Negative Nelly who's been hanging around."

Heather smirked. "She's still here, but I've got her tied up in the back right now."

"Good," Rhi checked her phone once more and squealed loudly, making Heather rub her ears. "Mike's out! He wants to meet us at the café, c'mon!" Rhi grabbed her bag and ran for the front door, Heather close behind.

"The girl's going to make me as deaf as Audrey, one of these days," Heather muttered.

Chapter Text

Heather held the camera up to her eye, half pressed on the button to focus, then gave it a firm full press. The shutter clicked appropriately. Pulling the device back from her face, she gave the digital screen a once over to make sure the picture looked okay.

"I really can't thank you enough for helping me out tonight, Heather," Peter told her again from off to her left. "Becky getting sick left me completely swamped here at the charity benefit in Gotham. You really came through."

Heather fiddled with the strap around her neck. "It's nothing Dad, really." Rhi was right, I needed a break. This just wasn't the break I was hoping for.

They both looked up as Bruce Wayne mounted the stage to polite applause. The millionaire philanthropist was hosting tonight's event. He smiled smoothly and waved, walking over to the podium. He cleared his throat and began his speech by thanking all the donors for their support, earning him more polite claps and even a few whistles.

"I better get over there. Jameson will want pictures. Why don't you take a break in the meantime?" Peter suggested, giving her shoulder a small squeeze before moving through the crowd.

Heather touched the spot where his hand had been and sighed. Her father was evidently grateful for the help she'd offered, but this wasn't what she'd had in mind when she wanted to be his partner. Why could he talk with her decently when she was Heather, but as Black Widow all she got was the cold shoulder?

He probably didn't even remember that by asking her to come here, he'd broken two promises – both hers and his. Harry had his soccer game today, and instead of being there for her little brother like they had both promised, here she was helping him with this ridiculous work assignment in Gotham that someone else at the Bugle should have been able to cover.

Heather snorted quietly, making her way to the punch bowl. She knew that wasn't what was really annoying her – it was the fact that he didn't trust Black Widow. She'd tried to explain what happened with Iris, she had tried to make him see that she just wanted to help. But he'd dodged her every attempt to help the last few days as Black Widow; and loathe as she was to admit it, she needed him too. She couldn't solve Iris' murder by herself, she needed help that only he could give.

Maybe Rhi was right, and she should tell him the truth. But she was afraid… and she wasn't even really sure what she was afraid of. Would it really be so terrible for her parents to know what had happened to her? But then again, why hadn't they said something to begin with? Why didn't she, Harry and Audrey know about their father's secret identity? For their protection?

Fat lot of good that's done. Otherwise I wouldn't have – Heather stopped in front of the refreshment table, suddenly feeling cold. Wait, "I wouldn't have" what? Why do I feel like there's something I'm forgetting? But when I reach for the information, it's like I'm grasping for smoke.

"I'd go for the soda if I were you," someone suddenly said behind her. "The punch is always spiked at these things."

Heather turned, surprised to see a boy about her brother's age standing there. He wore an expensive suit with a blue shirt and tie that made his eyes pop, and had neatly combed black hair.

"Then again," he amended, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. "Maybe you should go for the punch. These charity functions are always a snooze fest," he grinned.

Heather smirked in return, trying to shake off the mental fog, "And here I thought I was the only one who noticed."

"Oh no, I'm a seasoned veteran. I've taken more naps here than I can count," he laughed, but she swore it was more like a cackle.

"Well Mr. Smarty, thanks for the tip," she smiled and grabbed the bottle of cola, pouring herself a glassful.

"The name's Dick actually. Dick Grayson," he offered her his hand.

She gave his hand a firm shake, noting how rough and callused it was. Odd for a kid who looks like he's never lifted anything heavier than a textbook, she thought absently. "Really? Dick? What were your parents thinking?" she joked.

Dick smirked, but didn't comment. "So do you have a name? Or should I just call you 'ruby'? Or 'scarlet'? Or maybe just 'red'?"

Heather smoothed back a stray lock, a little self-consciously, "I'm Heather Parker."

"Nice to meet you. What brings you here to this oh so whelming ball?" Dick asked.

Heather cocked her head to the side. "Whelming?"

"Think about it – people are usually either overwhelmed or underwhelmed. But why is no one ever just whelmed?" Dick proposed with that same smirk in place.

"Maybe because 'whelmed' isn't a word?" she suggested, a hint of a smile peeking at the corner of lips.

"But then if it's not a word, how can someone be overwhelmed or underwhelmed?" he protested playfully.

Heather giggled and shook her head. This kid reminded her so much of Harry, it had taken her by surprise, and she had relaxed almost instantly. He may be younger, but it's like I'm talking to Mike or Rhi. Weird. "You must drive your English teacher nuts."

Dick threw back his head and cackled once more. When he'd gotten his mirth under control, he said, "I've never seen you at one of these parties before. Believe me, I would have noticed if someone with an actual personality were around."

She snorted, but smiled in amusement, "My Dad works for the Daily Bugle in New York. He needed an extra pair of hands tonight, so I volunteered." She held up the camera as evidence.

He snapped his fingers. "That was my next guess."

"Sure it was. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"I mean, why are you here? Are you a prince or something?" she asked sarcastically.

He grinned, glancing at the stage for a split second. "Something like that."

Heather's brow crinkled, unable to read anything behind that smirk or those wide baby blue eyes. Dick's smirk widened at her confusion. "Depends on your definition of royalty," he continued mysteriously.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you –?" She was cut off mid-sentence as Bruce Wayne finished his speech to loud applause.

The millionaire lifted a single hand to silence the crowd. Quiet descended once more, and he flashed another megawatt smile. "Now I'd like to introduce my adopted son, Richard. He's the one who asked for the Wayne Foundation to raise more money for the orphanages, and the boys and girls homes in Gotham. At this time, he's going to tell you why. Dick? Come on up, son."

Heather was about to comment on what a weird coincidence it was that there were two kids here named 'Dick', when she realized she was alone. Glancing around, she finally spotted Dick's dark head moving through the crowd towards the stage.

She felt her mouth drop to the floor. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered in disbelief.

Dick, by this point, had hopped onto the stage and was smiling, waving at the crowd like a pro. Bruce gave him a smile and a brief clap on the shoulder. Dick smirked in return and stepped up to the podium. The crowd quieted instantly. Even Heather found herself taking a few steps closer, curious despite her annoyance.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," Dick began formally. "Tonight, I'd like to talk to you, not as the son of a billionaire, but as an orphaned boy. Like so many of the boys and girls we're helping tonight, I know what it's like to be alone, with no one to love or care for you." He paused for a moment, eyes skimming over the crowd.

"When I lost my parents, it was like the world had ended. I had no home and no family. Fortunately," he turned away from the podium for a moment to look back at his adopted father. "I had Bruce. He gave me a new home and a new family. He picked me up when I was down, and made me whole again. Without him, I'd still be a lost little boy." Dick turned back to the crowd his expression solemn.

"Tonight, you have a similar opportunity. There are hundreds, if not thousands of kids in Gotham and across the country that need good homes, and families to love them. Your donations to the Wayne Foundation will help them on the road to recovery. But there's more happening tonight than that." He halted briefly once more, his gaze suddenly falling on Heather's face.

They locked eyes for a moment, and she was struck by the sincerity, the sorrow, and more importantly the conviction in his expression. He meant every word, she knew it, and she felt her heart go out to him. After only a slight pause, he turned away to view the rest of the crowd.

"Tonight, I'm doing something in honor of my parent's memory and to help all of the orphans, not only here in Gotham but all over the world. Bruce Wayne, the Wayne Foundation and myself, are creating a new charity organization. This evening we are unveiling The Grayson Fund for the Lost Children," he waited a moment to let that sink in.

"With your support, GFLC will build new orphanages worldwide, fund educational and recreational programs for children without families, and help create new families by funding adoptions for the less privileged. Ladies and gentlemen, with your assistance GFLC will aid millions of children in becoming whole once more," Dick smiled warmly as the crowd applauded.

Heather rubbed at the corner of her eye furiously. Stupid flaking mascara, she thought, blinking back tears. She had to admit, Dick had a way with words. Now that she thought about it, she vaguely remembered the news story from several years ago of Dick Grayson's family being murdered – she couldn't recall exactly how – and that afterwards he was adopted by Mr. Wayne. It was no wonder he was so passionate about this new organization bearing his family's name.

Dick stood back now from the podium and let Bruce take over once more. With almost ninja-like skills, he managed to leave the stage without anyone noticing, even the few reporters. Heather tracked his progress as he moved like a shadow through the crowd, until he reached the refreshment table. She copied his steps and came up behind him.

Folding her arms, she bore holes into his back with her gaze as he casually got a drink. "Seriously? You couldn't have just told me who you were? You had to go and make a speech to do it?" she asked sarcastically.

Dick turned, looking surprised, as if he hadn't known she was there. Then his expression morphed back into a devilish grin as he shrugged. "Hey, I was a circus kid – I'm big on dramatics."

Heather shook her head. "You are something else, Dick Grayson," she told him, unable to think of any witty comeback for that reply.

He gave a slight bow. "Why thank you, Miss Parker."

She started to reply, when her spider-sense went on high alert. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the tingling sensation raced up and down her spine and around her skull.

She turned and looked around the room, scanning for danger. There didn't seem to be anything amiss, but if there was one thing she had learned it was that her spider-senses did not lie. She glanced at her father just to be sure. Not surprisingly, Peter also was looking on edge, the camera around his neck forgotten.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked his tone distinctly different. Gone was the playfulness and humor. In its place was a maturity and alertness that she would've found much stranger if she hadn't had more important things to worry about.

"I'm not sure," she murmured unthinkingly, trying to pinpoint where the danger was coming from. "Something feels wrong."

"What do you mean? Everything's –" He never had a chance to finish.

The high rise flat where the charity benefit was being hosted had a large, beautiful skylight, letting in the glow of the full moon and what you could see of the stars through the haze of city lights. Well, it was beautiful. Until something, or more accurately several someone's, crashed through it. As screams rang out and glass rained down, the doors around the room burst open. Men carrying large guns stormed in, their shouts adding to the tumult.

Instinctively, Heather had ducked and covered her head with her arms as the sharp shards of glass fell from the ceiling. She glanced up quickly and spotted Dick doing the same. His gaze lifted from the floor and caught her eyes.

"I should go find my dad," Heather blurted quickly. "I have to make sure he's alright." And so I can grab my suit – I knew it was a good idea to pack it in my bag for this trip.

Dick jerked his head in a nod, almost appearing relieved. "I'm going to find Bruce and try to take cover. Maybe I can get a call out to the police," he replied brusquely. "Be careful," he warned and then ran, half bent, through the panicking crowd.

Suddenly grateful for the slit up either side of the dress that came to her knees, Heather carefully but quickly crawled across the room, invisible in all the confusion, to the coat room. Once there, she vaulted over the counter and landed silently on the carpet. Keeping low to the ground so no one could see her, she quickly searched the room until she found her messenger bag. From it, she pulled out her uniform and boots.

Time for a little help from your friendly neighborhood Black Widow, she thought, changing clothes quickly.

Properly attired, she edged her way over to the window and eased up slowly, glancing over the marble counter. Scanning the room, she watched as the assailants who had crashed the party rounded everyone up into the center of the room, making a tight circle around them.

Let's see – there are at least twenty, maybe twenty-five guys. Black outfits and masks, semi-automatics and quite a few hunting knives – these guys don't mess around. Trained, obviously. Mercenaries? No. Mercenaries work alone usually. Assassins would have been more subtle, and probably would only be going for one target not multiple. Black Widow frowned, her brow creasing.

Deciding to get a closer look, she crawled up the wall and out the tiny window, scurrying up to hang from the ceiling in a shadowy corner behind a pillar. She'd been hanging for only a few moments when Spiderman suddenly joined her.

"What are you doing here?" He hissed. "Did you follow me from New York?"

"Nice to see you too, boss," she smirked.

"Answer my question! How did you even get in here? There was a guest list!" Spiderman seemed so ridiculously befuddled, it almost made Black Widow laugh.

"I think the better question is why are they here?" She pointed at the ring of assailants and the cowering hostages. "They've got to be working for someone."

Spiderman sighed, resigned that he wasn't going to get any answers out of his uninvited partner. "No doubt. My money, given it is Gotham, is on one of its more infamous character criminals."

Black Widow nodded. "Makes sense. I'm guessing it's not Riddler – they're dressed way too darkly for his taste in henchmen." Spiderman turned away from the gang and looked at her for a long moment. Even though she couldn't read his facial expression, she somehow understood what he was asking.

"I've told you before I'm not like other teenage girls. I prefer learning about super villains than reading teen magazines. Everybody needs a hobby right?" She tried not to feel embarrassed admitting to that out loud.

Spiderman chose not to comment. "I'm not partial to the idea of waiting around for the big boss, whoever he is, to show up. I say we take down the hired help first and then deal with him."

Black Widow's gloved hand shot out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving. "Wait, I don't think we should move just yet."

"Why on earth not?" Spiderman asked, obviously unhappy about his plan being questioned.

"Well, I mean, Batman doesn't like metas in his city," She said, feeling awkward. Of course she wanted to help, but she also didn't want to disrespect a hero she'd admired for as long as she had admired Spiderman.

He scoffed. "Batman? Come on Widow, you want to be a hero right? Then be a hero. Heroes don't wait for permission to help someone."

"Well, I," she stuttered.

Spiderman shook off her hold on his arm. "Whatever, Widow. I'm not standing around while these people get pumped full of lead waiting for Batman." With that, he jumped to the wall opposite the column and crawled up to the ceiling, moving silently towards the ring of assailants and hostages.

Black Widow frowned. Heroes also actually build their partners up, not tear them down at every opportunity. She started to follow him when she spotted a flash of black and yellow out of the corner of her eye. A shadow dashed from a doorway in the back of the room, moving swiftly and silently. It darted from each darkened corner to corner, eventually ducking under a refreshment table.

Huh, Widow mused. Why does that look familiar? Curiosity getting the better of her, she crawled along the ceiling back to the wall and dropped down silently. Back on the ground, she put her back to the column and glanced around it for a second.

The masked men were standing right where she'd left them, guns ready but not trained at her or at any of the hostages. She thought she saw a peek of red and blue up on the ceiling, but it was gone in an instant.

Sure now that no one was looking her way, Black Widow tucked and rolled until she was behind a potted tree, where she paused and rolled again to behind the table, slipping underneath the black cloth without a sound. Once there, she looked up and came cowl to mask with a familiar figure.

The unmistakable face of Robin the Boy Wonder stared at her in puzzlement, though to anyone else it could have just as well been surprise or indifference. She was getting better at reading facial expressions through masks though.

"Who the heck are you?" Robin spoke first in a low whisper.

Black Widow couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face, "Black Widow, at your service. Man, I can't believe it's really you. I mean, this is so cool!" Although feeling almost giddy with excitement, she still managed to whisper as well.

"Uh, okay?" Robin murmured, when understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes. "Wait a sec, I know you!"

"You do?" Black Widow asked, disbelief and a touch of alarm showing in her voice. He doesn't have x-ray vision right?

"You're that superhero girl from New York – Spiderman's new partner," Robin said, pointing at her.

She nodded and smiled, relieved. "That's me."

"I've seen your stuff on the news. You're pretty good," he smiled for the first time. "It's asterous to meet you."

That made her pause for a moment. Asterous? "Um, thanks! …I think?" she added under her breath.

"So, what are you doing in Gotham?" He asked, peeking out for a second at the situation with the hostages before turning back to her.

"Oh, I was… in the neighborhood," She replied vaguely with a shrug, "Heard the chaos and figured I could help. Spiderman wasn't happy to see me, but then again, I don't think the old man's ever happy."

Robin chuckled quietly. "You should try working for Batman sometime."

"Speaking of which, where is the Dark Knight? I kind of assumed you'd be with him," Black Widow crawled closer to the Boy Wonder to look out from under the table cloth as well. So far, no change, and Spiderman was nowhere in sight.

She turned back to the other teen hero, noting absently that he was a lot shorter than she'd thought he'd be, and much smaller as well. She figured he couldn't be much older than Harry, which surprised her. She knew Robin had been around for a while, but she'd never really thought about exactly how long. Yet, despite his age and size, Robin looked every bit like his photos – messy black hair, a healthy tan, an acrobat's physique, and a serious expression… well, mostly serious, he seemed to be smirking about something.

"What?" She asked, unable to help herself.

"Nothing, I was just thinking that I run into a lot of redheads," Robin said in amusement, shaking his head.

Black Widow self-consciously touched her hair. "Keep thinking I might dye it or at least cut it, but I never do. It's hard to work with if I don't tie it back though, and that can take forever," she realized she was doing her awkward 'word vomit' thing again and promptly shut her mouth.

"Can't say I've ever had that problem," Robin smirked, but the expression wasn't mocking like she thought it might be. It was almost brotherly in quality, like they'd known each other for many years rather than just a few minutes.

She smirked back, instantly relaxing. "No, I don't suppose most guys do."

"Batman says long hair in the field is asking for trouble," he said, shrugging. "I've always liked my hair on the longer side though."

"The shaggy look would suit you," she agreed.

Robin peeked out from under their table once more.

"Any movement?" Black Widow asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing yet. They seem to be waiting for something."

"Or someone," she added. "Know who's hired help they are? Don't seem like Joker material to me."

He shot her a look, making her blush then shrug. "What? I do my homework."

"Clearly," he sounded impressed, which only made her blush deeper. "And you're right. Joker has a certain… flair, as do his henchmen. These guys seem more professional." He pulled back part of the table cloth, moving over so she could look out too. "Check the weapons they're packing, plus the general manner they have. They're well trained, that's for sure."

"So… who then? Mobster, professional gang-banger, or one of the costumed creeps?" Black Widow asked, lifting an eyebrow he couldn't see.

"Nah," Robin let the clothe fall back, shaking his head as he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Definitely costumed – the Gotham mob bosses have been quiet lately."

"That narrows it down then," She remarked sarcastically.

"Honestly?" he glanced at her. "It seems like this is the work of…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "That's impossible. He's dead."

"Who?"

Suddenly, the door to the ballroom banged open and a man entered flanked by two more armed guards. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. I hope my men have made you comfortable. Tonight, we're hosting an auction – here's how it works. I name a price, and you match me to buy your ticket to freedom," the man said. While his mouth never moved, he grinned at the room grimly. Around him, the armed men cocked their guns and aimed them at the hostages.

Robin cursed softly. "They never just die, do they?" he muttered, mostly to himself.

"What the flip is that?" Heather breathed shakily, her face pale beneath her cowl.

"That, rookie, is the Black Mask. And we are in a whole lot of trouble," Robin replied grimly.

AN: This will always be one of my favorite chapters. Finally getting to justify why this story was in the crossover section lol

Chapter Text

"How have I never heard of this guy? He's pretty," she took in a shaky breath. "Memorable."

"The Black Mask, aka Roman Sionis was – is – a major crime lord here in Gotham," Robin explained, pulling up a holographic computer display from his glove and typing rapidly into the keyboard. "Batman's fought him before to prevent the False Face Society from infiltrating Gotham, but we could never make a real dent into his operations. A few years ago, Black Mask was reported dead and we'd thought those reports were true."

"Apparently he got better," Black Widow said, still unnerved by the grotesque mask.

"Yeah super villains tend to do that," Robin shrugged, still typing.

"What are you doing?" She leaned over to try to see his screen better.

"Accessing security of the building. Maybe I can hack the system's and give Batman some cover," He explained.

"You can do that?" She asked.

He smirked. "With my eyes closed."

"Huh," she said, just as the overhead lights blinked out and the hostages screamed in surprise.

"How good are you in the dark?" He asked, putting his computer up and readying two collapsible escrima sticks that he pulled from somewhere in his utility belt.

"Dunno," She said, tightening her gloves, "first time for everything I suppose."

"Alright, just stay whelmed and follow my lead. We'll take out as many guards as we can and help the hostages escape. Batman will handle Black Mask," Robin didn't give her time to hesitate, rolling out from under the table and knocking the legs out from under two guards.

"Right, right, right," Black Widow said, trying to focus over the hammering of her heart in her chest. "Whelmed. I can do that."

She back rolled from under the table, flicking her weblines at two guards and yanking them towards her, decking them in the jaw and laying them out flat. She cartwheeled past their still forms towards three other men who were advancing towards her. She kicked one of them in the chest, using him as a springboard to spin kick into the others. She figured the invaders probably had night vision goggles, so she would only have so much time to help Robin before the bad guys had regrouped.

She could barely make out flashes of Robin's red and yellow uniform in the dark, moving through targets like he was dancing. His cackle floated back to her, ghostly when compared to the sound of static gun shots as Black Mask's forces attempted to shoot him.

Just keep moving, just keep people alive, Heather thought, trying to let her spidersense guide her towards where the danger was greatest.

She flipped forward out of the way of a stray shot which just barely nicked her left shoulder, exchanging punches with the henchman who'd attempted to kill her. Don't think about the bullets. Don't think about the blood. Just. Keep. Moving.

As she finally downed her opponent, she caught sight of someone ushering civilians through the doorway, but she couldn't tell if it was Robin or someone else. She also could barely perceive Spiderman and Batman fighting Black Mask across the room. While she couldn't really make them out in the dark, she could hear her father making bad puns easily enough even through the chaos.

"I've heard of a death mask, but this is ridiculous," Spiderman quipped. Black Widow groaned inside. God, her dad could be lame. She wondered if her dad practiced those lines in the mirror.

Distracted, she didn't have time to dodge one of the henchmen swinging his rifle into her head, making her fall to the floor. She shook her head, trying to shake off the pain as she pushed herself up to her elbows. The blow had shattered the eye pieces in her mask, and she yanked the cracked plastic out to clear her vision. Her spidersense pushed her into action, and she rolled to the side to avoid the boot of the man who'd hit her before. She flicked a webline to his gun, yanking it out of his hands and throwing it across the room. Leaping back to her feet, she gripped her hands together and swung her fists into the man's head, just hard enough to knock him out.

"How's it going?" Robin was suddenly beside her once again, flicking what seemed to be red round throwing stars towards several bad guys. Some type of gas emitted from the stars and the men dropped to the ground coughing.

"Oh you know, trying to stay whelmed," Black Widow said, jump-kicking into one henchman hard enough to send him flying into the guy behind him. "Is everybody out yet?"

"Hostages are safe," Robin confirmed, "henchmen secured, and it looks like our mentors are wrapping things up on their end."

She squinted into the dark at the fight across the ballroom. "Man I need to invest in night vision tech," she muttered, mostly to herself. She tried to think of where she could even find that kind of tech in her price range, but she was coming up blank.

"Oh here," He handed her a pair of goggles he'd pulled from his belt. "Night vision, infrared, and the best UV protection."

"Oh. Thanks," She took them, sliding them over her head. She had to admit, the goggles were a definite upgrade to the sunglass pieces she'd had, and she was grateful to have something to cover her blue eyes.

"Batman's got like, a million in the cave. You can keep 'em," he offered.

She smiled at the shorter boy, and repeated more gratefully, "Thanks."

"Hey, what are friends for?" He offered his fist, and she accepted the fistbump.

Black Mask let out one more painful grunt as Batman punched him hard enough to knock him into the wall. Spiderman used his webbing to pin the criminal to the wall before joining Batman as they walked over to their proteges.

"Nice work, Robin," Batman said and Robin practically beamed. "Black Widow, I presume?"

Heather nervously stood taller. "Yes sir. It's an honor, sir."

"Sir, huh?" Spiderman asked, folding his arms. "You could stand to show me that much respect."

"Give me something to respect, and maybe I would," she spat before she could stop herself.

"Oh-kay, let's just take a breath, huh?" Robin said, laying a gentle hand on her elbow.

She looked down at her boots, trying to swallow her frustration. Now that the battle was over, her adrenaline was running out. With it's loss, she felt her fears from earlier surfacing. Don't think about it. Don't think about the blood. Don't think about it. Don't think about the bullets. Don't think -

"- Still never explained how you knew I was here, or how you got here?" Spiderman was saying through the buzzing in her ears, glaring at her suspiciously once more.

"I…" Heather faltered, unable to look at him. She raised her hand to rub her arm self consciously, but jerked back in pain as her fingers found something sticky and warm dripping from her shoulder. She looked down at the blood on her fingers and felt her stomach clench. You ducked… the thought ran through her head unbidden as bile filled her mouth.

"We should get that looked at," Batman said calmly, even as the floor was tilting under her feet.

She felt gloved hands guiding her to a chair. Someone – she thought it was Robin – gently pushed her head down between her knees, softly encouraging her to breathe. She tried to do so, squeezing her eyes shut as a different person cleaned her arm with something wet that stung, and wrapped her arm with what felt like gauze. She could hear Spiderman and Batman softly talking, but she couldn't make out individual words.

"Hey, BW, talk to me," Robin said. "Walk me through it, what's happening?"

"I…" She opened her eyes, hoping the new goggles would hide the tears she felt threatening to spill over. "I'm sorry, it's just… the blood…" She looked down at her still tainted fingers. "I couldn't save someone," she whispered.

"When did this happen?" Robin demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Almost a week ago," she admitted shakily.

"And you're still in the field?" He demanded.

She winced. I know, I shouldn't be here. I'm not cut out for this, no matter how much I need to be here. Iris' needs justice, but I can't even handle a nick to the shoulder. She looked up, confused as Robin leaped to his feet and stalked angrily over to their mentors.

"Why didn't you bench her? She should have been given time to recover before going back into the field!" Robin demanded hotly, glaring at Spiderman.

"I never put her in the field to begin with, kid," Spiderman retorted.

Batman put a tight grip on the webslinger's shoulder. "Perhaps we should find somewhere more private to discuss this." Although it was framed as a question, it was obvious he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Heather sat on the parapet of the roof, her legs dangling over the side as she observed Gotham's skyline. She wasn't crying anymore, thank god. That had been embarrassing. But she was still feeling shaky, and the cool night air was helping to clear her thoughts. She could hear Spiderman and Batman talking – arguing really – behind her, but she was choosing not to listen. It had been a long night.

"Better?" Robin asked, coming to sit next to her.

She nodded. She pushed her new goggles up and rubbed at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened."

"You got overwhelmed, it happens," he said shrugging, "you're still new at this. Try and give yourself some slack."

"I don't have the luxury of slack," she muttered. "If I want to do this, I have to get past…" she gestured at her bandaged arm, clearly frustrated. "Whatever this is. Hemophobia, I guess?"

"I don't think it's the blood that's the problem. I think it's what it reminds you of."

She swallowed. "There was this girl. I was trying to save her, but the guy had a gun and when it went off I ducked out of the way. The bullet hit her…" She wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly cold. "She bled out in my arms."

"Survivor's guilt," he said nodding. "I get that. Believe me. But it doesn't make it your fault. You didn't pull the trigger."

"But I ducked," she whispered, the guilt washing over her once more.

"Widow, it is not your fault," he placed a careful hand on her back, feeling her shudder beneath the touch.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to accept that."

"If you do want to do this, you're going to have to."

She laughed shakily, "I can't believe I'm being comforted by someone who's almost the same age as my baby brother. How pathetic is that?"

"I'm choosing not to be offended by that," he said lightly.

"Not what I meant, sorry." Heather shook her head. She took a deep breath and looked at him properly. "So?" She smiled. "You made sure Dick Grayson got out of the building safe, right?" Ah there it is, she thought as his eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

"Oh yeah, totally. He's the one who called us in. He's a smart kid," Robin said smoothly. He smirked at her, "Hey, I wonder what happened to that other red-headed girl I met earlier? Sure hope she found her dad and got out okay."

She grinned, "I'm sure she did."

Robin cackled and Black Widow couldn't help but laugh too. This has been one bizarre night, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at their mentors. They were still deep in discussion, Batman speaking intensely to Spiderman, who looked like he was only reluctantly listening. The webhead had his arms crossed, seeming to stare at the ground.

"You should tell him," Robin said suddenly, his voice a whisper.

"I know," she answered just as quietly. "But he lied to me. All these years, he never told me the truth. He never even warned that this could happen to me too."

"Maybe he didn't think it could," he suggested. "Cut the guy a little slack. I bet he just wanted to protect you. I mean, what if someone found out you knew who Spiderman is? A compromised secret ID is not very asterous." He raised his eyebrow pointedly.

She smiled at him, "I've heard that's a two way street. Not that I can hide it anymore anyway," she added with a sigh. "I can't hide an injury like this, and I can't give a good explanation for how I got here to Gotham except for the truth – that he brought me here."

"Would it really be so bad?" Robin asked quietly, "If he knew?"

"I don't know what it would be," she said, shaking her head. "I haven't been close with my father since I was little. He… well he changed. I don't know how to explain it, but it's like... like he's a different person now then when I was a kid. I don't mean in the way that people change as they get older," she turned toward him, pulling up one leg to sit sideways on the parapet. She knew she was rambling at this point, but she didn't really care. "It's like overnight my dad was radically different. He used to be so warm and affectionate, and he always made time for me and mom, even with his busy schedule. Now…" She glanced over at the two adults quickly, then continued in a hushed tone. "It's like living with a stranger."

The Boy Wonder seemed to be thinking deeply.

Heather knew she sounded crazy. She'd never really put her feelings towards her dad into words before, not even to her friends, because she knew how it sounded. Like a child whining about how unfair life was, because they weren't getting their parents full attention. But that wasn't what this was. She loved her mom, even if she was still annoyed that MJ had lied to her. Her dad though? Sometimes… sometimes she secretly wondered if he even was her dad. He acted more like an aloof uncle than a father. Which was patently ridiculous, obviously; she had his powers for Superman's sake, of course he was her dad!

"I'm sorry," she found herself saying. "I don't have any right to dump this on you, you barely know me. I'm being ridiculous, I know I am. I think I'm still rattled from the panic attack." She ran a hand down the length of her braided hair, embarrassed all over again that she'd lost her head in front of the dynamic duo.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "but sometimes paranoia pays off."

"What does that mean?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked, "Don't worry about it for now. Hey, listen I want you to meet some friends of mine sometime. You've got a phone?"

That made her laugh, despite herself. "I'm a teenager, of course I have a phone," she joked. She pulled her phone out of a cushioned pocket of her utility belt and handed it to him. She watched as he typed his information into her phone before handing it back. She let out an unexpected laugh when she looked at the screen. Instead of putting his name, Robin had put a bird emoji.

"Cute," she said and he grinned, pleased. It reminded her of Harry after he'd made a terrible joke.

"Alright kid," Spiderman said, suddenly appearing next to them with his arms folded. "It's late, I'm sore, and I don't have any more time for games tonight."

As he joined them Batman looked, well it was a little hard for Heather to tell with the cowl, but he seemed frustrated. Apparently, the talk he'd tried to have with the other hero hadn't gone the way he'd hoped. Heather had a feeling they'd been talking about her, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to know the details.

Robin stood up, moving to Batman's side and giving her a sympathetic look. She had a sudden flash of panic flutter in her chest as she realized what was inevitably going to happen next. She'd have to tell him. She'd have to tell her dad everything.

"Robin and I have some unfinished business to take care of," Batman said shortly. "Try not to cause any more trouble while you're in my city." He was looking at Spiderman as he said this, and Robin giggled, but he stifled it with a fake cough when Batman shot him a look.

"I'll be in touch," Batman continued, and Heather was surprised when he seemed to address this sentence directly at her.

She glanced at her dad to see if he had a comment about this, but almost immediately regretted it. Even without seeing his face, his body language screamed 'you're grounded' or possibly 'I'm going to figure out a way to get you arrested'. As she watched the dynamic duo swing off, all she could think about was how much she was going to hate this conversation.

Chapter Text

In the end, she didn't have to say anything at all.

Heather took off the goggles she'd been gifted by Robin and pulled off her cowl, smoothing back her auburn hair. She looked up at her dad and waited.

Peter removed his own mask and sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb before sitting down next to her. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I could ask you the same question," she tried very hard to not sound angry or hurt, and didn't succeed at either.

He shrugged his muscular shoulders, running a hand through his dark hair. He looks tired, she thought. "I never saw you literally crawling up the walls of the apartment as a baby, so I assumed…" he shrugged again. "When did this start?"

She ran her fingers over the smooth metal alloy of the goggles before putting them in her belt. "The precognition thing, probably since forever, but the rest? Maybe a few months. How," she paused, unsure of how to ask this, "how did it start for you?"

"I was about your age," he sounded bored, like this was a story he'd told multiple times. "We were on a field trip to a laboratory. They were doing genetic testing on spiders. One got out of its cage and the sucker bit me. Badda bing, badda boom, superpowers." He did some very unenthusiastic jazz hands.

"Then… Harry and Audrey?"

"I suppose. We'll just have to wait and see. Unless one of them has said or done something around you?"

"I haven't noticed anything."

"Maybe it's linked somehow to age," he said thoughtfully, resting his elbows on his knees, watching the clouds roll across the night sky.

"Dad… why didn't you say something?" She finally demanded after a beat, the question bubbling up from somewhere in her gut.

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Heather, you have to realize that I have made a lot of enemies over the years I've been doing this. Even just having your mother and aunt in the loop has been dangerous. I was going to wait until you could take care of yourself to tell you."

"And what, at sixteen you didn't think I could handle it?" She shot to her feet, angry tears stinging her eyes. She clenched her fists and tried to blink them away. She didn't want to be crying during this conversation. She didn't want to be crying in front of her dad at all, ever. "Dad, you used to tell me everything! What happened to change that?"

Peter seemed at a loss for words for a moment.

"More than that," Heather continued, pacing with heavy steps across the tarmac. "You practically ignore me on a day to day basis. I never see you, you never talk to me unless you want something, and it's not any better for Harry. Do you have any idea how crushed he was that neither of us was going to be at his soccer game today? I promised him and you made me into a liar." She whirled toward him, point an accusatory finger at his chest. "Only Audrey ever gets your full attention!"

"Audrey is a toddler," Peter says slowly, frowning at her. "And she has a disability that neither of you have."

"That shouldn't be an excuse for you to ignore Harry and I!" Heather shouted, her face red, tears streaming down her cheeks. Damn it, she thought, swiping them away with the heel of her hand. The leather of her gloves only spread the moisture around on her face, and she gave up after a few futile swipes.

"I never ignore you two," he denied, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was fighting a headache.

"Bullshit," she spat.

His head shot up. "Language!" Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's late. Let's grab our stuff from the ballroom and go back to the hotel. A good night's sleep will do us both good. We can talk more about this tomorrow."

She frowned. Now that she'd gotten into this fight, she didn't know how to suddenly stop. She was wound up tighter than a spring, and he was already waving a white flag. She'd expected him to yell at her, to ground her, to do – something! Anger she could deal with. But what was she supposed to do with this? Her mind floundered, trying to hang onto an argument that had barely begun and now was apparently already over.

"You – you can't make me stop doing this!" Heather folded her arms, her chest tight with emotions she'd been trying to hold back for weeks, possibly years. "I have to find out who's responsible for Iris' kidnapping. She needs justice and I won't stop until she gets it."

"We will discuss this tomorrow," he repeated firmly as he stood up and put his mask back on.

She swallowed hard, blinking against the angry tears still falling down her face. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she turned away.

Don't you dare. Don't even try it, she thought as she followed him to pick up their civilian clothes. This doesn't change anything.

The train ride home the following morning was painfully quiet.

The whole night had been painfully quiet, actually. Peter seemed tired and hassled by the whole debacle, while Heather refused to speak more than a few words to him since leaving the charity event. They hadn't discussed anything else since the rooftop, with Peter insisting that they would wait until they were home and her mom was present. Heather assumed this was because he wanted back up while he grounded her for all eternity, not that that was going to stop her. She had meant what she said. Iris' father was going to get answers, and her classmate would finally be able to rest in peace. And then…

Well, Heather wasn't sure what she was going to do then. She'd cross that bridge when she got to it. For now though, she needed answers and she'd get them with or without her father's help. Even if – she had to admit – it would be easier with it.

When they finally got back to the apartment, they found Mary Jane making brunch for Heather's siblings. MJ looked up when they came in, and the look she shot Heather made her realize her father had at least partly filled his wife in on the previous night's events.

Well, at least that saves me a bit of legwork, Heather thought, feeling reluctantly grateful to her dad as she sat at the table next to Harry. Her brother was staring at her, like he knew something was up but he didn't know what yet. He also still looked a little pissed, and she felt her heart constrict as she remembered his soccer game. Stupid dad and his stupid job.

Audrey seemed to sense the tension in the room as she looked around. "What's wrong?" She signed to Heather.

Heather didn't know how to answer her sister. She gave the toddler a strained smile, "I'm okay. I'm just tired."

Peter and MJ were having a whispered conversation as she sliced fruit on the counter. Heather watched as her mom's knife cut through the oranges on the cutting board with a little more vigor than necessary. She caught her mother's harsh whisper of "I told you!" before she decided to stop trying to hear them.

"Heather?" Harry asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Are you in trouble?"

Heather shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it," she said vaguely. "I'm sorry I missed your game, bud."

Harry looked down at his math homework, doodling a little skull and crossbones in the corner of his worksheet with his pencil before slowly erasing it. "I know you are," he finally said, even more quietly. Heather gently laid her hand on her brother's dark brown hair, smoothing it back from his face. He didn't say anything, but he leaned a little closer towards her, bumping his knee against hers under the table.

"I'm such a shit sister," she whispered, her stomach sour.

"I mean, at least you admit it," he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting in a rueful smile.

It wasn't exactly like he forgave her, but she still felt a little of her guilt lift off her shoulders. "Someone has to, right?" She said, just as Peter and MJ came into the room, laying out bowls of fruit and servings of oatmeal for the five of them on the table.

Brunch was, in Heather's opinion, agonizing to sit through.

Peter and MJ kept trying to catch Heather's eye, and Heather kept repeatedly ignoring them. She didn't want to have this conversation in front of her siblings. It's not fair, she thought petulantly. They get to find out dad is Spiderman on the same day they learn about my powers? I had to wait sixteen years for the truth! Besides, I want to tell them on my terms, not while mom and dad are interrogating me.

When they had finished eating, MJ asked Harry to take Audrey to the living room to watch cartoons. Harry shot Heather a concerned look before doing as his mother asked. Once they were gone, Heather slumped back in her seat and stared at the wood grain of the table, waiting for her parents to lay into her.

"Heather," MJ began quietly. "Do you have something you want to tell me?"

Heather met her mom's eyes, glanced at her father for a second, then looked back and frowned. "You knew," she said quietly, "and you never told me. How could you lie to me?"

"I wanted to keep you safe," MJ reached out and laid her hand on Heather's. "You're my baby."

Heather wanted to pull away, but her mom's touch was gentle and familiar. She found herself returning the soft squeeze her mom offered.

"I almost lost you once," MJ continued in that same quiet tone. "Do you remember?"

Heather jerked her head up, looking quickly between her parents in surprise. "The bus accident?" She asked, remembering that day on the bridge. The smell of smoke, her pounding heart, the drop to the water below...

"Oh no honey," MJ shook her head. "You were much younger. Probably around six, right Peter?"

Her dad shifted uncomfortably. After a moment, he nodded. "Around there, I think."

Heather frowned. "I don't remember," she said slowly. She didn't. She thought back to that year, but nothing stood out as being significant.

"It was very traumatic," MJ said carefully, "I wouldn't be surprised if your mind suppressed the memory. Some of your father's enemies took you. I thought I was never going to see you again," she quickly wiped a tear before it could smudge her mascara.

Heather's frown deepened. She stared at her mother's manicured fingers intertwined with her own calloused ones. I don't remember that… at all. How could I forget about something like that? She decided to think about it more later, when she was alone. It can wait, right?

"I saw dad come through the window that night in his suit," Heather eventually said. "And all of a sudden, a lot of things came together. The pieces just… fit."

"What pieces?" MJ pressed gently.

Heather quietly laid out the evidence that had been piling up since childhood. The weird coincidences, the physical agility, the uncanny precognition, and the events of the last few weeks. MJ listened thoughtfully without interrupting, except to ask a clarifying question. Heather inwardly smiled. Her mother could recite Shakespeare like the queen herself was watching, could command a stage with all the elegance of a Tony award-winning leading lady, but at the end of the day she was also still her mom. At home, her mom rarely shouted, disciplined with love, and listened carefully to her children's woes. She wasn't sure when she'd forgotten just how amazing her mom was.

When Heather's story came to the night Iris died, she could feel the guilt squeezing her chest like a vice. She couldn't look either of her parents in the eye as she recounted trying to save her classmate's life, could practically still feel the blood gushing through her fingers. She felt her stomach rebel at the memory of Iris' too cool skin, her missing pulse.

Heather suddenly scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom, retching into the commode as her mind echoed with the gunshot, again and again reminding her that it was her fault. Iris Chen was dead, and it was all her fault. Her mother was suddenly beside her, holding back her hair and rubbing circles into her back. Heather couldn't stop her tears as her empty stomach pushed bile up her throat. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…

"Honey," MJ said softly. "Shh, let it out. Just let it all out."

When Heather finally managed to pull herself together, she rinsed her mouth out in the sink and let her mom lead her back to the table. Her dad placed a glass of water in front of her and looked at her sympathetically, which only made her feel worse. I don't deserve any one's sympathy, this is all my fault, she thought miserably.

"Heather," MJ finally said after her daughter had swallowed several cautious sips of her water. "I'm disappointed you didn't tell us what happened. We could have been helping you. You don't have any experience with this."

"I can learn," Heather muttered. "I've learned a lot already." Her parents exchanged a look, and she was almost certain now that they were going to take her suit away and force her to drop Iris' case.

"I didn't just mean with superhero things," MJ continued calmly.

"You're only sixteen," Peter put in, pushing a lock of Heather's hair away from her damp temple. "God knows, I didn't know what I was doing at sixteen, and I would have given my arm for a little help during those early days."

"We know that you want the people responsible brought to justice," MJ said, squeezing Heather's shoulder. "And we're so proud that you're taking this so seriously. Aren't we?" She raised an eyebrow at her husband, who cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck.

"Of course we are," he murmured. When his wife intensified her gaze, he repeated himself more loudly. "Heather, you've done well on your own. But now it's time to call in back up." He pointed his thumb at himself, "I'm 'back up'. We'll find who hurt that girl and why, together."

Heather opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced uncertainly at her parents. "You're… you're not making me quit?"

"I can't say that this is the hobby I'd thought you'd have at this age," MJ said. "I would have preferred video games or maybe yoga," she joked, before turning serious again. "But I understand why you feel so strongly about this. We're okay with you continuing this, as long as your dad takes the lead. You have to listen to what he tells you, and you have to promise me that you will be very careful." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Heather, her blue eyes intense.

Heather stared at her mom for a moment before turning to her dad, hardly daring to hope. "You mean it?" She asked him suspiciously, wondering at his silence.

Peter took in a breath, as if he was about to make a deal he was going to regret. "I mean it. Let's do this," he held out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation she took it.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe you told them everything," Rhi said in amazement at lunch.

"Didn't really have a choice. They were going to find out eventually anyway." Heather shrugged her good shoulder as she speared a bite of soggy mac and cheese with her fork.

Her arm was still sore from the bullet wound, but it was more of a bad cut now than the gash it had been. She hadn't even needed stitches for it, that's how quickly it had healed in just two days. She was trying not to think too much about it, otherwise it made her head spin a little.

"And your dad is really cool with helping you?" Mike asked, raising one dark eyebrow at her. She didn't blame him for being skeptical, she still couldn't really believe it herself.

"He said he was, and so did mom. Well, to be fair, mom almost seemed like she was pushing him into it. But he did say he would help me, so I guess I have to take his word for it." Heather glanced around the cafeteria, spotting Josh and his girlfriend feeding each other french fries.

She rolled her eyes and focused back on her own tray. I can't believe I ever went out with that jerk. Although… Maybe I owe him an apology. I did accuse him of spiking my drink. There's no way I could have that conversation with him in front of Melissa though. Maybe if we run into each other later when we're both alone, I'll tell him I was wrong. It would be the right thing to do.

"So what's the next move?" Rhi asked expectantly.

Heather shook her head. "At this point, I have no idea. He told me to meet him at the university after school. He has a lecture he has to give, but after that we're going to strategize I think. He has access to resources that I don't have, so hopefully we can speed this along. I want to give Mr. Chen some answers soon."

"Why do you care about him so much?" Mike asked. "He's like a mob boss, right? I thought you were supposed to put guys like that in jail."

Heather shook her head, like it seemed backwards to her as well. "Right now, he's a grieving father not a mobster. I don't know yet if this was linked to his business, so at this point he's not a suspect – he's the victim. I'm going to treat him as one until I find good evidence that says otherwise."

"When's the funeral?" Rhi asked in a hushed tone. The school was arranging a memorial service in Iris' honor for her friends, teachers and classmates. Iris' father was of course having a private funeral service for her, but the school felt it would give the student body closure if they held a public service for the fallen sophomore.

"This coming weekend, I think," Mike answered, putting an arm around his girlfriend who leaned into the comforting embrace.

"Friday at eight is what I heard," Heather confirmed, suddenly not as hungry as she thought she was. She put her fork down and ran a hand through her tangled red hair. "I'll be so glad when we can put this whole thing to rest."

"Heather," Rhi began hesitantly. "You… you do realize that even when you find out who was behind all of this, it's not going to change anything. Iris will still be, well, gone. You know that right?"

"Of course I know that," Heather snapped irritably. She saw the look on her friends faces and took a deep breath. "Sorry," she murmured, more calmly. "It's just… if I don't do something I'm going to go crazy. As it is, I can barely live with myself." She rubbed her hands anxiously, her skin feeling tender from the repeated times she'd washed them this morning. She knew that was a dangerous habit to fall into. If I don't figure this out soon, I may never stop feeling like I have blood on my hands, she thought, reaching into her bag and grabbing a bottle of moisturizer. She rubbed some into her palms as she continued, "I know none of this will bring Iris back."

Mike smiled at her. "But it's the right thing to do," he finished. "Heather the hero," he added softly and Heather felt herself flush.

Some hero, she thought.

Empire University was a sprawling campus spread out over several city blocks on the north side of the city. Heather remembered visiting it more often when she was young. If her parents couldn't find a babysitter for her, and her mom had an audition or a rehearsal, her father would bring her to campus and have her wait in his office with a few toys until he finished with lectures, supervised by one of his teaching assistants or another trusted colleague. Occasionally though, he would have her sit behind his desk in the classroom while he taught. She had fond memories of various students 'awing' over her as she studiously took 'notes' in her coloring book, copying his mathematical formulas from the whiteboard to the best of her ability. Some of the students had even brought in stickers or little dinosaur erasers for her. She realized now that some of those girls had probably been trying to sucker her dad into a good grade, or even butter him up for a date (even though he never removed his wedding ring, and there was a picture of her mother on his desk), but it didn't make those memories any less fond for her.

It had been several years since she'd visited her dad at his work here, but she remembered the way to his office well enough. When she got there, she asked the professors who held the nearby offices with her dad where he was teaching his current class and they gave her directions.

She glanced in the door's window, surveying the room. Her dad was mid lecture, his back turned to the door as he wrote a long equation on the board. She quietly slipped into the room and took an empty seat in the back. A few of the boys near her smiled coyly and she waved awkwardly. They probably weren't that much older than her, but the attention made her a little uncomfortable. There's no way they know I'm their professor's kid. If they did, they wouldn't be flirting with me, she thought, turning her attention back to her father as he surveyed the room for questions.

Peter caught her eye and smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. They hadn't really talked over the issues she'd brought to his attention, but maybe they could start moving in that direction. Heather hoped they could. She really wanted to make this work between them. I want him to think I can handle this. I want him to be – she looked down at the long table she shared with the other students, frowning. What did she want from her father? His attention? His respect?

Once the students had cleared out of the classroom, Heather walked down the stairs while her dad erased the whiteboard. She hopped up on his desk and sat cross-legged, watching as he shut down the smartboard and gathered his notes.

"You know there's a perfectly good chair right there," Peter said, a note of amusement in his voice as he filled his briefcase with papers.

Heather pretended to think about this. "Nah, this is more comfortable."

"You hungry?" He asked.

She shrugged, "I could use a coffee."

"Of course you could," he chuckled. "I think you're more addicted to caffeine than I am. Come on, there's a cafe on campus by the library."

As they walked along the sun soaked sidewalk, Heather wondered if he felt as awkward as she did. She hated crying, and she'd done a lot of it over the weekend. Worse, she'd cried in front of him. Crying in front of Rhi or her mom was one thing, but in front of her dad it felt like she was letting him down. She knew that was probably silly, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was disappointed in her.

She glanced up at him through her tangle of auburn hair.

In the sunlight of the afternoon, her dad looked a little less worn out today than he had yesterday, but he still had dark circles under his eyes. She realized that in the little she'd seen of her dad the last few weeks, aside from when he was Spiderman, he looked older. There were crows-feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from squinting into the sun, and he had worry lines in his forehead. Her mom could easily still pass for fifteen years younger on any given day, but her dad seemed to have aged ten years since the last time she'd really looked at him. She wondered if it had to do with his lifestyle, or from worrying over their family affairs. Even superheroes had to pay the utility bill every month.

Once they had coffee and sandwiches, they found a table on the patio that was more isolated from the rest of the students. Tall ivy-covered brick walls surrounded them on three sides, and the closest students were engrossed in laptops and textbooks, their heads bobbing along to the music blasting from their over-sized headphones.

"Alright," Peter said after they'd both taken a few sips of coffee and settled in. "Let's compare notes. What do you have so far?"

Heather wrapped her hands around her paper cup, soaking warmth into her suddenly cold fingers. "Well," she hesitated. "The night Iris died, I was in Soho…" More quietly than before, she related the rest of the events from that night for her dad for what felt like the hundredth time. She managed to keep her stomach under control this time, but the ham sandwich in front of her was suddenly a lot less appetizing.

"What's so significant about Iris Chen?" Peter asked after a few moments.

"I mean, other than her dad, nothing. Valedictorian candidate, kept to her circle of friends, quiet," Heather shrugged, sipping her coffee. She grimaced as the bitter liquid made her queasiness worse. She set her cup down on the table and began picking her sandwich apart into tiny pieces.

"The mob boss, right?" Peter opened his laptop and booted it up, his brow furrowing in thought. "Your angle was a power struggle, wasn't it?"

She nodded. "Either between Mr. Chen and his brothers, or between him and the Sinister Six… that one was his guess, not mine. I hadn't even considered supervillains until he brought it up."

"Whichever it is," Peter continued as he began typing something into his computer. "Their bargaining chip against Chen is gone, which means they're going to get desperate. They'll strike again, and soon, I can feel it."

She pulled her legs up to her chest and laid her folded arms on her knees, watching him work. She put her chin on her arms. "Are you mad? You know... that I didn't tell you?"

He glanced up at her over the screen. "I'm not mad," he shook his head. "I guess I'm more… Surprised. I just assumed, well, I guess that was my first mistake. The bite did alter my DNA, of course I knew it could affect my children. When you and Harry never showed any signs, I just…" He blew out a breath and shrugged, his eyes back on the screen. "I should've known, really, and been waiting for it. I wasn't paying attention, and I'm sorry for that."

She looked down at the grass growing between cracks in the concrete. "You don't have to be sorry," she said quietly. "Just…" She looked around the patio, feeling lost. She wanted to say 'just be there, just pay attention – that's all Harry and I want', but now didn't feel like the time to bring that up again. She and her dad were getting along, and she didn't want to shatter the peace they'd made today.

He didn't seem to notice that she'd trailed off, now fully engrossed in his laptop. "Chen's main income, as far as the government is concerned, is the clubs. There's a lot of cash flowing through them night after night. Makes it very easy to hide other income and launder it through the business."

"What is his main income? Off the books that is," She asked. Up until now, she had been looking the other way when it came to Mr. Chen's illegal affairs. She'd been focusing on him as a victim in this scenario, a grieving father – that's what she'd told Mike and Rhi. She still thought of him as that, but she had to admit it would be naive on her part to ignore that the man was a mobster.

"Protection racket," Peter said crisply.

Heather frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The businesses in the neighborhood around his clubs pay him for protection against super-powered attacks – whether it's collateral damage from a hero or intentional damage from a villain," Peter explained, still typing. "He and his brothers' employees make sure that no one with powers comes anywhere near their clients, and that any damages which may occur to their stores accidentally are swiftly repaired."

"I got the impression he didn't like capes," she muttered. "But basing his whole business around keeping them away from the neighborhood feels a little overboard."

"His wife was caught in the crossfire of a meta fight with a blast of radiation. She survived, but it gave her a very aggressive form of cancer. She died within a year of the attack," He explained and Heather felt her stomach drop.

"Oh," She said, her voice suddenly small. Suddenly, Mr. Chen's comments about metas made a lot more sense. She couldn't even imagine how Iris must have felt, losing her mom so suddenly, or losing her mom at all. And Iris died because of me, a meta… "Dad, I have to go." Heather stood and gathered her messenger bag, leaving her half drunk coffee and mangled sandwich on the table.

"Go?" He finally looked up from the laptop. "Heather, we have stuff we still need to talk about."

"We'll talk later," She said over her shoulder, already hurrying away. "I'll see you at home." She didn't wait for a reply, running across campus.

"Heather!" Peter called, and she heard his loafers thudding on the sidewalk as he bolted after her. Heather ducked through knots of startled students before ducking into an alley between two buildings. She leapt over several piles of trash, but as she glanced over her shoulder to see if her dad was still following her, her legs collided with an overturned metal can and she tumbled to the asphalt.

"Heather! Are you okay?" Peter skidded to a stop as Heather was slowly getting to her hands and knees. He knelt beside her as she examined her skinned palms through blurring vision.

Heather sniffed once and swiped at her eyes with her arm, the sting of broken skin minimal compared to the lead in her chest. "I should have been able to save her. It's my fault," she muttered, sick with self-loathing.

Peter sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "C'mere kid," he said gently, pulling her into a hug.

Heather stiffened for a second in surprise before accepting the embrace. Sitting sideways to him, she leaned into his chest and held his arm. She felt his chin resting on her head and closed her eyes, letting herself just be in the moment.

"I wasn't much older than you," Peter said softly after a minute, "when I lost my girlfriend, Gwen. You remind me of her in a lot of ways. She had this spark in her, this joy… she died because I couldn't save her. One of the hardest things to accept about this job is that you can't save everyone. You can't change what happened, but you can move past it, if you learn to forgive yourself."

"I don't know if I can," Heather whispered, voice watery.

"Despite everything that you can do now, you have to remember that you're still human. You're human, Heather, and no one is perfect. You do the best you can, you remember the people you saved, and you forgive yourself for the ones you can't. That's all you can do," She felt him press a kiss into her hair and she sniffed.

"It's just so hard, Dad," she choked out between sobs.

"I know it is, kid, I know. But you're strong, Heather, just like your old man. I know you can move past this." He rubbed a hand down her back soothingly.

She couldn't remember the last time her dad had been this gentle with her, and she tried to press the feeling of this moment down into her memory, willing herself to hang onto it. Knowing that her dad didn't blame her for what happened, knowing he'd been through this too, she felt a tiny bit of the weight on her heart lift. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

After a few minutes, Heather pulled away from her dad once she felt like she wasn't going to fall apart without his support. She scrubbed her face with her skinned palms, wincing as her tears mixed into the broken patches of skin. "Well I think that's officially more emotional breakdowns in two weeks than I've had in three years."

"You've been through a lot," Peter said simply, helping her to her feet. "Come on, kid. I paid one of the students at the cafe to watch my laptop and bag, but I don't want to push my luck. Thirty bucks might not have been enough incentive to keep them from hacking my computer for test answers, but it was all I had in my wallet."

She pushed her hair out of her face and tried for a smile, "I guess if you end up with an unusual amount of hundreds on your next exam, you'll know for sure."

"The problem with my students," He complained good-naturedly as they began walking back to the cafe, "is they're too smart to make perfect grades on my tests. Knowing them, it will instead be an influx of ninety-sevens."

Heather stood in front of her siblings bedroom door, feeling ridiculous. She'd been the one who wanted to explain everything to her little brother, insisted on it to her parents, but now that she was standing here in the hallway she was hesitating. She just didn't know how he was going to react. C'mon, now or never, she thought with finality. She knocked twice then poked her head inside.

Harry was putting together one of his Star Wars Lego sets at his desk, pieces spread out in front of him in little categorized piles. On the rug in the middle of the room, Audrey was stacking letter blocks and Heather could tell she was trying to imitate the way Harry had his toys organized.

Heather felt the familiar warmth of affection glow in her chest as she watched her siblings play. She'd been so excited when her parents told her she was going to be a big sister. No matter how much her brother and sister annoyed her at times, she loved them more than just about anything or anyone else. As Harry looked up from the section of the Millennium Falcon he was working on, it occurred to Heather that part of the reason she worried about telling them the truth was the same reason her dad hadn't told her. She wanted to keep them safe.

If no one tells you to look both ways before crossing the street, then how would you ever know there's danger? Heather thought, and that made up her mind. "Hey guys," she said, coming inside to sit on the floor opposite Audrey.

Her little sister grinned at her, crawling into her lap for a snuggle. Heather held her tight for a minute, before letting the toddler go back to her blocks.

"What's up?" Harry asked, signing at the same time. It was a habit both he and Heather had developed to make sure their sister was able to keep up with the conversation.

"I wanted to talk to you both about something important," Heather explained, taking a deep breath. "You know how I've been kind of weird lately?"

"Lately?" Harry teased with a raised eyebrow.

"Brat," Heather replied automatically, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I wanted you guys to hear this from me and not from Mom and Dad. Dad and I, well…" She wasn't sure how to put this into words. Maybe she should have thought of that instead of focusing on how her brother would react to her news.

Maybe straight forward is best, Heather decided when Harry just looked at her. Audrey looked confused at her sister's unfinished sentence. "You and Dad what?" The toddler asked.

"Dad… Dad is Spiderman," Heather said finally, "and I have powers too."

Harry blinked at her for a few seconds. "Sorry, could you run that by me again? I think I had a stroke, because what I thought I heard you say is you and Dad have superpowers."

"You're so dramatic," Heather rolled her eyes again out of habit.

"No, seriously, what the hell Heather?" Harry asked, so distracted that he even cursed in sign language.

"Harry!" Heather scolded.

"Heather!" Harry repeated emphatically, and she noticed that his face had gone pale.

She took a deep breath. "Right. Sorry. Alright let me just explain everything I know from the beginning." It took several minutes, especially with Harry making her backtrack at certain points, but finally she sat back on the palms of her hands and watched her siblings gather their thoughts.

Audrey, she could tell, didn't necessarily understand everything but got the basic gist. "You can...?" She asked, throwing out her arms like she was shooting off webbing. Heather figured she must have seen Spiderman doing the move on TV at some point.

She smiled at her little sister, feeling a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I can. I'm really strong now too."

"Is that why?" Harry said quietly. Heather focused on him, noticing how he'd crossed his arms and was staring at the floor but not really seeing it. "Is that why he's never around?"

Heather frowned sympathetically. "Partially, yeah. I do think he's really busy with work as well, but…"

"Are you going to be gone all the time now, too?" Heather felt her heart clench at the sight of her little brother tearing up.

"Hey," Heather said softly, leaning forward to lay her hand on his knee.

He rubbed his eyes and sniffed once. "I just – I mean who's going to help me with homework if you're always gone too?"

She smiled sadly, knowing there was more he wanted to say but didn't know how to. "I'm not going to disappear on you, bud. I guess you could say… it's like I have a new after school job, you know? It's just something I have to fit into my schedule now. Besides, I doubt Dad's going to let me be out with him past midnight on a school night. You and Audrey are always going to come before anything else."

Harry looked skeptical, but he nodded. "Okay, Heather." Slowly he smiled, lifting a questioning eyebrow. "So, you gonna show us?"

Heather colored, feeling embarrassed. "It's not that impressive," she muttered.

"C'mon, Spidergirl," He teased.

"Black Widow, actually," she corrected, getting to her feet. "'Spidergirl' is lame."

"Noted. So?" He rolled his hand like, 'get on with it'.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Heather sighed, and yet she couldn't help smiling. Her little brother looked excited for her, which was better than she ever could have hoped for. Being careful to avoid stepping on any of Audrey's toys, she approached a relatively bare section of wall and crawled up it to hang from the ceiling by her fingertips.

Audrey giggled in delight and Harry laughed. "Holy crap," he sputtered between chuckles. "I didn't really believe you until now," he admitted, craning his neck back to gawk at her.

"Believe it, little brother."

"You're not dizzy? From like, blood going to your head or something?"

"Surprisingly no. Weird huh?"

"It's awesome," he grinned at her. "I finally have a cool big sister."

"What do you mean 'finally'?"

Chapter Text

"Alright, kid. Time for ground rules," Peter said, and Heather tried not to vibrate in excitement. They had met on the rooftop of their apartment building after she finished school the next day. They were both in civvies for the moment, not wanting to draw undue attention if possible.

"You need to take this seriously," Peter said, taking in how her sneakers were tapping out a rhythm on the tarmac.

"I am taking this very seriously," Heather protested, crossing her arms to keep her body still.

"Right," Her dad said, frowning at her grin. "Okay, rules. You only go out with me, never alone. You listen to what I tell you, you don't question my judgment."

"So, basically I'm nine and going on a field trip," She quipped, smirking as his frown deepened. "I'm joking, Dad. I get it. You call the shots, so noted. Anything else?"

Peter sighed and ruffled his brown hair. "I suppose… Do you have any questions? About your powers, or something else?"

There was something in his tone, something Heather couldn't quite put her finger on, that made her wary. "I mean," she trailed off. "How come the precognition-"

"Spider-sense," Peter corrected reflexively.

"Whatever you call it," She rolled her eyes, waving away the semantics. "Why doesn't it always work? It only works like eighty-five percent of the time. Sure, it keeps me from getting flattened by a car, but sometimes it doesn't register a punch before it's about to hit my skull and the only thing I have time to do is brace myself for the hit."

"You're not fully in tune with it yet," He explained, taking a seat on the parapet and leaning his elbows on his knees. "That takes time."

"I don't really have the luxury of time," She said, sitting cross-legged in front of him and leaning back on her hands. "I mean, if there's a building falling down around me and I don't know there's a steel beam about to cave my skull in," she shrugged. "I'm pretty well screwed at that point."

Peter seemed to mull this over, "Maybe I can help you hone it. I didn't have anyone to help me, so maybe we can speed up the process for you. Close your eyes."

Heather blinked. "What? Why?"

"Kid, what did I say?"

"Right, you're the boss," Heather sighed and obediently closed her eyes.

"Focus on it. There's a feeling right at the base of your neck, a kind of tingling," Peter paused, clearly waiting. "Do you feel it?" He prompted.

Heather's eyes scrunched in concentration. After a few moments, she did feel it. That slightly cold tingling she'd felt almost all her life. The familiar feeling was stronger when she actually focused on it. Before now, it had always been background noise, a kind of static she'd notice periodically. Now, instead of a feeling at the back of her neck, she felt the tingling all over her body. "It…" she hesitated, struggling to describe it. "It's like my whole body is covered by it. Do you remember that time I got sunburned at Montauk Beach?"

Peter was quiet for several seconds and Heather opened her eyes. He looked confused. "No?"

"Oh sure you do," She said, leaning forward. "I was like, I don't know, maybe four? We rented a cabin on the beach, and I spent the whole day swimming and making sandcastles with you and mom. She thought you had put sunscreen on me, you thought she had done it, and by the end of the day I was red as a fire hydrant. That night mom coated me in aloe vera gel across my whole body, and I slept on a bunch of towels on the bed."

Peter shifted his eyes to the side. "Oh, right. Yeah, I remember now."

She frowned at him. He's lying. He doesn't remember at all. Why would he not remember that? "Anyway," she continued after a moment, deciding to let it go, "The spider-sense feels exactly like the aloe vera – like cold and tingly all over my body. Is that how it's supposed to feel?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment. "Sort of. For me, it's a vibration I feel down my spine. Like a jolt of electricity when you touch a live wire, but somehow it's not painful."

"I wonder why it's different?" She mused, tilting her head back once more to watch the clouds roll by for a second.

"Did you have any other questions?"

"About my powers, or life, the universe, and everything?"

"You are such a smartass."

"It's one of my many talents. I dunno, I guess like… what kind of limits do we have? Strength and stamina, that stuff? I've only done some limited testing. I know I can lift at least seven hundred pounds without really any effort, but I know I've seen you pick up cars."

"Some cars," he corrected, lifting a finger. "It's a struggle if it's bigger than a minivan. I certainly can't hold an entire bus. It took some training to get there though. With cars it's more about the angle you pick it up at than the weight itself. Surprisingly cars weren't built to be lifted by hand, so you have to make sure you have a good grip or you'll just rip the bumper off. Don't worry kid, we'll work up to throwing cars, after we make sure you can help an old lady across the street."

"Is that a 'friendly neighborhood Spiderman' kind of thing? It's been awhile since I've seen you help someone get a cat from a tree," she couldn't hide her smirk.

"I guess the cats have gotten smarter," he said dryly. "Everyone has to start small, kid. Like I said, we'll work you up to villains you'll need to throw cars at."

Heather wanted to say something about how Iris needed her murder solved now, regardless of Black Widow's ability to chuck cars around, but she didn't get the chance. Peter's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket. He frowned thoughtfully at the screen.

"Scratch that. Grab your suit kid, we're taking a field trip."

"When you said 'taking a field trip', this isn't quite what I had in mind," Heather shouted over the sounds of pandemonium. She and her dad had swung uptown to find Electro and Scorpion in the midst of robbing an armored bank truck, civilians screaming and scattering in terror. Electro had used his electric powers to melt the tires to the pavement, while Scorpion was spraying acid at the back doors to open them. The two security officers were still in the truck, realizing the safest place to be was behind bulletproof glass and reinforced steel in the cab, and Heather could hardly blame them.

"You wanted field experience, right? Welcome to my life, kid," Spiderman gestured at the two supervillains, his other hand gripping the glass of the building he and Black Widow were hanging from.

"So, plan?" She asked, braid whipping in the wind as she peered down. Her new goggles showed that the door of the truck was at seventy percent integrity and dropping. They'll have it open in a few minutes, she thought.

Spiderman snapped his fingers at her, "I'll draw their fire and take them out, you get any civilians still in the area out of harm's way. We'll have this wrapped up in no time."

Black Widow frowned at him but nodded. "You're the boss. Damage control it is."

She shot off a line and arced around the corner, out of sight of the supervillains. Once back on the pavement, she scanned the street for anyone hiding from the danger. She could hear her dad throwing bad puns and insults, along with the sounds of fighting, but as much as she wanted to help she focused on her assigned task. She found a businessman hiding on the floor of a cab, and she pulled open the door, reaching in a hand to help him to his feet.

The man hesitated and she gave him her best friendly grin. "C'mon, I'm a lot less scary than those guys. Let's get you out of here."

He nodded, acknowledging she had a point and let her help him climb out of the cab. "Stay low and take the side street to get out of here," she advised, glancing quickly at the fight to make sure her dad was still in one piece before refocusing.

"Thanks," the man said before taking off.

BW darted across the street, weaving between abandoned idling cars, eyes alert for more hiding New Yorkers. She found a mom huddling behind a car with her two kids, and she escorted them out of the danger zone as quickly as she could before returning to her search. The streets were basically empty at that point, or so it seemed until she found three teens about the same age as her. They were recording the fight with their phones (and probably live streaming it) from the doorway of a bodega.

"Dudes, I know you want those clicks, but you guys have to go," Black Widow whispered, startling them.

Two Asian boys and a black girl blinked at her, and while the boys dropped their phones, the girl trained her camera on Heather. "Who're you?" She asked as her friends grabbed their backpacks.

"Your friendly neighborhood Black Widow," Heather said dryly. "C'mon guys, it's not safe here. Let's get you -" Her spider-sense suddenly spiked. "Look out!" Whipping around, she barely had time to register a car flying towards them before she was leaping across an abandoned cab, planting her feet and bracing herself to catch it.

She had just enough time to think, this is probably a bad idea, before two thousand pounds slammed into her. Metal screeched, glass shattered, someone was screaming. She only realized later it was her.

The force of the impact pushed her into the cab doors, metal bending around her body like a cocoon as the trunk of the sedan compacted like an accordion. For a moment, everything froze as she dug her heels into the concrete, holding the car aloft and trying not to think about how her muscles felt like jello. Then gravity came back and she let it help her drop the car onto the road. She leaned over the crumpled trunk, exhausted for a moment as her brain caught up with her shaking muscles.

"Whoo!" Someone shouted from behind her. She lifted her head up and turned it towards the sound, finding the girl still had her phone out. "That was so wicked!"

Widow gave a shaky thumbs up, then slowly climbed out of the metal cocoon. "L-Like I said," She took a breath to steady her racing heart. "Really dangerous. You guys need to go!"

"We're going," One of the boys said, tugging at his friend's elbow. The other boy was already running down the street. The girl still seemed rooted to the spot until her friend gave another more forceful yank.

"Okay, okay," she said, reluctantly putting her phone in her pocket and taking her bag from him. "Thanks, Black Widow!" She called over her shoulder as she was jogging after the boys.

Widow gave a wave then scanned the street for more people from the roof of the cab, but she couldn't see anyone else crazy enough to stick around. Another terrific crash caught her attention and she saw that Electro had launched another car at Spiderman, which he dodged just in time. The car took out a mailbox and she winced, watching as letters exploded everywhere, littering the street. Someone is not getting their mail on time today, she thought.

Wait, if Electro is throwing cars like the world's worst bouncy balls, what's Scorpion doing? She swung her gaze down to the armored truck, alarmed when she saw Scorpion was still pouring acid onto the back doors from his tail. She tapped her goggles and the display told her the integrity of the doors was down to thirty percent. Shit, okay we need a new plan, she shot off a line and leaped up, swinging across the damaged city street before landing on the roof of the truck.

"Did you fill out a withdrawal slip, sir?" She quipped as she rolled into a handstand, springing back and kicking her feet into the villain's face. Scorpion cried out in pain, clutching his face as she landed behind him.

She swung her leg out in a low roundhouse kick, hoping to knock the man off his feet, but he was faster than she'd anticipated. His tail whipped around behind her, shoving her off balance and into the side of a van. Dizzy, she stepped back from the van only for Scorpion to wrap his tail around her torso, pinning her arms and squeezing her tight.

Widow immediately began struggling for breath from the vice grip. She kicked her legs and strained with all her enhanced strength to loosen his grip as he held her above him, glaring at her.

"Ohh looky here, Spiderman has a new friend! I wasn't expecting someone so young… or pretty," Scorpion growled, grinning at her as he squeezed his tail impossibly tighter.

"I'm not looking to be anybody's main squeeze right now," Black Widow retorted with her limited breath. She turned her wrist and flicked her hand, shooting a ball of thick webbing directly at his face. Caught by surprise as the webbing spread across his eyes, nose and mouth, Scorpion dropped her and she rolled under several cars to get away.

Panting on the asphalt, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to collect her scattered, panicky thoughts.

"Kid!"

She opened her eyes and got to her feet quickly. Spiderman had webbed a dazed Electro to a lamp pole before flipping over to her. "You good?"

"Scorpion's got quite the crush on me," She grumbled, rubbing her ribs which were definitely bruised if not cracked.

"He does that. I told you to do damage control." She knew he was glaring at her. She decided to pretend she didn't know.

"Street's clear. We need to hurry and take them down before they get the truck open. There's no telling how much cash is in there," She pointed at the truck just as Scorpion managed to shred her webbing with a roar of anger.

"What happened to 'you're the boss'?" He folded his arms, and she very much wanted to scream in frustration.

"Well, boss," she said slowly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you suggest we do?"

Spiderman seemed to think this over for a moment, and she could see over his shoulder that Electro was coming to his senses. "How about we switch dance partners?"

"Ready when you are," Widow said, watching Electro break out of the webbing, angry sparks flying in every direction. "Any advice?"

"Electricity hurts, so… don't get hit?" He offered with a shrug.

"You are the worst mentor ever," She growled, rolling her eyes as she ran towards her opponent. Jumping from car to car, she leaped into the air, spun tightly and kicked out at the electric villain's head. The hit knocked him down, but she knew he was not out. The rubber soles of her shoes had grounded her somewhat against his voltage. Even so, she'd felt a jolt run up her legs, rattling her teeth. As she landed on the side of a building, the air around her was practically crackling with electricity and she could feel the hair of her arms standing on end.

"So the rumors were true," Electro said in a surprisingly deep voice. "The bug took on a brat."

"Technically, we're arachnids," Widow said, using her webbing to pull herself out of the way as he shot an arc of electricity towards her. "But let's not get semantic, right?"

"Just as annoying as him too," He grumbled, pulling electricity from the city grid into a ball in his hands. Around them, lights and electronics sparked and flickered.

"Someone's gotta bring the jokes. You guys aren't exactly a barrel of laughs," She said, somersaulting in mid air to avoid the large ball of electricity he chucked at her. She heard it impact the building behind her, a sea of sparks raining onto the street below.

"What are you two planning on doing with all that cash, anyway?" Widow wasn't really expecting an answer, she was just trying to keep him focused on her and lead him further away from his partner. "Is there a new iPhone dropping this week and I missed the memo?"

Electro smirked at her but didn't answer. He's smarter than he looks then, BW thought, swinging further away from Spiderman's fight with Scorpion. She was getting quite desperate to think of a plan which didn't end in her getting barbecued. I really don't want to test just how many volts it takes to kill me… or even how many it takes to do serious damage. Shaking the thought from her head, she scanned the street before her eyes landed on a fire hydrant and an idea came to her. Surely it's not that simple?

Her spider-sense screamed at her to move – now!

Letting her webline go, she used her built up momentum, pulled in her arms and spun away from where she felt the danger coming. Time seemed to slow as she saw the arc of electricity that had been aimed for her head barely pass by her. Too close, too close, too close! She thought, landing on a truck and crouching low to make herself a smaller target. That was way too close. Okay, let's finish this now before I get turned into a crispy critter.

"Yo, is that all you got!" Black Widow shouted, heart hammering in her chest. "You couldn't hit the Empire State Building!" She taunted, then immediately leapt to the side as he fired at the truck.

Electro growled and fired off shot after shot, Widow dodging with a series of backflips and handsprings. She could see he was tiring, she just needed to keep this up long enough to… "Ahh!"

Widow screamed as electricity coursed through her body, the force slamming her into the back window of a cab. Glass pieces stabbed into her back as her body convulsed for several long, painful seconds. "Shit," she hissed through clenched teeth, slowly rolling away from the broken window and laying on her stomach across the trunk.

"You don't look so good, kid," Electro said smiling as he slowly approached her, conjuring a new ball of electricity. "Let's put you out of your misery."

"Funny," she said through gritted teeth, "I was thinking the same thing." She shot a webline at the fire hydrant which Electro was now conveniently standing right across from and yanked hard. The hydrant cap ripped off and a geyser of water gushed out, pushing the villain into the concrete wall of the building across the street.

As the man screamed in agony, Widow finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She let her body go limp until she heard Electro go unconscious. Slowly sliding off the trunk and onto her feet, she stumbled a little and had to hold onto the car for support.

"Widow!" Spiderman called, and she looked up. He jogged up to her, and she could see Scorpion was unconscious in a net hanging from a flagpole. "You okay?" He asked and the concern lacing his voice took away some of her frustration with him.

"We need to stop meeting like this," She joked, trying not to visibly lean on the car even though it felt like it was the only thing that was holding her up.

"Let me see," He said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder as he examined the damage to her back.

"Is it bad?" She asked. She felt his fingers prodding at the shards of glass sticking out of her back, and her costume felt vaguely wet but weirdly she didn't feel much. She'd felt more pain from the electricity than the impact with the glass.

"I think it looks worse than it is," He said, sighing. She heard the 'fwip' of his webbing and felt it covering her back in a fine mist. "I'm going to cover this so we can keep it clean until we can get it looked at."

"Where?" She asked quietly, leaning against the car more fully. She was disassociating, she knew this, but she couldn't seem to stay focused.

"Widow, hey! C'mon kid, stay with me," Spiderman gave her arm a hard shake.

"Right, right," She swallowed against the feeling of cotton in her mouth. "I'm here. I'm here," She tried to stand up straighter only to fall into his arms. "Shit, sorry. My head really hurts, Dad," she murmured.

"We'll talk about getting a swear jar later when you're not falling over," He leaned over and scooped her up onto his hip like she was a little kid. She wanted to whine at him that she didn't need him to carry her, but her head really did hurt. The thought of trying to websling right now made her feel like vomiting.

"Sorry Dad," she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Kid, ixnay on the ecretsay identitiesyay," He advised as he swung them up and away just as the cops appeared on the scene to take care of the two villains.

"What the fuck does that mean?" She muttered.

"New ground rule, when we're in the field, I'm Spiderman. Not 'dad'. Clear?"

"Oh. Yeah, got it."

"We meet again, Miss Widow," Dr. Banner said as he walked into the med room at Avengers Tower.

Heather gave a limp wave from the exam table she was laying across. "Sup, Dr. Banner? Sorry about getting blood all over the lab – ow!" She frowned, trying to look over her shoulder at where Tony Stark was pulling glass from her back. "Can you be a little more careful?"

"You shouldn't be able to feel anything with how much local anesthesia we've used," Tony said, bemused. She could see he was wearing gloves speckled with blood, and held an alarming large piece of glass with a pair of tweezers.

"I told you Tony, our metabolism is much faster than even Cap's. We burn through medication like kindling if it's not strong enough. Come on kid, you don't want to watch that." Spiderman was sitting on a stool in front of her, and he gently pulled Heather's head back towards him.

"Why do I still feel loopy if I've already burned through the pain meds?" Heather asked, squeezing her dad's hand tightly when she felt Tony pull another chunk from her back.

"Sometimes the side effects take longer to work through our body than the meds themselves," Peter shrugged.

Why did he leave his mask on? Everyone here knows who he is, right? Heather thought, frowning. She understood why her dad told her to leave hers on, even if she trusted everyone in this building to literally save her life; she was still a minor and she liked being anonymous.

"You still with me, kid?" He asked, poking her nose.

She blinked and couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her. The giggle turned into a hiss as Tony pulled what had to be a very impressive glass piece out. "Shit," she growled.

"Language," Bruce said from the computer, and Tony snorted behind her.

"Have you ever been on Twitter? The kid is practically rated G in comparison," the mechanic said, punctuating his statement by dropping the glass piece into a metal tray.

"Yeah, no I avoid Twitter for… obvious reasons," Bruce replied dryly, making Heather giggle again.

"If this is what she's like on pain meds, I would love to see this kid drunk," Tony said with a chuckle.

"I am so much fun drunk," Heather confessed, then flushed when her dad just facepalmed.

"Swear jar and an alarm on your window, kid," He said only loud enough that she could hear.

"Alright Webby Jr, I need to start stitching these up. It's probably going to hurt worse than it has up to now, but I need you to be still, okay?" Tony got up to get a fresh pair of gloves and the supplies he needed. "By the way, is there a reason you didn't take her to the only actual medical doctor on the roster? Even with his nerve damage, Strange could have fixed her up a lot better than I can."

"There's an avenger with a medical license?" Heather asked at the same time that Peter answered, "We're not on speaking terms right now… or ever. It's a long story."

"What did you do to piss Strange off?" Bruce asked, typing at something on his laptop.

"Let's just say he and I had a difference of opinion."

Heather frowned at that, picking at the IV in her arm. She wanted to ask more about it, but something told her Peter wouldn't say anything else in front of the others, and she was starting to feel exhaustion creep in, replacing the adrenaline from that afternoon. Her back was to the windows, but she could tell from the light streaming into the room casting long shadows that it was evening now. "Could you give me something else before he starts poking at me with a needle?" She asked quietly, and was surprised when her dad caressed her cheek gently, like he used to when she was little and sick.

"Sure kid. Let me just dig through the cabinet and see what they've got on hand. They've had to bandage me up before, so there should be something stronger than the morphine he gave you to start. Might make you more tired though."

"That's alright. Sleep sounds pretty good right now," She confessed, a little embarrassed. On the one hand, she hated how needy she felt. She hadn't needed her dad to take care of her for a long time now, she normally even brushed off her mom when she was sick. But on the other hand, there was something about the mixture of adrenaline, corticotropin, and morphine in her body – not to mention realizing just how badly things could have gone today – that made her feel young and vulnerable.

If I'd gotten hit by Electro more than once, or if the glass from the cab had hit the wrong spot… She tried to mentally shake the thoughts away. There was no point fixating on them now.

"You think you can handle school tomorrow?" He asked as he got up to dig through a metal and glass cabinet.

"If I heal up as fast as I did from that bullet wound, probably. Maybe someone should write me a note for gym class though," She raised an eyebrow at him and he shot her a look over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't count on it," He said shortly and she groaned.

Chapter Text

Heather opened her eyes, blinking in unfamiliar darkness. The room was lit dimly by lighting strips along the floor, and every surface seemed to be either concrete or gleaming steel. The bed she was laying on didn't feel like hers. She reached up to wipe her eyes and came into contact with her goggles. Oh, right. Avenger's tower. I got hurt. Am I still hurt? What time is it?

She sat up and a few motion sensor lights came on dimly. She was grateful for that, it meant her retinas weren't going to kill her. She tried her best to feel her back where Tony had stitched her up, but she could only reach so far and her fingers only came into contact with bandages. They don't really hurt, it's just uncomfortable. Have they already healed?

She pulled her phone out of her belt, checking the time. Almost eleven, so I slept for around six hours. Slowly, she slid off the bed and tested the ground beneath her boots, waiting for nausea which never came. This fast healing stuff is weird, man. I don't hurt exactly, but I feel so stiff and my muscles ache.

She slowly approached the med bay entrance, frowning. Where's Dad, anyway? Surely he wouldn't have left without me? The double doors swished open for her automatically and she walked down the echoey hallway, glancing at closed doors curiously. None of the doors opened for her, and the few that she tried were locked.

She thought of just breaking one open, she definitely could, but decided against it. I probably wouldn't like it if someone broke my bedroom door just because they were curious and they could.

She wandered around the dimly lit hallways for a couple of minutes before eventually stumbling upon a conference room. She was about to dismiss it as being empty as well before she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Tony was sitting at the far end of the table, his face dimly lit by a holoscreen, apparently engrossed in work. She didn't want to interrupt him, but she still hadn't found her dad, or anyone else for that matter.

Heather tapped on the glass door just loud enough that the engineer would hear her, but not so loud that she would startle him. "Hey, um, do you know where d- Spiderman is?" She could have kicked herself for almost slipping again. She had to start thinking before she spoke.

"Back from the dead, kiddo?" Tony asked instead, taking a sip from a mug of coffee.

"Yeah, I feel a lot better, thanks," She admitted as she approached where he sat at the end of the table. She folded her arms awkwardly. "Do you know where he went?"

The dark haired man shrugged, puffing out a breath. "Ahh, he said something to the effect of 'I have a spidery idea that I must go hunt down like a fly in my web' then took off."

She raised an eyebrow he couldn't see. "Oh. Right. Did he leave a message for me?"

He kept typing on his holopad with one hand as he gestured vaguely with the other. "What am I, your secretary?" He asked sarcastically, but she could tell there was no real heat behind the words and it made her smirk. "'Don't be late for class', were his exact words… Maybe. Possibly. I wasn't really listening? Hard to pay attention to someone who dresses brighter than a billboard."

"Great," She pushed her goggles up on her head and rubbed her eyes.

"Need a lift? I can arrange for a car to take you home," He offered, and she appreciated how genuine he sounded.

"Nah, it's cool. I can make my own way," She shrugged, and winced when she felt an uncomfortable tugging. "Hey, you think you could double check the stitching? It kind of feels weird."

"What are you trying to say? I don't know how to stitch?" He pointed at her, tone mock-serious. "I'll have you know I have stitched myself up more times than either of us could count."

Heather hopped up on the conference table and crossed her legs, turning her back to him and pulling her hair to the side. "I don't doubt it, Mr. Stark. I meant no offense," she said, trying not to laugh.

She heard him stand up. "I'm sure the star-spangled banner would prefer we do this in a more sterile environment, but sure, the conference room works too. Hey, let me ask you something, what's up with you and webhead?"

"What do you mean?" She hedged, hyper aware of his hands as they pulled at the tape holding the gauze in place.

"You seemed pretty hostile the last time you were here, and now… well not so much," He said, the unspoken question clear.

"We…" Heather waved her hand helplessly, then sighed. "I don't know. I guess you could say we came to an understanding."

"Oh yeah, no I totally get that," Tony said in a tone she couldn't decipher, then made a humming noise of surprise. "Look at that. We can take the stitches out. At this rate, you'll just have scratches by tomorrow night. Hang on, let me grab some scissors."

She glanced over her shoulder, watching as he rummaged through a drawer. "He's…" She started, then stopped. "He can be a lot," she finally finished, knowing it was a lame answer.

"Yeah, my old man was 'a lot' too," Tony said as he came back with the scissors and Heather felt her breath hitch. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"How long have you known?" She finally asked.

"Basically from the moment you walked into the tower that first day," He shrugged, staring at the scissors as he fiddled with them. "I knew Webby had a family - we all did. Not like he's ever brought them to a Christmas party or something, but I'm nosy. It's not too hard to find what you want on the net these days. No one else on the team has figured it out though. Not the brightest bulbs in the pack sometimes."

"Does he know that you know?"

"I don't really care if he does," He smirked. "But we can keep this between us, if it makes you more comfortable. Like I said, my old man was a tool too."

"He's not always so bad," She defended weakly. She looked ahead again as he started sniping the threads and tugging them out. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Sometimes it's like… like I don't recognize him, or maybe he doesn't recognize me. Like he's a stranger." She felt her eyes stinging and she blinked quickly.

Tony hummed again. "If you were anyone else, I'd be tempted to tell you that it's because you're a teen and that's a normal feeling."

"But I'm not, so...?" She trailed off, waiting.

He tugged the last of the thread out of her back and she turned on the tabletop to watch him throw the trash away. "So, I say trust your instincts," he dropped the scissors on the counter and met her gaze. "Something feels off? It probably is."

"What would you do if you were me?" She asked, her voice smaller than she meant.

"Find the thing that doesn't belong," He offered his hand and helped her to her feet. "Don't stop until you do."

"Dude!" Rhi hissed as she slid into her seat beside Heather the next morning, breaking her train of thought.

"What?" Heather asked in the same hushed tone.

"You are blowing up all over social media!" Rhi showed Heather her phone, and the redhead recognized the video the girl from yesterday had shot of her. She watched as her past self leapt into action and caught the car which had come flying out of nowhere. "That was so cool!" Rhi whispered, grabbing her friend's arm and shaking it in excitement.

Heather flushed. "It wasn't that big of a deal," she muttered, embarrassed. "Not long after that I almost got barbecued and sliced to ribbons. Which reminds me," she added with a wince, "I kind of need you to fix my suit."

Rhi shook her head affectionately. "It's a good thing I love you. You'd never be able to afford my services otherwise."

"Wait, was I supposed to be paying you?" Heather asked, smirking.

Rhi gave her a playful shove. "Of course not, dork. What do you take me for? Just bring it to Coach's place after school and I'll stitch it right up."

"Thanks," Heather smiled, then caught sight of the video looping on Rhi's phone and frowned. Dad never came home last night… he wasn't there this morning either. He would have called me if there was a problem, right? But he went after that lead without me, so how can I know that he would? Is Mr. Stark right? Is there something he's not telling me?

"What's wrong?" Rhi said, recognizing the troubled look in her friend's eye.

"Just thinking about some advice I got last night," Heather shook her head. "Don't worry about it." Their teacher's entrance ended the conversation, but Heather could tell that Rhi wanted to ask more. The problem was, she didn't know what to tell her.

The rest of the school day felt like it went by in a blur. Before Heather knew it, the final bell had sounded and she found herself leaving in the crush of students with her friends.

Later, she looked down at her notebooks, frowning. "I'm not sure I took good notes today," she admitted once the three of them were squished onto a subway bench meant for two people, with Rhi sitting on Mike's lap to make room.

"You seem like you were somewhere else today," Mike observed.

"Just something I've been thinking about," Heather said evasively.

"Does it have to do with that other thing we're not supposed to talk about?" Rhi asked, making Heather chuckle at her not so subtle hint.

"Sort of," She admitted. She watched the traffic below the tracks pass by in a blur. "I don't want to talk about it until I have more information," she said eventually and her friends nodded.

"Just as long as it's not as earth-shattering as the last time you had something to tell us, I'm good," Mike joked and Heather smiled tightly.

This is so stupid, Heather thought later. I'm being paranoid, absolutely ridiculous.

"You good, kid?" Coach asked her as he watched her pace restlessly on the rafters above.

"Peachy," She ground out, irritated. "I'm freaking peachy."

"Just asking," Holldar glanced at Rhi and Mike quizzically. Mike spread his hands cluelessly. Rhi just shook her head, hands busy working the sewing machine.

"Almost done, Heather," Rhi said, hoping the news would ease some of the tension in her friend's demeanor.

"Thanks, Rhi," Heather said, bending into a backflip to walk on her hands.

"You get tired of pacing on your feet?" Mike teased, but his friend seemed too distracted to answer.

Once her suit was fixed, Heather took it and changed quickly, leaving the gym with only a short, "See ya," thrown over her shoulder.

"What's eating her?" Coach asked, scratching his salt and pepper hair.

"I wish I knew," Rhi said quietly.

"You want me to do what?"

"We both know you heard me, Mr. Stark," Heather said, crossing her arms impatiently.

"First of all, it's Tony. If you're going to demand things from me, we should be on a first name basis," he said, pushing back from his desk to look at her properly, ignoring the many flashing apps and graphics on his holo computer for a moment. "Secondly, what makes you think I can even do that?"

"Because you're Iron Man," She counted off on her fingers. "Because you have access to some of the most cutting edge tech in the world; because I know you have a DNA sample on everyone on the roster in the database; and because you said I shouldn't ignore it when I know something isn't right."

He frowned at her, narrowing his eyes. "Damn, I did say that." He sighed, rubbing his eyes, debating with himself. "Look, I sympathize, and I really do think he's hiding something but this… this takes things to a new level. If I do this, it's going to cause a literal shit storm. You have to appreciate the position this puts me in," He leaned forward in his office chair, elbows on his knees. "Have you tried just asking him?"

"Oh okay, sure," She paced the office, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll just ask him whether he's really my father. He's definitely going to tell me the truth, not brush me off, or lie to me. Just like he told me about that lead he had last night? Just like he called me today to tell me what the hell is happening, not leaving me worried sick all day. Yeah, he's all about telling the truth!"

"Kid, take the dramatics down a notch," He rubbed his forehead like he was getting a headache.

"I'm almost seventeen years old, I am not a child!" She snapped, feeling at her wits end. He gave her a pointed look and she closed her eyes, taking a long breath to collect herself. "I don't even have the option to ask him, Tony. He's missing. I called my mom on the way here, she hasn't heard from him either and she's trying not to freak out."

"So how is doing a paternity test going to help you right now?" Tony spread his hands out, exasperated.

"Neither of us have tracking chips or anything. I even tried pinging his phone and that was a total bust," Heather said, pushing her goggles up to rub at her tired eyes. "I got to thinking today, maybe you can track him because we share the same radioactive DNA? But, that's only if we actually do share it. If he's not my dad, then I'll have to figure out another way to find him. It's worth a shot, right?" She tried not to sound as desperate as she felt, but it was clear he could see right through her.

He got up and walked to the floor to ceiling window, looking down at the skyline below, his hands in his pockets. Just when she thought he was going to say no, he turned to her, a thoughtful look on his face. "I can't help much with this but," He held up his finger significantly. "I do happen to know an expert in radiation. Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

The disembodied voice of the AI startled Heather for a moment. She'd nearly forgotten about Tony's invisible assistant.

"Call Banner, tell him to meet us in the lab ASAP."

"Right away."

"Come on, kid, let's go do some science," He grinned at her, like a kid on Christmas. Despite her mounting fears and anxiety, she found herself smiling too. Finally… answers.

An hour later - which Heather knew because she'd been checking the clock every five seconds - she wasn't smiling anymore. Tony and Bruce were crowded close together, examining the results on the holo screen in front of them, their backs to her. She sat on the exam table she'd slept on the day before, legs curled to her chest, unwilling to look at the results herself.

She picked at the now useless bandaid on her inner elbow where Bruce had drawn a blood sample from her earlier. "God, will one of you just say something already?" She finally demanded. Her whole body was a tightly coiled spring, ready to explode.

Bruce ran his hand through his dark curls, as he turned to look at her. Tony leaned closer to the screen, frowning like he was willing the information to make sense.

"It's a yes… and a no?" Bruce finally said, shrugging his shoulders.

Heather blinked at him. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Yes, you have the DNA markings of Peter Parker as your father, but… it's only thirty percent," Bruce explained slowly as he sat down on a stool by the exam table.

"That's," Heather blinked. "That's not how DNA is supposed to work. Right?" She glanced between the two Avengers, confused. "Isn't it supposed to be fifty from the mom and fifty from the dad?"

"Technically yes," Dr. Banner said, looking at Tony. When the mechanic failed to add to the conversation and instead read over the results with more scrutiny, going so far as to pull out a holo projection of Heather's DNA to manipulate, Bruce continued. "Although we do know that in some cases, children can get slightly more genetic material from one parent over the other, like when a child inherits a rare disease that was only present on one side of the family. But for the most part, the fifty/fifty rule stays true."

"So how did I end up with seventy from my mother and thirty from dad? That… I mean, I shouldn't exist, right? Isn't that what happens when something messes up with the gametes, the fetus dies?"

"Usually," Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's complicated."

"You guys don't know what any of this means, do you?" Heather realized, wanting to scream in frustration.

"Actually," Tony finally said, having pulled up her DNA model to the size of a full grown man. "I think I have an idea."

"Care to share with the class?" Heather said, jumping off the table to circle the model. Her knowledge of high school AP biology only told her so much from staring at the rotating double helix though.

"You remember that one guy who gave webhead so much trouble?" Tony spun towards Bruce, ignoring Heather's question. "Maybe fifteen odd years ago? What was his name?" He snapped his fingers repeatedly, trying to jog his memory. "Wolf? Dingo? Hyena?"

Bruce frowned. "Jackal?"

Tony clapped his hands. "That's it - Jackal! Ohh, I mean the guy was brilliant, but totally deranged."

Bruce nodded slowly, like the pieces were beginning to come together for him. "He was at the forefront of his field. The technology was cutting edge, even if it didn't always produce perfect results. Didn't matter to that guy though. Couldn't ever get past his own ego."

"I'm beginning to see a pattern with my Dad's enemies," Heather deadpanned.

"You'll find it's a common theme," Bruce told her with a hint of a smile.

"Hello! I'm being brilliant over here," Tony cried, catching their attention. He pointed at Heather as he walked through the hologram. "You have more of your mother's DNA because it was compensating for gaps in your dad's. Your dad's had gaps because it wasn't ever supposed to be able to reproduce in that way."

"Wait," Heather rolled her hand. "Back up. My Dad is infertile? That doesn't add up." She waved her arm at herself. "I am one of three children he's had."

"Your dad was," Tony said slowly. "But Peter isn't."

"I don't understand," Heather admitted, a feeling of dread in her gut.

"Peter Parker isn't your father… his clone is," Tony finally said softly, his eyes tight with sympathy.

"What are you…?" She trailed off, finally noticing the small text box on the hologram that labelled a section of her DNA coding.

The box read simply, Paternal Match Found: Ben Reilly.

Chapter Text

Heather was frozen. For a long moment, she stared at the name blinking from the 3D model, unsure how to process the bomb Tony Stark had just dropped on her. Peter Parker was not her father. Her dad was someone named Ben Reilly, who was apparently a clone of Peter. That both explained a lot, and nothing at all.

Before she could even register what she was doing, Heather had commandeered the massive computer in the med bay, searching their database for 'Ben Reilly'. She could feel the two Avengers behind her, watching her, but she ignored them. Her search inquiry came back faster than she'd expected and she slammed a fist into the console, a small dent forming where her hand had landed.

"What the fuck is this?" She exclaimed, turning to Tony and Bruce, gesturing at the holoscreen angrily. She'd never considered herself much of a potty mouth, but this day just seemed to be made for testing her patience and it was wearing rapidly thin. The file for her father was a single paragraph which read: Ben Reilly alias Scarlet Spider. Clone of Spiderman. Possesses all the same powers as Spiderman. Location and Status: Unknown.

"Spiderman is," Banner sighed. "Private. Technically, he's in the reserves of the Avengers. He's willing to help us if we call, but he is notoriously territorial and private. He does not call us, we call him. He doesn't like someone else fighting his battles for him, so you can imagine how few and far between those calls are. Any files he has with us are kept to a bare minimum."

"You guys know that Peter got cloned, even know the guy's name, but don't know anything else? How is that possible?" Heather demanded.

Tony was massaging his forehead like he was fighting a migraine. "Technically, Peter has been cloned many times. Like I said, the Jackal was brilliant but a nutjob."

"Didn't he clone Pete's ex-girlfriend too?" Banner asked, looking at Stark.

Tony looked to the side thoughtfully. "I think so," he said slowly.

"Can you two please focus!" Heather snapped. "Peter is missing and my real Dad has been MIA for the last ten years of my life and I want to know why. He," She stopped, her throat suddenly tight as tears pricked her eyes. "He wouldn't just leave me," she said hoarsely.

She knew it was true the moment she said it. Her father had been her best friend. In her mind, she could see her dad as clear as day, and suddenly the differences between him and Peter were so obvious she couldn't believe she'd missed them. Ben's hair was a couple of shades lighter brown, almost dirty blonde compared to Peter's brown. Ben's eyes, while blue like Peter's, had a tinge of green to them in certain lighting, and there was a smattering of freckles across his nose that became more prominent in the summertime.

It wasn't just physical appearance though, it was the way the two men carried themselves. Peter walked like the weight of the world was trying to crush him, but Ben had a lightness to his step and demeanor even when he was tired or upset. Heather had very clear memories of her father coming home tired from a long day of teaching and grading papers, and yet his weariness melted away when he laid eyes on her and her mother in their old apartment.

Wait... Heather looked sharply at her companions. "Does my Mom know?"

The two men shrugged helplessly. "I cannot emphasize enough," Tony said, clearly annoyed but not with her. "Ridiculously secretive and protective."

Bruce added, "We've never had the pleasure of meeting your mother, but we know who she is and she knows of us, I'm sure. Whether she knew about the clones, I couldn't tell you. You'd have to ask her."

Heather waved the suggestion off. "One disaster at a time. As much as I hate to say this," she rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat. "My dad can wait. I have to find Peter, because I think he's in trouble. And if he's not, then he will be when I find him," she added darkly.

"We've already started the trace," Bruce offered, getting up to check on a program which had been running in a corner of the screen. He tapped it and read some text boxes that the computer offered. "Here, warehouse district by the docks," He tapped and brought up a map of the city, pointing to the area as the computer zoomed in on the satellite photo. "He's been all over that area by the looks of it, and it seems like he's still there."

"Good enough for me," Heather said, pulling her goggles back down.

"Wait, you can't go alone," Tony said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"I won't be alone," Heather smirked and pulled her phone from her belt, typing out a text.

"We could help too," Tony frowned at her.

She shook her head. "I appreciate it, and if it gets really dicey I'll call you guys. But I don't think I need the Avengers today. So far, everything that's happened has been happening in the background. Someone else has been pulling these strings."

"What's your theory?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Okay," Heather started, pacing as she talked. "So, someone is trying to seize control of Chen's slice of neighborhood, and they tried to use his daughter. With him out of the way, that would leave just one member of their triad standing, and I'm sure it wouldn't take much to topple him. I originally thought it might be Chen's brother trying to grab all three territories from his siblings, but I really don't think that's the case."

"Why is that?" Tony asked, pulling up the files that their team kept on the crime lords. Stephen Chen and his two brothers' photos came up on the display.

"I can understand maybe holding Chen's daughter as a bargaining chip," Heather said, pointing at the picture of the brother who wasn't in prison orange. "But why hire outside thugs who clearly wanted to rape her? Why not keep it in-house? The Chen's very clearly are people who don't trust outsiders, at least from what I could find. I think someone else was trying to push Stephen into giving up his portion of the territory. I don't know who exactly, yet, but I think it's too much of a coincidence that at the same time a gang war is brewing, three different former and/or current members of the Sinister Six have been trying to grab a significant amount of cash."

Tony brought up the group's file and the mugshots of the criminals made Heather's skin crawl. There was Electro, Hydroman, Scorpion, Rhino, Doctor Octopus, and Mysterio. Beside the pictures of each criminal was a small text box listing powers or abilities and current status. Electro and Scorpion were listed as being recently incarcerated back in their old cells, but all the others were listed as missing.

"Wait, when did Hydroman escape?" Heather frowned at the screen. "I fried his butt a couple of weeks ago."

"Apparently he escaped while in transit to prison," Tony shrugged. "It happens."

"Great, just what we needed in the midst of this shit storm, a flood," She took a deep breath to center herself and felt her phone buzz in her hand. She looked down at it and smiled. "Gotta run. Thanks for everything guys."

"Call us!" Bruce emphasized in case she'd forgotten. "Really, if you need anything just call. We'll be there as fast as we can."

"Don't do anything Peter would do," Tony added. Heather wasn't sure but she thought she saw a hint of anger behind his eyes. Neither of the men had said as such, and yet she had a feeling they wanted to have a very long talk with Peter Parker.

Get in line, Heather thought as she raced out of the building.

The warehouse district in the setting sunlight was creepy and foreboding. The shipping containers, some stacked as high as skyscrapers, cast long shadows amid their maze like corridors.

Black Widow jumped and landed on the arm of a crane, surveying the urban landscape. She could just make out the dark waters of the harbor between towering stacks, and as she scanned the area she could see a handful of night workers milling around. Tucked further away from the water were a series of warehouses, all in varying stages of needing repair. She used her webbing to climb to the top of a shipping container stack for a better vantage point.

Once on top, she could see better that there was one warehouse that was positioned the furthest away from the others and looked the most disused. Despite the handful of broken window panes though, she could see lights were on inside. Bingo, she thought.

It took her a few minutes of parkour to reach the building, landing on the roof with what she hoped was a gentle enough thud. There were three skylights set into the roof to help alleviate lighting costs, and she hurried over to the closest one.

Peering in, she felt her heart constrict. The four remaining members of the Sinister Six were spread out across the warehouse. In the center of the room, almost directly beneath her, Spiderman was strapped to a table by thick looking metal restraints, head lolled to the side. Either unconscious, she thought, or faking it really well.

"Well that seems bad," someone said next to her.

Black Widow fell back onto her behind in surprise, never having heard Robin sneak up on her. "Shit," she hissed, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. "Don't do that!"

Robin smirked. "Sorry. So what's the story? You weren't super detailed in your text."

Widow got back to her feet and crouched next to him once more. "Short version: that kidnapping and murder I've been trying to solve? These guys are behind it, or at least tangentially related to it. Spiderman figured that out one step ahead of me. Instead of telling me where he was going, or even maybe asking for backup from someone," she gestured at the warehouse floor below them. "He did that." She looked over her friend's shoulder and frowned. "Where's Batman?"

"Out of town," Robin shrugged one shoulder. "Sorry. It's just me."

"No, no it's okay," She reassured quickly. "I guess I was just expecting both of you to come. But one is better than nothing. I've got other friends I can call." She pulled out her phone and scowled. "Seriously? No signal?"

Robin brought up his holo computer and started typing. "Could be they're jamming any signals except their own as a safety measure. How did you even find your dad?"

Widow's jaw tightened but she decided now wasn't the time to correct him. "I had some smartypants guys I know trace his DNA's radioactive signature and it led me here."

"So, what's the plan?" He asked.

She sighed. "I have no idea, I was sort of hoping you would have one." She ran her hands through her hair, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

"Are you okay? You don't seem very aster," Robin asked and she could almost see his left eyebrow raise.

"I'm peachy," Widow growled.

He held up his hands, "Hey, I'm on your side. Remember?"

"I know, I know," She leaned her forehead against the glass pane. "I'm just tired. I want this nightmare to be over with."

She felt him pat her shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll get your dad out of this and those guys will pay. It'll all work out." She gave him a wan smile. Not exactly the nightmare I was referring to, but yeah, this needs to get wrapped up too. I just wish I knew what happened to Ben… she shook her head to dispel the thought. She'd have time to confront Peter and get her answers after this was all over.

"Any chance you might be able to tap into their power source and cut it off?" Widow asked, a plan slowly taking shape in her mind. "Even if we could just knock out the scrambler they're using, that would help a ton. We could get the NYPD and the Avengers here to do clean up, after we get Spiderman clear."

Robin was already back at his wrist computer, tapping furiously. "On it."

"Okay, what else can we -?" Widow stopped short as the giant computer Doctor Octopus was standing at suddenly blinked and a video call was established. On the screen she could see a very large, bald, African American man in an impeccably tailored suit, and he did not look happy.

"Who is that?" Robin asked, still typing.

"Dunno, but I want to find out," Widow tested the edge of the skylight, finding it locked with a simple padlock. Hoping this wasn't going to be too noisy, she gripped both hands around the lock and pulled down sharply. The metal broke away like fragile clay pieces in her hands. Dropping the debris, she carefully lifted the skylight up enough that she and Robin could hear the conversation happening below.

"...Of all the incompetent, unprofessional, ridiculous schemes! I should know better by now not to trust you imbeciles with anything!" The man on the video call boomed, smacking a fist on the desk he was seated at which crunched in protest under the abuse.

"Chen still refuses to bow to your demands, eh?" A voice with a German accent asked, and Widow identified it as Doctor Octopus as he turned away from the screen to rub his jaw thoughtfully.

"Of course he refuses," the big man continued. "You lost our one bargaining chip against him!"

"It's not our fault," the Rhino protested in his thick Brooklyn accent.

Hydroman walked closer to the huddle around the computer, making puddles everywhere he went. "You told us to make it discreet, so the Doc here hired some guys to take care of it, so no one could trace it to you."

"It is not our fault he hired horny morons," Mysterio added, folding his arms. It seemed like he might be glaring in Doc Ock's general direction, but his crystal ball shaped helmet made it impossible to tell for sure.

Octopus whirled on Mysterio, his mechanical arms snapping menacingly, but before he could do the illusionist any harm, the man on the video call interrupted. "Enough! I am done playing games. If it's war Chen wants, then it's war he'll get. The Kingpin always gets what he wants."

The men all grinned gleefully at that, like Christmas had come early for them.

"What do you want us to do with the webhead?" Hydroman asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Spiderman, who had just begun to stir from unconsciousness.

"He has been a thorn in my side for far too long," The Kingpin smiled. "Kill him."

"Got it," Robin hissed, and the warehouse plunged into darkness.

Chapter Text

As soon as Black Widow saw the electricity blink out, she yanked the skylight up and the metal frame swung open, the glass in it's panes shattering as it connected with the roof on the other side. She and Robin jumped down into the confusion, and she was grateful again for his generous gift when he used smoke bombs to give them more cover. With her goggles switching automatically to night vision, she could see Robin darting between the villains who were twice his size, his attacks quick and precise.

Widow immediately darted for the metal table to free Spiderman, scanning the sides for any kind of button or lever which would unlock the cuffs. She could hear Robin cackling as he danced between opponents and their corresponding grunts of pain or anger.

"C'mon, how do you open this thing?" She growled, yanking on the locks in frustration but the metal didn't budge despite pulling on it with her full weight. "The hell man?"

"Adamantium," Spiderman moaned, finally seeming to come around. "Too much for even us to break."

"Where's the unlock button?" Widow asked, leaning closer so she could hear him better.

"It's -" He started, when she felt her spider-sense jolt to life.

Widow launched herself to the side just as one of Doc Ock's tentacles slammed into the concrete where she'd been standing, making a crater the size of a manhole cover. Widow turned the side cartwheel into a twist flip, landing so she was facing the scientist. "You have a terrible bedside manner," she quipped, glaring at the man.

Doctor Octopus smiled nastily, "I'm afraid my patient is in no condition to be moved at this time. I will have to escort you from the premises."

Two of his arms shot towards her, forcing her to backflip onto some wooden crates that were stacked to the side. Unfortunately, her new perch was quickly smashed by the mechanical arms chasing her, and she shot a web to the ceiling to avoid tumbling to the floor. From her new perspective she could see that Robin had hit Hydroman with some kind of chemical agent, turning his body into an immovable statue, and now the Boy Wonder was playing a very dangerous game of tag with Rhino. Wait, that's only three. Where's-?

She didn't have time to wonder where Mysterio had disappeared to, because Doctor Octopus was trying his hardest to pin her to the ceiling. She dodged his arms as they punched through the metal roof, moving her farther and farther away from Spiderman and Robin. He's trying to isolate me, she realized, jumping to a concrete column that supported the roof.

Suddenly the column she'd landed on morphed before her eyes into a pillar of ice. "Wait, what?" She looked around the warehouse, only it wasn't a warehouse anymore. She was stranded in an icy tundra. Thick snow swirled around her in the howling wind. "Robin!" She called as she dropped into the snow. "Spiderman!"

I don't understand, did I walk into a portal? Is that what they were hiding in this warehouse? No, wait, Widow kicked at the snow around her feet and it sprayed out in a fine powder. It's not cold! I should be freezing. So… Mysterio! It's one of his illusions.

Despite her spider-sense warning her, she couldn't dodge fast enough this time and she was suddenly seized from behind by one of Doc Ock's mechanical arms. Suddenly the snowstorm was gone and she was back in the warehouse. Doctor Octopus lifted her off her feet, wrapping tightly around her torso and trapping her arms. "Let. Me. Go!" She wheezed as his grip tightened. Her still healing ribs protested against the pressure being placed on them but she couldn't even move her wrist enough to flick out a webline.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mysterio," Doctor Octopus said smiling as the illusionist scooped up his toy from the floor.

"My pleasure," Mysterio replied.

Widow looked around desperately, hoping that Robin had gotten Spiderman freed. She was disappointed to see that Rhino had the Boy Wonder held tightly to his massive chest, and despite his struggles it didn't look like her friend could budge an inch.

"We'd heard that our compatriots were captured by Spiderman and an assistant," Mysterio continued, pressing a button on the main console which raised Spiderman's table vertically.

It must be run on hydraulics and not electricity, or they have a backup generator we didn't know about, Black Widow thought absently, even as most of her concentration went to trying to pull in enough air to stay conscious.

"But imagine our surprise," Doc Ock added, pulling her to eye level with him. "When we saw a viral video of a younger spider-themed hero."

"She's as dumb as the original too," Rhino added with a laugh.

"Indeed. Capturing Spiderman with my illusions was just as easy," Mysterio boasted.

"Careful, too much hot air in that balloon head of yours and it might pop," Spiderman quipped, more alert now than he'd been before.

Mysterio responded by punching Spiderman in the gut, leaving the web crawler winded. "I grow tired of this insect. Let's be rid of these heroes so we can finally finish the job."

"I don't get it," Widow couldn't help asking despite the toll it was taking on her lungs. "You kidnap Iris, get her killed by accident and muscle in on the Chen's territory for, what? What's the point?"

"Power, dear girl. Power and money," Doctor Octopus said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world.

"The Kingpin has been after the Triad's slice of the city for years," Rhino explained, hardly bothered as Robin kicked backwards to try to free himself. "He was tired of his men always getting pushed out of their neighborhoods, just cause we've got powers. It was bad for business."

"It was making it very difficult to continue his work efficiently," Mysterio added.

"So you kidnapped Chen's daughter?" Robin asked, clearly disgusted.

"To gain his cooperation," Octavious said. "Unfortunately, we outsourced the work and got mediocre results. No matter, Chen is still crippled now. He and his brother will have no choice but to submit to the Kingpin."

"Mediocre results?" Widow cried, indignant. "She's dead, you assholes!"

"Quiet!" The doctor snapped, shaking his captive for good measure.

"Let them go, Otto," Spiderman growled. "They're just kids. Your fight is with me."

"Since I'm pretty sure they're the ones who cut our power," Mysterio grumbled. "They made it their fight. Besides, we can't have them going for help. The harbor is going to run red tonight."

"I wouldn't count on it," Widow said, then she and Doctor Octopus both screamed as 50,000 volts of electricity ran through them.

It was silly, really, that Heather hadn't taken the time to properly investigate all the items Coach and Mike had stuffed into her utility belt. The wire cutters had been incredibly helpful fighting Hydroman, but she hadn't given the belt much more thought other than which pocket had her cell in it since then. She had superpowers right? Did she really even need a belt of tricks? The last two days, however, had provided her with some time to think and a little clarity.

She couldn't rely only on her powers. A kitchen knife can be both a versatile tool and a deadly weapon, depending on how you handle it. Her powers were the same way. It wasn't enough to punch things hard and hope it all worked out. Coach had been trying to push that into her head over and over again while sparring, and her fight with Scorpion and Electro had only driven the point home.

So while making her way to the docks, Heather had carefully inventoried everything at her disposal and had made a few pleasant discoveries. In addition to the wire cutters, there was a bottle of liquid bandage, a roll of self adhering gauze, a lighter, a tiny switchblade, and in the biggest pocket there was a black taser.

While the villains had been monologuing, Black Widow had been pulling at her zippered compartment where the taser was nestled against her hip. It had taken all the dexterity she could muster with her arms pinned to her side, and more than once she'd been sure Doctor Octopus would figure out what she was doing and stop her. Fortunately, while strong and versatile, it was obvious that Doc Ock's prosthetic arms lacked the fine tune nerve endings of a real arm and he merely assumed she was just trying to get her arm free.

When she finally had the taser in hand, she locked eyes with Robin, who had evidently realized what she'd been doing. She could see the glint of something metallic in his own gloved hand and she chuckled inwardly. She wasn't sure what Robin was planning, but she was sure she could provide a pretty handy, if painful, distraction.

Deep breath, Heather, she thought. This isn't going to be nice. She charged her weapon, pushed the taser into Doc Ock's arm, and fired. She knew of course that with his metal arm wrapped entirely around her the electricity would shock her as well, but she'd decided that the jolt of a taser surely couldn't be as painful as Electro's shock the day before.

She was both correct and very wrong.

While she was fairly certain Electro had hit her with a much more lethal level of electricity, it didn't make this any more pleasant to experience. Her muscles spasmed as her nerve endings lit with cold fire, her brain struggling to make sense of way too much information coming in at once.

She felt herself fall to the floor as Doc Ock went limp, and she barely registered the sounds of Rhino yelling in agony as well. She'd landed awkwardly on her front, one leg splayed to the side, the arm holding the used taser tucked beneath her, and with her face smashed into the concrete it was basically impossible for her to tell what was happening.

She knew she had to get up; had to help Robin deal with Mysterio; had to get Spiderman out of here; but her muscles wouldn't respond. Her fingers twitched uselessly, her jaw clenched against the pain.

C'mon muscles, move! Robin and Spiderman need me, Widow thought, trying desperately to get moving again, knowing the taser wouldn't keep Doctor Octopus down for long either.

Suddenly, there was a fresh wave of noise that her rattled brain couldn't sort out, and a hand on her shoulder. No! I am not going down like this! With all the strength she could muster, she swung her leg up and flipped onto her back, hoping to kick her assailant in the face.

A metal gloved hand caught her leg mid swing easily, and Iron Man peered down at her. While his helmet made his expression neutral she could swear he was smirking. "Nice kick, Webby Jr. Did you have a good nap?"

Chapter Text

Black Widow blinked sluggishly at Iron Man, her brain trying to process the fact that somehow help had miraculously come even though she was pretty sure she hadn't summoned it. "H-how?" She finally moaned, her nerves finally seeming to resettled themselves after the taser.

"We might have tracked your cell phone and followed you," Iron Man admitted, sliding an arm under her back to help her sit up. "You two were doing good too. We weren't going to intervene, but then it looked like you might need a hand, so..." he shrugged.

She sucked in a deep breath. "Thank you," she murmured, her mouth feeling weird and heavy. "We were going to call, but they were jamming my cell." She looked around the warehouse, spotting the Rhino laying on the floor, clearly out cold. "Robin?" She asked.

"I think he and Cap are cornering the fish bowl guy," Iron Man threw a thumb over his shoulder and now that she was listening for it, she could hear Robin cackling and Mysterio's yells of frustration.

Iron Man helped Widow to her feet. She could see that Spiderman was still pinned down to the table, but Hawkeye was at the computer terminal clearly trying to free him. "That was risky," Spiderman said harshly and she turned her attention back to him. "Didn't you get hurt enough by Electro?"

Now that the fight was practically over, she felt all her frustration and anger boiling to the surface. "What the fuck do you care?" She spat.

"Excuse me?" Spiderman spluttered. His restraints released with a small hiss and he hopped down, coming to stand in front of her. He folded his arms and glared at her, "You wanna try that again?"

"Save it!" She snapped. "You don't have any right to tell me what I can and can't do. Not anymore," she growled, getting in his face. "You are not my father," she hissed, low enough so only he could hear.

Something in his stance shifted, and she could imagine the blood draining from his face, even if she couldn't see it. "Wha- how?" He stuttered, clearly thrown off.

"The only way I could find you, was by tracking you down through our shared radioactive DNA. Imagine my surprise when there wasn't much in common to find," She folded her arms protectively, feeling hot and cold all at once and she wasn't sure it was from the electricity anymore.

"You-" Spiderman started, then stopped when Iron Man put a firm hand on his shoulder. The arachnid shook the other man's hand away angrily, and the mechanic let go but didn't move away.

"I know there's a lot you two need to talk about," Iron Man said quietly, "But now is not the time to do it. Walls have ears, you know."

Black Widow was suddenly aware of Hawkeye restraining Doctor Octopus and Rhino in some type of hard fast expanding foam. The spy was clearly trying to give them privacy, but his curiosity was obvious. Just then Captain America and Robin came back from the shadows of the warehouse, the Captain dragging Mysterio by his cape.

Robin gave her a searching look, the grin of victory fading from his face. "You good, BW?" He asked, touching her elbow.

Widow swallowed the hard knot in her throat. I am not about to cry in front of the Avengers and my friend. I refuse to cry in front of other superheroes twice in as many weeks. "Peachy."

The ride back to the Avenger's Tower for a run down of the evening's events was painfully quiet. They'd taken the team's quinjet, and Heather had been far too angry and drained to even appreciate the sleek technology, instead choosing to sit as far as possible from Spiderman, staring at the metal floor to stew in her thoughts.

Robin had left as mysteriously as he'd appeared, leaving only a text message that the next time they hung out it should be in civvies getting pizza - his treat. The message had made her smile, at least for a moment, glad that somehow in all of this mess she'd made a friend.

At the Tower, she'd followed the others into the conference room she'd found Tony in the previous night and slumped into a chair, already feeling dead on her feet. Spiderman had taken lead on the meeting, breaking down the information he'd been able to gather prior to his capture by the Sinister Six (well, more like sinister four, Heather thought). It was about what Heather had figured out on her own and what the criminals themselves had admitted to.

Money. It all came down to money.

The Kingpin, aka Wilson Fisk, was the head of the underworld of New York, but that wasn't all. The man had a huge finger in just about every pie of illegal activity found worldwide. He'd been trying to expand his influence in New York for years, but was seriously impeded by the little bubble of protection that was the Triad's district. He couldn't do anything with the Chen's protection racket in place around their territories, so he'd decided to start knocking out chess pieces one by one. The police raid, which had left one Chen brother in prison and the others under intense scrutiny, had been organized by a well placed tip from Fisk. From there, he'd been chipping away at their businesses, undercutting them financially, and fouling up their supply chains at every turn. Stephen's brother had been very close to agreeing to give his portion up to Fisk, if only to end the harassment, but Stephen wouldn't hear of it. Mr. Chen had harbored a special resentment towards Fisk, as it was one of his schemes which had inadvertently led to the death of his wife.

"So Mr. Fisk took Iris in a last ditch attempt to get Mr. Chen to cave?" Heather finally interrupted, ignoring the way Peter's eyes narrowed at her.

Everyone at the table was in some form of half-dress; Heather and Peter were both maskless, Tony had lost the suit almost as soon as he came in the door, Cap's cowl and gloves were discarded on the table, and Hawkeye had abandoned his bow and quiver in favor of nursing a cup of coffee. The clock on the wall showed that it was bordering on four in the morning, and it felt like everyone in the room was ready to call it a night.

The bruises on Peter's face from his captivity had given Heather pause for a moment, a rush of sympathy and worry flooding her for a moment before she remembered that this wasn't her dad. This man had lied to her for years, and was apparently the only person who knew where her real father was.

As far as Heather saw it, the last ten years didn't mean crap. He wasn't her dad, and he'd never done a very good job of pretending to be one in the first place. Her mind replayed every forgotten birthday, every missed gymnastic and track meet, every time Peter had failed to be there when it really counted. He kept a roof over your head, a traitorous part of her mind whispered, made sure you had food and clothing. She shook the thought away fiercely, anger flaring up behind her sternum. Doing the bare minimum doesn't make up for everything else.

Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Yes. Essentially the idea was to force the Chen's to give up their territory and influence in exchange for Iris' life. Clearly that didn't go as planned."

Heather looked down at the table, a sour feeling filling her stomach. "It doesn't matter. Even with the others in prison, there's nothing concrete to tie Fisk to Iris' death. All I wanted to do was to give her justice, and I failed," She leaned on to the dark wood table, dropping her face into her hands.

"Sometimes," Clint offered softly. "The bad guy gets away. But that doesn't mean you failed. You know now why this happened, and you can make sure it doesn't happen again. Take the little victory for what it is, kid."

"He's right," Steve added. Heather looked up to meet his tired but very sincere blue eyes. "There will be other fights. You'll get your chance to nail him. You did good work kid."

Then why does it feel like I lost, Heather thought.

If the ride back to Avenger's Tower had been quiet, the ride to their apartment was dead silent. Peter had tried once or twice to start a conversation, but Heather had ignored him and sat in stony silence in the town car Tony had ordered to take them home in.

Unless the next words out of his mouth are 'I know where your dad is', I don't want to hear it, Heather thought stubbornly. When they pulled up in front of the apartment, the sky was beginning to brighten just a little, but the sun was nowhere close to rising still. Once in their home, Heather headed straight for her bed, intent on sleeping until the end of the year. Peter caught her by the wrist and she glared at him.

Peter looked as tired as Heather felt and it softened the angry knot in her heart just a smidge. "Don't worry about school tomorrow - ugh, today - I'll write you a note. Go get some sleep. I'll tell you everything in the morning."

Heather blinked at him, surprised, but then she nodded and disappeared into her room, shutting the door behind her.

When Heather finally opened her eyes again, the sun was beaming bright rays of afternoon light across her comforter. She rolled over in bed, wincing as something hard dug into her hip. She looked down and could tell instantly that she'd slept in her suit, only bothering to remove her gloves and boots.

She glanced at the clock, unsurprised to see it was a little after two in the afternoon. In truth, she wanted to sleep longer, the bone deep weariness of the last few days having not quite worked itself out of her system, but she also remembered what Peter had told her last night.

He'd promised her answers. That was one promise she was going to make sure he kept.

Heather showered and dressed as quickly as she could. The apartment had been mostly quiet since she'd woken. She'd heard someone, Peter she presumed, in the kitchen when she ducked into the bathroom but nothing else. Her brother would be at school of course, and her little sister was more than likely with her mother. It was just the two of them in the apartment, and Heather wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Sure enough when she came into the kitchen, she found Peter sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee in a to-go cup, a second cup sitting on the table beside him. He looked up and gave her a wan smile. She didn't smile back.

Peter sighed. "Alright, kid, grab your bag. We've got a long ride across town ahead of us."

"Where are we going?" Heather asked, picking up the coffee he'd clearly poured for her and following him to the door, snatching her bag off the hook on the wall.

"We're going to see your dad," Peter said simply.

Chapter Text

Heather kept a seat between herself and Peter in the cab, occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as the city slid passed outside. He looked like he hadn't slept more than an hour, his hair damp from a shower, the bruising from last night already fading to a sickening shade of yellow. Weirdest of all, at least aside from the obvious reasons why this was weird, was the backpack he had brought with them. The backpack looked ancient, the straps dirty and worn, and she spotted a hole near the bottom seam. She'd never seen Peter with it before, and it looked nothing like the bag he used to tote his papers and laptop to and from the university campus.

Heather almost asked about it, but then decided it wasn't worth it. She rubbed her eyes and stared down at her knees, still not quite believing that the broken skin from last night had already knit back together. How is this my life? Sometimes... I almost wish I could forget about all of this. But if I forgot about this, would I forget about Dad too? What am I going to do when I meet him? He left me… but did he do it willingly, or did someone make him? Could I…?

She hardly dared even think it, but it was there nonetheless. She loved her mother, her siblings, but how could she live in the same house as the man who'd pretended to be her father? If he'd have her, if he offered, would she go live with her Dad... with Ben?

Yes. She would. In a heartbeat.

"Is - is this where he lives?" Heather faltered outside of the large building on the upper east side, the architecture vaguely Victorian with it's pointed roofs and the large round stained glass window at the top. It seemed much older than the buildings around it, and yet better maintained, the paint as crisp as if it had been done that day, not a shingle or shutter out of place.

Peter frowned at her. "Doctor Strange? Yeah. This is what they call the Sanctum. It's one of the most secure buildings in the world. You can't even see the building if you don't know it's here, or you have bad intentions."

Heather folded her arms, annoyed. "I meant Dad. You said you were taking me to see him. Is he here?"

Something in Peter's expression softened, and it immediately pissed her off. "We're going to see him. But we have to stop here first. Come on."

Stop treating me like I'm made of glass, she thought, following him up the steps to the front door, waiting impatiently while he rang the bell. Give me a straight answer for once in your life. Or is that seriously too hard to ask?

The door opened and Heather blinked in confusion. No one was standing on the other side. Peter walked in like this was normal, and after a moment's hesitation she followed. The double doors swung shut behind them, again all on their own. Heather's eyes scanned the doorframe, looking for automatic hinges, but there were none. The door looked just as ordinary and ancient as the house.

Deciding she could think about that later, Heather scanned the front hallway, taking in the grand staircase and the many glass cases full of antiques. The curtains on the windows looked heavy and expensive, and the ornate rug under her feet felt plush. It felt like she'd stepped into a museum.

"What is this place?" She found herself asking in a hushed tone.

"It's my home, and you two are intruding," someone said, clearly annoyed.

She spun back towards the staircase. How did he -? Where did he come from? There wasn't anyone there a minute ago. And why didn't my spider-sense go off?

At the top of the staircase landing stood a tall thin man with black hair graying at the temples and a neatly groomed goatee. He wore blue robes that reminded Heather of a karate gi and a red cape around his shoulders which fluttered in the breeze. Which didn't make sense, because they were inside, and there was no breeze. Maybe it's the air conditioning?

"It's good to see you, Stephen," Peter said, a little sadly.

"As I recall, the last time we met Parker, I told you never to come here again." Dr. Strange came down the staircase, his eyes fixed on Heather. She shifted back a step uncomfortably. Her spider-sense seemed to be working over time suddenly, warning her that this man was dangerous. Strange stopped in front of her a polite distance away, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief that he wasn't trying to get in her space. "It is, however, good to see you again, Heather."

Heather glanced back at Peter uncertainly. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"We have," Strange acknowledged, giving her an almost fatherly smile. "You were very little, and it was less than ideal circumstances. I'm not surprised you don't remember."

"That's why we're here," Peter said quickly, taking a step towards the doctor. "I was hoping, you know, since so much time has passed that maybe you could-" The hand Peter had been about to put on Strange's arm was suddenly seized by the red cape around the doctor's shoulders.

"Whoa!" Heather skittered back, bumping into one of the glass display cases, making it rattle. "Did your cape just move?"

"It's a cloak, and it has a mind of its own," Stephen said simply, waving at the cloak like he was telling it to stand down. The fabric reluctantly let go of Peter's wrist, whipping around in an almost huffy manner.

Like it's annoyed, she thought, trying to wrap her brain around that idea.

"I already told you ten years ago, there's nothing more I can do," Strange said slowly to Peter, like he was talking to a toddler. "I did what I could at the time but the rest is up to her."

"But she still doesn't remember," Peter said, clearly distressed. "Surely there's something else we can do?"

"Quit talking like I'm not here!" Heather finally snapped. "What am I supposed to be remembering?" She pointed at Peter as he started to open his mouth, "Not you. I'm still pissed with you, and I'm sick and tired of your cryptic non-answers."

Strange smirked at Peter's annoyed expression. "I'll answer as many of your questions as I can," the doctor said to Heather. "But why don't we do it away from the artifacts. The last time we had a case break, I had to spend a week trying to track down a very illusive beetle."

Dr Strange - Heather found out that he was in fact a real doctor, a former surgeon, it wasn't just a title - had a very nice living room. It was decorated in a mix of Asian decor and Victorian era furniture, which was beautiful and tasteful, and made Heather a little terrified to touch anything. She was used to furniture that was secondhand broken in, or maybe had been bought from Ikea if they were going to splurge. The subtle luxury of it made her nervous.

Strange brought out a set of fine China that she was pretty sure cost more than a year's rent in their apartment, and poured tea from the pot into three cups for them. Heather took hers mostly to be polite. The tea's spices made her nose tickle, and she tried not to grimace.

How do you politely tell someone you'd rather have a latte than whatever this hot leaf juice is? Strange took a seat in a plush wingback chair while Peter and Heather took seats on opposite sides of an antique couch.

"You seriously live here?" Heather couldn't help but ask.

"I do, some of the time," Strange said, sipping his tea. "I also have an apartment in 's been some developments that have required more of my attention than normal, so I've been here more and more lately. The neighborhood is quiet, at least." He smiled at her, raising an eyebrow. "You had some questions, right?"

Heather put her untouched tea gently back on the coffee table, the porcelain cup clinking. "I don't really know where to start," she admitted. "My dad, Ben Reilly, did you know him?"

"So you remember that much?" Strange replied.

She shook her head. "I didn't remember. I took a DNA test. Tony and Bruce explained the results to me."

"Ah, Banner and Stark," Strange smirked. "Good to know those two are still pretending to be doctors."

"I mean, there's at least eight PHDs between the two of them. That still counts for something," Peter protested.

"Says the adjunct professor," Strange needled, his smile widening as Peter spluttered.

"You didn't answer my question," Heather interrupted, trying very hard not to sound as frustrated as she was.

"I only met your dad once, very briefly. He was a good man," Stephen said in a more gentle tone.

She felt her heart stop. "Was?"

Peter rubbed his eyes, looking more exhausted than ever.

"Ben died ten years ago. I'm so sorry," Stephen's voice was softer than ever, but his words were firm.

Heather slumped into the couch, staring at the untouched tea. "He's… he's really gone?"

"Kid, I'm so sorry," Peter said, reaching for her.

She jerked back from him like he'd burned her. "Don't touch me," she hissed. "You knew and you didn't tell me. You lied to me, again. Is that all you're able to do, Peter? Are you even capable of telling me the truth?"

Peter seemed at a loss for words. "I thought, maybe, Strange could help you remember what happened, and then… then you - and I wouldn't have to -"

"I already explained to you that there's nothing more I can do. You were just too much of a coward to be honest with her," Stephen snapped, setting his cup down with a loud clatter. "I told you this would bite you in the ass, but did you listen? No, you just kept spinning the lie out for as long as you could."

"You try looking a kid in the eyes and admitting that you're not their dad, see how well you handle it," Peter shot back, his hands clenched into fists that dug into his thighs.

"What happened to my Dad?" Heather finally cut in, even as tears stung her eyes. She swiped them away impatiently. "Why don't I remember what happened?"

Stephen and Peter glared at each other for another long heartbeat before Peter sighed and dropped the doctor's gaze.

"You're dad and I… we couldn't tell which of us was the real Peter. We had the same memories, same powers, and it was… it was disturbing. At first, we tried to figure out who was the clone, but we just kept hitting dead end after dead end. It felt like we were never going to find an answer. Eventually, it didn't even matter to Ben who was the real one, but I couldn't let it go. MJ and I were engaged, but how could I marry her knowing that I might not be the man she thought I was?" Peter dropped his head, threading his fingers through his hair roughly before locking them behind his neck.

"Ben wanted to give MJ the world - marriage, kids, anything she wanted. I think in some ways he loved your mother even more than I did," Peter's voice had dropped to a whisper.

Heather eyed him, her brain kicking into overdrive. "You were so focused on finding answers that you prioritized it over Mom," she said slowly.

Peter nodded miserably. "I couldn't let it go. Ben finally told me that if I wouldn't take care of MJ and give her what she deserved, he would. It... it felt like a light bulb went off. Of course he was the real deal. If he was willing to put MJ before anything else, then I had to be the clone. It made sense. So I left, and Ben married your mother."

"Did Mom know?" Seeing his face crumple made Heather frown. "You didn't tell her. You're unbelievable, you know that?" She scrubbed her face, feeling all of the exhaustion from the previous night creeping up on her. She reached down and picked up her tea, taking a quick sip if only to have something for her hands to do. She was surprised at how nice it tasted, like cinnamon and cardamom, and how it warmed up the cold knot that had formed in her stomach just a little. She took another, slower sip before choosing her words carefully.

"So what happened? What went wrong?"

"I took up being Spiderman almost full time," Peter explained, still hunched forward. "Ben had a little apartment near The Bugle, and the super of course couldn't tell the difference between us. When I wasn't doing the usual stuff - stopping bank robberies and muggers - I was spending the rest of my time trying to find answers. Ben and I kept in touch, at least to begin with. Ben had started working towards finishing his degree, and he was working as a TA until the university hired him as an adjunct professor. He and MJ seemed really happy, from what he told me. They were talking about having a baby," Peter glanced at her then, just for a moment. "Ben wanted to be a father more than anything."

Heather felt the porcelain cup in her hands make an ominous cracking sound and she quickly set it back on it's saucer, worried that if she wasn't careful she'd end up owing Dr Strange a new tea cup.

"I know he was worried," Peter added. "That his DNA wouldn't mesh with MJ's. They'd been having trouble getting pregnant, and he thought it was his fault. It was one of the reasons I worried about starting a family too. But then, it happened. MJ was pregnant and it was going well, she was doing fine, the baby was fine… he called me from the hospital the day you were born. I've never heard him so happy."

Heather was openly crying now, not even bothering to wipe away the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks. "What happened?" she finally asked, her voice hoarse and watery.

"Being Spiderman is a dangerous job," Peter looked down at his hands speculatively. "I've made friends, but I've made even more enemies. The Sinister Six knew that Peter Parker took the photos of Spiderman for the paper. I never changed my address on file at The Bugle, so it was still listed as Ben and MJ's apartment. One night they came. They broke in and threatened Ben to tell them how to find Spiderman. He swore up and down he didn't know; that he had no idea who it was under the mask. He protected me," he whispered, the misery on his face clear.

"They took you," Peter finally said after a long pause, "as leverage. They told Ben that if I didn't show up to save you, you'd be dead by morning. Ben called me, completely frantic, and begged me to help. I wanted to help - of course I wanted to help. But I'd been tracking down a lead in California, and there was no way I could get there by the deadline, but I was going to try." He sighed, "He told me he couldn't wait."

"By the time I found you both, Ben was almost gone. I got you here as fast as I could. I…" He shook his head, unable to finish.

Heather turned to Stephen as the doctor continued when Peter couldn't. "Your dad was in rough shape. The Sinister Six had beaten him badly, but then there was a fire. He inhaled a lot of smoke, severe burns all across his body, and he'd been pinned under rubble when Peter found him. Even with his healing factor working overtime, there was nothing I could do for him, it was too much at once. You were," the man paused here, considering his words. "Inconsolable. It was worse when Peter took off his mask. Hard enough to explain to a six year old that her daddy isn't going to wake up, but then this idiot comes in the room not wearing a mask, and suddenly she's screaming because there's a man who looks like her father but isn't." He pinched the bridge of his nose, the memory apparently still fresh in his mind even after all these years.

"I don't," Heather pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, a dull ache gathering there. "I don't remember that. Why can't I remember that? It's like it's right there but I can't…" Like sand slipping through my fingers, like smoke. There but not there.

"In his continued stupidity," Stephen spat, glaring at Peter who had the decency to look remorseful. "Parker made it worse. I told him that I was going to grab something to help you calm down. I told him to just hold you, just try and comfort you, and for God's sake not to touch anything." Stephen made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, "Did he listen? No. I come back in the room - not even ten minutes later - to find him using an artifact as a toy, waving it in your face. All the while completely missing the fact that you'd not only stopped crying but had gone comatose."

"I didn't - I was just trying to get her to stop crying," Peter protested.

"Mission failed," Stephen stated flatly.

"What was the artifact? What did it do to me?" Heather got to her feet, pacing the living room as she pulled her fingers through her hair nervously, pushing her tired brain to just remember something, anything.

"It's an ancient safeguard, called Rentenitia Absconditus. It was created to keep information from falling into the wrong hands. When someone uses it, it makes them forget information - or rather, they're unable to recall it. The knowledge is still there, but it becomes buried under so much magic that no one can touch it. The only one who can access the knowledge is the one who used the artifact in the first place. Used carefully, it can save many lives and protect information. If it's used in excess, it can cause someone to forget themselves entirely. Their mind becomes a blank slate," Stephen explained calmly, even as he glared openly at Peter.

"You almost wiped my mind?!" Heather shrieked. "What is wrong with you?"

"I didn't know!" Peter defended weakly.

"Which is exactly why I warned you not to touch anything," Strange repeated, his exasperation clear. "I was able to undo most of the spell's magic, but I couldn't get to all of it. There's a reason it's such an effective tool."

"How much did I lose?" Heather demanded, crossing her arms protectively to brace herself.

"As far as I could tell, two days," Stephen said, looking apologetic as she collapsed back onto the couch. "I couldn't cut through any more layers of magic without risking you harm. If I pushed any harder, you might have suffered a kind of magical stroke. The only way to get the memories to come to the surface, and make the magic release it's death grip on your mind, is to ease it out over time. I explained to Parker that it was imperative that he do everything he could to jog your memory, while the spell was still fresh. Clearly my instructions were ignored."

Heather dropped her head in her hands, trying to process. "Two days? I lost two days of my life. I lost…" she paused, a horrible feeling filling her. "You said you found me with Dad. I must have been with him as he lost consciousness." Tears filled her eyes once more, "I'll never know what the last words he spoke to me were. Maybe he told me he loved me. Maybe he told me who he really was." She shook her head. "I'll never know."

Heather had to admit that for once, Peter had kept his word. After they left the Sanctum, Peter took Heather to see her father.

The cemetery was quiet, even in the middle of the city, the sun shining down almost mockingly. She had a very vague memory of coming to this cemetery as a little kid, before Harry had been born. Peter - Ben, she corrected herself, Ben - wanted to show her where her grandparents and great-uncle were buried. Even after all this time, she remembered the way to their graves. Peter followed along behind her quietly, and she was grateful he didn't try to talk to her. She didn't think there was anything else to be said.

Under the shade of a large oak tree, there were three headstones grouped together. Richard Parker, Mary Parker, Benjamin Parker… and one space over from her great-uncle, was a slightly newer headstone than the others. Heather's breath caught in her throat, her knees buckling until she was suddenly falling to the warm grass, her vision swimming.

Ben Reilly: Beloved Father, Devoted Husband, a True Hero.

"It was the least I could do for Ben," Peter said quietly. "We may not have seen eye to eye to begin with, but over time we… understood each other, in ways no one else could."

Heather ran her finger over the carved words, beloved father, and felt something tiny and fragile shatter in her heart. "...go," she whispered.

The man hesitated. "Heather, I can't leave you -"

"Go!" She shouted, glaring at him through red rimmed eyes. She took in a breath, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle as the weight of the world seemed to settle on her shoulders. "Just leave me alone, Peter."

Chapter Text

Heather wasn't sure how long she sat in the grass, the ache in her chest trying to become a black hole, trying to swallow her. When she'd finally pulled herself together enough to find tissues in her bag, the sun was low along the skyline, the headstones casting longer and longer shadows. She finally found what she wanted towards the bottom of her bag, half crushed under notebooks, her wallet and her cell phone.

As she cleaned her face up, attempting to unclog her nose only semi successfully, she could see her phone flashing with unread messages. Part of her wanted to forget the rest of the world even existed. What did any of it matter when her dad was gone?

Absently, she unlocked the screen. Twenty unread messages. There were two texts from her mom, one from Harry, three from Robin, one from Mike, and thirteen from Rhi.

Mom: Heather? Where are you? Rhi texted me that you weren't at school, and I know you guys don't tell us stuff like that unless you're really worried

Mom: Your dad called me, said he took you to see an old friend, I'm glad you're okay. Your father and I are going to have a talk about consulting me before he just takes off with one of our children on a school day, but you're off the hook. Love you, sweetie

Harry: Why is mom asking me where you are? Also, where are you that mom doesn't know? Secret superhero mission? Please tell me it's a secret mission bc that is so cool

Robin: So about that tour?

Robin: For real though, you were kind of freaking me out the other night. Felt like a pretty successful mission to me, but you were clearly not feeling the aster

Robin: C'mon, you can talk to me. We know each other's secrets, whatever is going on you can trust me

Mike: HM, you good? Rhi's freaking out

Rhi: Heather where are you?

Rhi: You haven't been in any of our classes and you never miss school

Rhi: You're not even at lunch?! Wtf Heather?

Rhi: C'mon you can't just take off in the middle of the night on me

Rhi: Girl, you're scaring me

Rhi: Is it something with your dad? It is, right? We can help!

Rhi: I'm your best friend and you trusted me with your secret, let me help you please

Rhi: I finally pried it out of Ms Sweet that your dad called the school this morning, so I at least know your dad is safe now, but he said you were sick?

Rhi: Did you get hurt in a fight? Are you okay?

Rhi: That's it, I'm calling your mom. If you don't answer me in the next five seconds I'm ratting you out and you can't even be mad about it

Rhi: Your mom didn't even know you weren't in school, wtf is up with that? Your dad really does fail at all the basic parenting requirements

Rhi: Look, I know you were upset last night, and maybe you were just worried about your dad, but you found him clearly and I can't think of a single reason why you aren't answering me unless something really really bad happened, so please call me before I go crazy

Rhi: Heather please call me, I'm begging

Heather's thumb hovered over Rhi's profile picture, a selfie from three years ago taken at Coney Island. The picture of Rhi with twin braids and braces usually made Heather laugh, but right at this minute she wasn't sure she was ever going to laugh again. She dropped her phone back into her bag, swiping at her face as fresh tears dripped down her cheeks. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs as she stared at her father's grave.

Why wasn't it me? Why did it have to be you?

"Heather?"

Heather turned her head at the familiar voice, and blinked several times. "You know, I was expecting insanity from grief would take a lot longer to kick in," she murmured, the hoarseness of her own voice surprising her.

Dick stood a few feet away wearing civilian street clothes, a pair of dark sunglasses obscuring his ice blue eyes. Even with his expression half obscured, he looked uncomfortable, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. "Dude, are you okay? No wait," he groaned, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Sorry, dumb question. You're very clearly not okay. What happened?" He approached slowly, crouching down next to her but not attempting to touch her.

Somewhere in the back of her head, Heather was glad for that. If it had been her mom or Rhi, they would have tried to smother her in a hug, which was the last thing she wanted right now.

"How did you…?" Heather asked instead of answering him, rubbing her still watering eyes.

Dick looked sheepish. "I uh, may have gotten your GPS location off your cell phone," he admitted, sinking onto the grass next to her.

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Heather said, a weak smile trying and failing to materialize on her face.

"I figure, when a friend is in trouble, a little law breaking is justified," Dick seemed to notice the headstones for the first time and frowned. Heather could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, counting the graves, taking the dates into consideration.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He finally asked in a soft voice, almost nonchalant in tone, like he was asking about how her last math quiz went.

She took a breath, attempting for a moment to construct a lie or a half truth, but her gaze landed back on Ben's epitaph - devoted husband, loving father, a true hero - and suddenly the whole story was spilling out, along with her sobs. Dick listened patiently, one hand rubbing small circles between her shoulders. He didn't interrupt or even ask any questions, almost like he knew she had to get it all out in one go or she'd never feel whole again. By the time Heather's sobs had died down, the sun was red in the sky and the street lights were beginning to flicker on.

"I'm sorry," She murmured, embarrassed as she wiped the fresh tears and snot with her last tissue. She hadn't cried like this in years, not since middle school at least, and she was painfully aware that the kid comforting her wasn't much older than her brother.

"Dude, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Dick pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Heather took it with a huffy laugh, a feeling like hysteria filling her empty chest. "Seriously? That might be the most 'rich kid' thing you've ever done around me."

"Don't knock it until you try it," Dick smirked. "Besides, it's that or your jacket, because you're out of tissues."

"It's monogrammed, Dick, like… what even?" Heather wiped her face with the cloth, and gave him a watery smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"No, really," She took a deep cleansing breath. "Thank you. I," she looked down at the handkerchief clenched in her hands, rubbing her thumb over the embroidered letters, RJG. "I didn't want to be alone, but I didn't think… I didn't know who I should call." I didn't want to bother anyone. I didn't think I was worth anyone's time, she thought.

"Sometimes, it's like that," Dick said knowingly. "It's been five years since I lost my parents, and sometimes that feeling tries to swallow you up. But that's when you need people the most," he knocked his shoulder into hers, gently, and it made her smile.

"You're way too smart for thirteen," Heather dug in her bag for a hair tie, feeling like she needed to be doing something with her hands. "My brother should take pointers from you."

"You could introduce us," Dick offered with a smile.

"Is that safe for you and you-know-who?" She asked, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.

"Voldemort? Definitely not," He cackled at the sour look she shot him. "I'm messing with you, I know who you meant. You could introduce me as Robin. If he can keep your secret, I know he can keep mine. Well, one of mine. You should've seen Batman's face when I told him both you and Wally figured it out," he smiled wryly at the memory.

"Wally?" She asked, distracted as she thumbed through her messages again.

"Wally West, also known as Kid Flash, one of my oldest and best friends," Dick seemed to be looking at her phone as well. "You should answer those," he said eventually.

"I guess…"

"I mean, at least answer that Rhianna girl before she loses it completely."

"Rhi's just dramatic sometimes."

"Still, you shouldn't leave her 'on read'. She's your friend, right?"

"Best friend since elementary school. She's the first person I told about my powers. I just… this is a lot, you know? How do I even explain," she made a helpless gesture, "all of this?"

Dick leaned back on his hands, trying to get more comfortable on the grass. "My advice? Start at the beginning and take your time. If she's really your friend, she'll be there for you."

"I just… Dick, do you realize what this means? I'm not… I mean," Heather pushed the loose hairs that fell from the bun back from her face impatiently, her thoughts spiraling. "Dick, my Dad was a clone. What does that even make me? I'm- I'm not-"

"Heather," He interrupted her gently. "You're human, and so was your dad. Metahuman, sure, but still human. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I…" she wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. Even the thought of crying made her exhausted at this point. "It's not just that. Dick, my Dad is gone and it's my fault. He was trying to save me. I don't even know what happened that night. How do I live with myself knowing that someone else is dead because of me? Maybe I could have stopped it, like how I could have saved Iris, but I will probably never know the answer. What kind of a person does that make me?" She pulled her legs up to her chest again and dropped her forehead to her knees. A monster, that's what it makes me...

"Listen, I may have never met your dad," he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he tried to catch her downcast eyes. "But I've met you. Do you see what's written there?"

He pointed at the headstone and she felt the ache in her chest grow. "A true hero. A hero is someone who fights for others, because they know it's the right thing. You saw someone in trouble that night, and tried to help her. If you hadn't intervened, Iris might have died anyway, we'll never know for sure. The point is, you tried, look-"

He started counting on his fingers. "You tried to save Iris. You took responsibility for finding the people who hurt her. You saved those kids from getting smashed by that car. You stopped Hydroman from flooding fifth avenue. You saved Spiderman, even though he'd lied to you. You put your heart into all those things, even when your life was in danger. You didn't give up, even when other people tried to make you."

"Fat lot of good it did me," She shook her head, finally turning to look at him. "I can't prove the Kingpin is behind everything. I can't make him face a judge for what he did."

"But you can bring closure to Iris' family. Sometimes that's the best we can do," Dick gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and the weight of his calloused hand seemed to ground her back in the moment.

"The Avengers said the same thing last night," She admitted. "I mean, that's what I've wanted all along was to give Mr. Chen something, even if I couldn't bring his daughter back to him. But I just… is it too much to ask for closure for me as well? Is that…" She shook her head. "That's selfish, isn't it? To think that I'm so special that I get to have a happy ending, all neatly wrapped up in a bow? To have the answers to all my questions handed to me like I'm a character in a sitcom."

"I don't think that's selfish," He said, and the honesty in his voice did nothing to quiet her self-loathing thoughts. "I think it's human."

"Well…" She said then stopped, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words.

Dick didn't press her, and for a while they just sat on the grass as the city that never slept moved around them. The normal sounds of traffic and pedestrians was eventually broken by Heather's phone chiming. She picked up the phone, seeing Rhi's profile picture as her friend tried to reach her again.

Heather's finger hovered over the ignore button, but then remembered the promise she'd made - what felt like a lifetime ago - to keep her friend in the loop, to stick this out together no matter what. She glanced at Dick, and the gentle smile he gave her while nudging her shoulder once more, made something shift in her mind. She hit answer and stood up, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hey, Rhi? Yeah, it's me… I know, I know… well, it's a long story. How about I tell you over milkshakes? ...yeah, I'll meet you there… yeah, and by the way? I've got a friend I want you and Mike to meet."

Chapter Text

"You really didn't need to walk me home," Heather said for what felt like the fifth time as they walked along the sidewalk.

"You shouldn't be alone right now," Rhi said, pulling her friend closer to her side with the arms they had linked. Mike squeezed her other shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile when she looked up at him.

"Sometimes, I don't think I deserve you two," Heather said honestly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Probably not," Rhi said, purposefully light and playful. "But that's alright, we'll stick around anyway. I'm just really glad you've found someone on the other side of this who cares about you."

"Robin's a good kid," Mike said with the same affection he had when speaking of his own siblings.

"Little punk did still hack my phone," Heather complained, but her words lacked any heat. "I'll have to get him back for that."

"He said he was sorry," Rhi reminded her, "and he picked up the tab. That right there is a gentleman in the making." Heather caught Mike raising his eyebrow from the corner of her eye and the unspoken joke between them made her smile.

All too soon, they'd made it to Heather's building. Staring up at the brownstone, she thought very seriously about spending the night with Rhi. I have to face him eventually, she decided. "Thank you, again, for everything," she said, turning to give her friends a group hug.

"We're always here for you, Heather," Mike said sincerely, surprising her with a brotherly kiss on the head.

"You can call me anytime you want to talk about your dad," Rhi added, wiping at her watery eyes. "Seriously, after the support you gave me when I went through it with Mom, I owe you. We'll do everything we can to help you remember."

Heather gave her a sad smile. I doubt it will help, but… "Thank you. Night guys."

"Night."

Heather took the stairs slowly to her home, internally trying to map out the conversation that lay ahead of her. Peter told Mom he took me to visit someone, but did he explain any further than that? Did he tell her what happened? What am I supposed to say to Harry and Audrey? Harry might be able to understand all this, but Audrey's barely older than a baby. How on earth do you say, 'I'm actually your half sister, my dad is dead and he was your dad's clone' in ASL? My teacher definitely never went over that in class.

Before she was really ready for it, she was in front of their door, her hands shaking as they slid the key into the lock. Opening the door, she wasn't sure what she was expecting to find - screaming, crying, anger - but it sure wasn't the sound of laughter coming from the living room. She closed the door slowly behind her, setting her bag down and following the happy noises through the apartment. She turned the corner and found her brother and sister sitting on the couch with Peter and her mom, watching a movie. Someone had made popcorn, a half empty bowl lying on the coffee table.

Heather stared at the scene of domestic bliss, something hard and cold growing in her gut. "Mom?"

Mary Jane turned her head and smiled at her daughter, shifting Audrey in her arms so the sleepy toddler was still comfortable. "Hi, honey. Do you want to sit down? We're only a little bit into the movie, we can catch you up."

Peter turned to look at her, something like a warning in his face even as he smiled. "Come on and join us, kid."

That cold feeling seemed to swell inside her, and she shook her head. "I'm tired," She heard herself say. "I'm going to bed."

She didn't wait for a reply, and when she finally closed the door of her bedroom, blocking out her siblings giggles, she collapsed on her bed in utter exhaustion. He didn't tell them, she thought, that cold hard thing in her guts slowly snaking its way through her limbs. She pulled a pillow to her chest and hugged it, curling up on her side. She should be angry, and in a way she was angry, but she was also just so tired that the most she could muster was this cold, hard numbness filling her body.

She laid in the dark for a while, exhausted beyond belief but unable to drift off, her thoughts becoming ever tightening spirals. At some point she heard the TV turn off and her family getting ready for bed. Eventually the noise level quieted again and she was sure she was the only one still awake until there was a soft knock on her door.

The thought of speaking, let alone getting up to open the door, seemed to deaden her limbs and she laid in the dark mutely.

After a few seconds, the door opened and Peter stepped inside, clutching something dark in his hands. The flood of anger from earlier filled her again, but having no energy to direct it she just settled for turning her back on him, facing the wall and hoping he would get the point. A moment later, his weight settled onto the end of the mattress. Guess not, she thought bitterly.

"I know I'm the last person you want to see," Peter said slowly, and she sighed impatiently. "But I need you to understand, I never meant to hurt you. Your dad and I… we were friends. Maybe not at the start, but the more he tried to live his own life, strike out on his own path, the more I realized what a good person he was. The only thing we ever really disagreed on was your mom. We both loved her," his voice grew softer, and she found herself paying more attention despite her anger. She focused her enhanced hearing on his voice, blocking out the sounds of the building around them.

"We wanted the best for her but, I think we had different ideas about what that was. I thought it was better to keep her at a distance, to keep her out of danger. He felt like it was better she knew what she was getting into. It was more than that though. I was… scared. Mary Jane wanted a family and that thought terrified me. MJ could keep herself safe, she could even look after Aunt May, but kids?" He shook his head, and something in his voice made her turn towards him. In the dim glow from the window, his eyes looked like they were staring twenty years into the past. "It was a deal breaker. I couldn't in good conscience have children, not with the enemies I have. I think I was so worried about the future that I'd stopped living in the present. Ben wasn't like that. He was one of the most optimistic people I've ever met, and it felt weird to see someone who looked so much like me - who essentially was me - have so much hope."

Peter seemed to remember suddenly that she was there, because he turned and looked in her eyes, sad and remorseful and desperate. "You remind me of him every day. It's torture, sometimes, to look at you and just see him. I promised him, the very last thing I said to him, was that I would protect you. I've tried, Heather, believe me when I say I've tried."

"If this has been you trying, I'd hate to see you when you don't," she murmured icily.

"I know," He nodded. "You deserve better. You deserve to have him here, not me. I thought I could get better with time and practice; that maybe this parenting thing would just, I don't know, click finally?" He paused, "I think… Even though you didn't know why, you always knew that I was the wrong one. I felt like I could never break through that barrier."

"Oh so it's my fault now?" She narrowed her eyes, curling fists into the pillow.

"No! That's not what I meant," He denied, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes. "I've always been shit at explaining myself."

"Is that why she still doesn't know?" She asked, sitting up in bed so she could glare at him properly. "Because you suck at explanations? You have to tell her the truth! She deserves to know the man she married is dead."

The pain in Peter's face almost softened Heather's heart. Almost. "There's never been a good time."

"Ever heard the phrase, 'no time like the present'?" She asked sarcastically.

Peter rubbed his eyes again, and she could see the bags there were even heavier tonight than they'd been this morning. "I'll tell her the truth. When the time is right."

"By that logic, it's never going to happen," Heather argued. "I swear to god, if you don't tell her, I will."

"No," Peter said, voice suddenly firm. "I need to be the one to do it, it should come from me. I want you to promise me that you won't say anything."

"Why the hell should I promise you that?"

"Because it's my responsibility, not yours," He said and she rolled her eyes, knowing he could see them in the dark.

"If I hear you say that stupid phrase one more time, I'm going to strangle you," She growled, gripping her temples against the headache she could feel beginning to pound there. "You're so fixated on keeping the world safe, of living up to your 'responsibility' to everyone else, that you never think about us! Aren't we supposed to be your responsibility, too? Isn't that what it means when you become a parent, you accept caring for your children whenever they need it, even when it's not convenient for you?"

"It's not always that simple. You're still young, Heather, there's a lot you still haven't learned," He placed a gentle hand on her arm, but she jerked out of his grasp.

"Don't touch me," she growled. "And don't give me that 'you're too young to understand' bullcrap! I'm almost seventeen, you got your powers at the same age. You don't get to act like it was so different for you."

Peter let out a long-suffering sigh and gave her a small smile. She bristled, knowing he was placating her. "Okay, maybe it wasn't. But you have to appreciate that seventeen was a long time ago for me. Listen," he continued, obviously changing tracks. "It's been a long couple of days for both of us. Try to get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

"With Mom," Heather insisted.

"Yes, with your mom," He relented. He started to stand up, then seemed to remember the item in his hands. Now that he was closer, she could see it was the worn-in backpack he'd been carrying earlier in the day. He smoothed out the fabric with his calloused hands. "This was Ben's. I dug it out of the back of the closet earlier today. I meant to give it to you at the cemetery, but… well, you needed time," he smiled even as her mind flashed back to her screaming at him to leave. A flash of embarrassment tempered her anger, and she dropped his gaze to stare at the backpack. He handed it over carefully and she took it.

"Good night, Heather," He said, looking like he wanted to squeeze her shoulder, but stopping his fingertips just short. His hand curled into an awkward fist and he left, closing the door behind him.

Heather very slowly unzipped the backpack, a fluttering feeling of unease and excitement filling her. Inside were a handful of spiral bound notebooks, almost filled to the brim with neat block handwriting, some pencils and pens, and at the very bottom was a red and blue costume.

She adjusted her black out curtains to let in more light from the street, examining the suit. The whole body was a solid bright red, and there was a blue sleeveless hoodie with a modified version of the spider logo on the front. It was clearly a little more homemade looking than Peter's, but the fabric seemed to be made of that same style of flexible kevlar as his.

She held the suit close and pressed her face to it, breathing deeply. The suit mostly smelled like her parents' closet, but beneath that was an extremely faint scent of smoke and men's cologne that she was sure she could never smell without her enhanced senses.

A memory niggled at her thoughts - just the faintest whisper of heat on her skin, of choking on smoke, clinging close to someone, arms wrapped around her protectively. She reached for the memory desperately, but it faded just as quickly.

"No," She whispered, hugging the suit to her chest. "Please, come back. Please…"

When Heather was awoken the next morning by bright sunlight streaming through the window, the suit was still clutched in her hands, like a security blanket.

She folded it carefully and laid it on the end of the bed. She then reached under the bed and felt around until she found her memory box. Pulling it out, she grabbed the scrapbook out and flipped back through the newspaper clippings. It took her a couple of minutes, but she finally found the page she was looking for.

A very grainy photo, clearly taken in the rain and at a distance, of Spiderman grappling midair with another man in a similar suit, this one featuring a sleeveless hoodie. She traced the figure with a light touch, her heart clenching in her chest. There was very little news coverage of Ben's alter ego, Scarlet Spider, during his stint protecting the city. This photo wasn't even taken by Peter, but was credited to another photographer from The Bugle. She flipped through the pages, hoping to find another article or photo, but there was nothing.

In a flash of irritation, she threw the book to the end of the bed, knocking the backpack onto the floor. The notebooks and pencils scattered across her floor, and she took a moment of breathing deeply before she got down to start collecting them back up. As she picked up the second notebook, this one having flipped open, her eyes scanned the writing automatically and froze.

Her name was written inside in several places. She flipped to the front page of the notebook and found a small inscription noting the dates that were written there.

Journals, she realized, He wrote journals.

She curled up against the bed and grabbed the oldest notebook from the pile. With knees supporting the journal as she read through the entries, each one dated a few weeks apart from one another, she took in her father's writing hungrily.

My name is Ben Reilly... Or it's Peter Parker. It sort of depends on who you ask? I don't know how to start this, to be honest. A good friend of mine said if I wrote out my thoughts it would help me sort my feelings. I don't know if they're right, but it's not like I can tell my life story to a professional, there's too much at stake.

Alright, so, my name is Ben - because it's the name I'm choosing, not the one I was given by the Jackal - and I'm a clone. I think...that part is a little unclear. I don't really want to get into that today, it gives me a headache to think about.

The original guy (probably) is Peter. He's a nice guy I think, even if he does seem a little lost. Who wouldn't be? We're still trying to sort everything out, and Peter has been a little cagey with me, but I can hardly blame him. I think we could be friends if he gave me a chance. We both need all the allies we can get.

Alright, I think I'll call it for today. I don't know if I'll keep up with this, but the doc says it could help and I'm going to trust that they're right.

I don't get it, Peter won't talk to me. I mean, if there's anyone who should be able to understand him, it would be me right? He won't even talk to Mary Jane and she's, like, kind of the best? I know it's wrong, but I adore being around her. She's smart, kind, confident… She knows what she wants out of life and she goes for it. Then there's me and Pete, constantly plagued by self doubt. What a trio we make. Well, we would be a trio, if she knew there were two of us. Peter hasn't told her the whole story, which I think is bullshit, but I'm trying not to start a fight with the guy.

Alright, I can't take it, I have to say it even if I'm the only one who will ever read these. I'm in love with Mary Jane. I tried to fight it for so long but I just can't deny it anymore.

But, she's in a relationship with Peter. Do I have any right to say something, when I've already taken so much from him? I mean, they both seem happy, so I should be happy for them… right?

The thing is though, I'm not. I'm jealous. I can't tell if it's a good thing that I can admit to being jealous, or if it would be better if I didn't feel this way at all.

I don't think Peter is good for her (which, again, could be the jealousy talking). I hate how much he holds back from her. I understand his reasoning. He doesn't want her to worry if she doesn't have to. But I mean… okay if you see someone about to walk into traffic because they're blind or distracted, you shout to warn them or push them out of the way, right? It's just the right thing to do. I don't see why this is any different.

But Mary Jane isn't my girlfriend and I don't have any right to meddle in their relationship. I'll just try and push Pete a little harder to talk with her, and I'll keep my distance. I can try, right?

Yeah the whole distance thing? That didn't work. When Pete's otherwise occupied, I find ways to spend time with Mary Jane. I'm really careful to make sure I don't catch myself in a lie. It's not easy, but, wow it's worth it. MJ is… I mean, amazing feels like it doesn't cover it.

I don't know the first thing about acting or Broadway, but I could listen to her talk about it for hours. She's so passionate about her craft and it's inspiring and adorable and… okay, I'm rambling. She loves hearing about my classes too. Oh, I guess I didn't mention, but I decided to finish out Peter's classes at ESU.

At first, I started attending to cover for him so he didn't fall behind, but as the weeks have gone on, and he's gotten more and more wrapped up in his hunt for the Jackal, I started to really enjoy it. I've always loved science. That's why Peter - or me? It's still unclear who's the original even after all these months - declared his (my) major as biochemistry when he (we?) were still freshmen.

Originally, the idea had been to find a job in a laboratory, maybe with Oscorp or Stark Industries, but the longer I spend in the classroom and the library I just feel… I don't know, at home? I'm making money by tutoring, but I think I'm going to go for a position as a teacher's aide or something. Who knows? Maybe I'll be a professor someday.

I mean, as long as I don't melt into a puddle of goop like some of the other clones have. That image is definitely still giving me nightmares, I don't know how Peter's coping with it. I want to ask him, but anytime I ask anything about the Jackal or what we found in that abandoned lab, he just shuts down on me. How am I supposed to help him when he won't talk to me?

The Jackal is dead, and this nightmare is finally over. I'm so relieved, but I can tell Pete isn't. He thinks it's a trick - one final grand escape plot. He keeps saying to be vigilant and that the Jackal will return, but honestly? I think all the stress of the last year has just finally gotten to him. He's retreated into a shell. He's paranoid, snappy, he and MJ fight constantly, which makes it even harder for me to see her when I'm constantly having to apologize for him.

I suggested we take a break for a while, find somewhere safe to go and just really talk about everything, but he refused. He thinks the moment he lets his guard down, the world will come crashing down on his shoulders. I just don't understand when he turned into such a pessimist. We have the same memories - I know everything he's gone through intimately, but I don't view the future with the same dark outlook he does. Maybe it's because… whenever I'm with MJ, all I can feel is hope.

I can't take it anymore! Lying to MJ is the worst feeling in the world, and I refuse to be a part of it. I told Peter either he tells her the truth or I will. We had a fight, and it got… ugly. He started accusing me of being a spy for the Jackal and it's like the last year never happened, we're back to square one with each other. I didn't like giving him a black eye, but he left me no choice. He attacked me with everything he had - I was only defending myself! Doesn't make me feel any less guilty, but I could have done a lot more damage if I wanted to and he knows it.

Peter's spiraling and he needs help, but he doesn't trust anyone. I tried to get him to talk with me, with MJ, with Aunt May, heck any of the Avengers would have sufficed, but he wouldn't listen.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I have to make a decision soon. This can't go on forever. It's not fair to MJ, or me, but I'm more worried about her. She deserves someone who trusts her with the truth. Whether that person ends up being me or someone else doesn't matter.

Peter has finally lost it. That's the only explanation. He told me that he's finally figured it out. He's the clone, he's sure of it. I'm… I don't know, maybe he's right? It feels like such a moot point by now. What does it really matter? We're both people, we have our own thoughts and feelings independent of each other. Honestly, if he wasn't so insistent on being a stubborn paranoid ass, I would be happy to call him my long lost brother and let it be. Nothing is ever that simple though.

Because he thinks I'm "the real Peter" he says he doesn't belong with Mary Jane, that we should be together. A part of me thinks that's stupid and crazy… but another secret part of me doesn't want to argue with him.

I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, whether it's five minutes or fifty years. I hate myself for thinking it but, I don't think he deserves her. Do I, though?

This shouldn't be a decision between just Peter and myself. Mary Jane should get to make her own choice. I will admit, I'm worried she'll reject us both. We've been lying to her for more than a year, she has every right to never speak to either of us again. If she does feel that way… I can't say it won't break my heart, but it will still be her choice to make, and I'll respect it.

Peter's disappeared - I think he's gone underground to search for the Jackal. At least I hope that's why I can't find him. He's not in any of our usual haunts, and no one says he's seen him - me - in the last week. With him gone, it's like a weight lifted off my chest. I didn't even realize how much his stress and paranoia was rubbing off on me. That probably sounds terrible, but for the first time in what feels like ages, I feel like I can actually breathe.

I told her. Mary Jane knows everything now. She was angry, of course, I knew she would be. After she slapped me (which hurt but I deserved it) she kissed me. That was wonderful, and confusing, and confusingly wonderful.

She was mad we'd lied for so long, but now that everything was out in the open, she admitted she had a hunch something weird was going on. She says she could tell a difference between us - I figured it was because he was always fighting with her and I wasn't, but she says there was more. We seem identical to me, but she says… I mean, I guess if there's anywhere I can get personal it's in these entries. She said I was more gentle, less pessimistic, maybe even younger in a way. It reminded her of how Peter was when they first met. I think it was the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.

We're still searching for Peter, of course, neither of us wants to leave him out in the cold when he needs help. But in the meantime, she wanted me to move into the apartment with her. She says she gets lonely at night all by herself. I'm sleeping in the second bedroom, even if I want to be with her, but I don't think either of us is ready for that. For now, we're focusing on finding Peter, and hopefully we'll figure us out along the way… I mean, if there even is an 'us', but a guy can dream.

"Heather? Honey, what's wrong?" Mary Jane stood in the open doorway, hand still on the knob. She frowned as she took in her daughter's red pinched face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes flicked to the notebook on Heather's lap then to the costume folded on the end of the bed. "Heather?"

"You knew?" Heather whispered, clutching the notebook to her chest so tightly the aged paper crinkled in protest.

"Knew what, honey?" MJ slowly approached, sliding down to sit on the floor beside her. She gently wiped her daughter's tears away with her thumb, cupping her cheek. "Tell me what's wrong, Heather."

"You knew about Ben and Peter?" Heather sniffed, wiping her wet cheek with the heel of her palm.

MJ looked confused for a beat, then her face filled with understanding. "That your father's name is really Ben Reilly, not Peter Parker? Of course I know sweetie. He told me so a long time ago, before we even got engaged. But we had to keep up pretenses, so he started using Peter's name. And then," she grimaced, "Well, then Peter died, but so much time had passed by that point that it seemed ridiculous for Ben to start using his old name again."

Now Heather felt confused. She'd been sure her mother had no idea who Ben was. But her father's journal said he'd told her the truth. So why did Mary Jane sound like she thought Ben was still alive?

"Everything okay here?" Peter asked, poking his head in.

"We're okay," Mary Jane reassured him. "I told you we should have explained the name change years ago when the kids were little. I know the story is a lot to take in, but you know Peter wanted us to be happy. He wouldn't have cared that you kept using his name, Ben."

"I know," Peter said smoothly, but Heather caught the split second of panic in his eyes. "But still, it was confusing for us, and trying to explain it to the kids would be-"

"Fuck you!" Heather shouted, jumping to her feet and surprising both of them.

"Heather!" Mary Jane said sternly, "Language!"

Heather ignored her mother, clutching the journal with one hand while the other pushed Peter back a step. "You're a coward, Peter! You didn't tell her who died in the warehouse - you let her think you were her husband! What is wrong with you?" She gave him another shove, this one pushing him into the wall.

"Stop it!" MJ grabbed her daughter's arm. "What has gotten into you? What are you talking about?"

Heather's tears had turned hot and angry, and she struggled to take in a deep even breath for a moment. "He's not Ben. Dad died ten years ago in that warehouse. Peter couldn't save him-" she stopped as a sob wracked her shoulders.

Understanding dawned in MJ's eyes. "Peter?" She asked, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

Peter opened and closed his mouth several times before he found his voice. "I - yeah, MJ… it's me."

MJ slowly shook her head, pulling Heather back by the grip she still had on her arm, but much more gently than before. "All this time?"

"I'm so sorry, Mary Jane," He said, voice thick with remorse.

He moved to touch her shoulder and she jerked back, pulling Heather to her chest protectively as her daughter continued to cry. "I think you should go," She said firmly, even as tears stung her own eyes.

"I-"

"Now, Peter," she repeated more harshly.

He sighed and backed up. "I really am sorry," he said, looking at both of them in turn before turning and walking away.

Mary Jane didn't move until she heard the front door open and close shut. "Baby, are you okay?" She murmured, cupping Heather's cheek to turn her face towards her.

Heather shook her head miserably.

"Oh, honey," MJ pulled her into a tight hug, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Chapter Text

Mary Jane pushed the cup of coffee in front of Heather along with a plate of toast. Heather stared at the food blankly.

Her mother sighed, taking the chair across from her. "Sweetie, you need to eat. I've lived with an enhanced for the last twenty plus years, I know what your metabolism is like," she sipped her own coffee, running a hand through her red hair in an attempt to wake herself up more. Despite years of early mornings chasing kids and crack of dawn rehearsals, MJ was not a morning person and was pretty sure that she never would be.

"I just…" Heather picked up the toast and took a tentative bite, chewing slowly. "I can't believe he lied to you. I thought -" She shook her head, "I don't know what I thought."

MJ seemed to think about that for a long minute, studying her coffee cup. "It was more of an omission," she said slowly.

"That's just another word for a lie!" Heather snapped.

MJ gave her a steady look and Heather took a deep breath. "Sorry," the younger woman murmured.

Mary Jane sighed, sipping her coffee. "You lied to us, when your powers appeared. I've told lies... we all have. I'm not saying it makes it right, I'm saying neither of us can sit here and claim to have the moral high ground." She raised her hand as Heather opened her mouth to object. "I'm not saying that I'm not angry, either. I'm very angry… but I have to be objective about this."

"Why? Why do you have to be the calm, rational one?" Heather demanded, her voice small.

MJ gave her a soft smile. "Because I'm the mom, and sometimes that means what's best for my children comes before what might be best for me."

Heather shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks again. "That's not fair to you."

"No one ever said being a parent was fair," the older woman shrugged, and for the first time ever Heather thought her mother looked every year of her age.

"You don't have to forgive him," Heather denied, raking her hands through her hair. "I'll never forgive him!"

"Don't say that," MJ pulled her daughter's hand away from her tangled tresses. "You know, he may not be your father-"

"He's not," Heather snapped.

MJ nodded, "I know, I know. But… Ben died when you were six. Peter has been with us for the last ten years. Peter… isn't perfect," she said after a moment's hesitation. "But think about it honey. Remember those nights I had to work late, and he tucked you into bed? The nights you had a cold and he stayed up with you to give me a break. That was Peter, not Ben."

"But-" Heather wiped her face, chest tight. "But Daddy he…"

"I know you miss him darling, I miss him too," MJ pushed away her own tears, smiling tightly. "Ben was a wonderful man, and nothing can ever replace the years we spent with him. It also doesn't change the years we spent with Peter."

"He never said anything! He had so many chances to just tell the truth," Heather knew she was whining, and she didn't care. For so long, she'd tried to be grown up, to handle life as it came at her. Like none of it bothered her, and she just had to keep pushing through. But right now, she felt like the very young sixteen year old she was, and all she wanted was for her mother to make everything right again.

"Sometimes that's the hardest thing to do," MJ said as gently as she could. When her daughter continued to cry, she got up and gathered her in her arms. She pressed a kiss to Heather's forehead. "It's alright, honey. It's all going to be okay."

"Do I have to go to school?" Heather asked tearfully a few minutes later.

MJ thought about it for a moment. "No, baby. I'm going to call Harry's school too. You kids need a day off to take all this in."

"Can I-" She sniffed. "Can I tell him? About Daddy? I know he doesn't remember him but…"

MJ gave her a careful look. "How did you know?"

"That Harry was Ben's too?" Heather shrugged. "He's six years younger than me, and he came two weeks late… I dunno, I just did the math."

MJ smiled sadly. "My smart girl," she murmured, kissing her daughter again. "Okay, honey, you can tell him about Dad, but please don't be too harsh on Peter."

Heather started to say something, then seemed to change her mind. "Alright, Mom."

"That's my girl," MJ got her purse off the hook by the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Peter and I are overdue for a very long talk," MJ smiled at Heather, "I'll be back before you know it. Try not to burn down the house while I'm gone, okay?"

Heather rolled her eyes but smiled. "We'll try, but no promises."

"I knew I would find you here," Mary Jane leaned on the door frame of Peter's office, watching him rub his temples as he hunched over his desk.

"I don't know why you came," he admitted.

There was a glass of iced scotch on his desk, but judging by the amount of condensation that had gathered around it, she knew he'd barely touched it. It didn't surprise her. Neither Peter nor Ben were drinkers, and both had had the habit of pouring a drink just to look at it. That thought had her eyes misting again, and she swiped at them subtly.

"Because you're my husband," she said simply, coming inside and slowly closing the door.

"I'm not, though, you know that now," He refuted, picking up the glass to roll it between his hands.

She sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, crossing her knee and letting her gaze roam around the cramped office that had once been Ben's. His degree was still on the wall, along with countless photos of their family, but she noticed the newer photos became more sparse. She counted at least four from when Heather was two, but the newest photo was from last year's holiday card. She decided that with everything else going on, she didn't have the energy to unpack that as well.

"You still asked me to marry you first," She reminded him and shrugged. "It counts."

"Does it?" He snapped then rubbed his tired eyes. "Sorry. Out of line. I haven't been sleeping."

"I know," she said quietly. "You didn't tell me why, but I noticed."

"You always notice."

"It's a gift."

There was a long, awkward pause, and that was wrong.

MJ and Peter were never awkward. Twenty some years together, they could read each other like open books… or so she always thought. Maybe she'd been wrong about that too. Maybe what she'd assumed she saw in his gaze and microexpressions wasn't what he'd been thinking at all, and she'd been projecting the thoughts and feelings of a man she had unknowingly lost ten years ago.

She took in a sharp breath and looked down at her lap, willing the tears down. She had mourned for Peter, all those years ago. She and Ben had cried together over his loss for months. But… that wasn't right either, was it? She'd been mourning the wrong man, and he had never bothered to tell her. Her anger rose to the surface again, shimmering just beneath her skin like heat.

"I don't understand. Why?" She finally said, quietly.

As a young woman, her temper had run bright and hot, a flare that would ignite and extinguish at almost the drop of a hat. She'd lived up to the stereotype of the fiery redhead, and been quite proud of it. But years of working in an industry which required a great deal of patience, married to a man who habitually missed dates and broke promises, had eventually cooled her temper into a quiet storm. Now, her anger was slow to build and slower to dissipate. It was hard to say which was the lesser of two evils.

"That night…" Peter stopped, swallowed and scrubbed a hand over his face again. She almost told him that if he kept that up he'd give himself wrinkles, then decided that maybe she didn't care. "I found them in the warehouse. I was too late. I'd tried, believe me MJ, I'd tried everything to get there in time! It wasn't enough - it's never goddamn enough," his voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands again.

On any other day, she would have gone to him then. She would have gathered him into her arms and kissed his demons away. A part of her heart still pushed her to do so, but she knew if she stopped him now she might never get the answers she wanted. She stayed where she was and waited for him to compose himself.

"Ben was gone, and Heather was," He took in a shuddering breath as tears slid down his face. "God, Mary Jane, she was devastated. It was like - like my parents! And Gwen, and Harry, and Uncle Ben all over again! Just history repeating itself, over and over."

Now MJ was crying too. She could still see her, even now. Heather had come home covered in ash and dirt, reeking of smoke, tear streaks cutting through the filth on her cheeks. MJ had been terrified she'd never see her again when Ben had called her at the theater to tell her their baby was gone. She'd held onto her daughter tight that night, unwilling to let her out of sight for even a second for the next two weeks.

MJ pressed her heels into her eyes, willing herself to focus. She needed to be calm if they were going to get through this conversation. "But why Peter? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I…"

"You what Peter?"

"What else did you expect?!" He shouted suddenly, banging the glass onto the desk, liquid sloshing over the rim unnoticed.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She demanded.

"He was the one you wanted to come home," he said, the burst of anger gone as quickly as it came, replaced with something like shame and self loathing. "You chose him! You loved him, he was your hero. I should have been the one trying to bring her home. I should have died that night, not him. He had you, and Heather, and a life, and I took him away from you. When you called me Ben…" his voice broke again and he stared down into the still untouched glass. "I… what did you expect me to say? How could I say - how could I possibly explain that your husband was gone, but I'm still here? That I'm still here..." he added, so low that she was sure he hadn't meant for her to hear it.

MJ spent a long moment just looking at him. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so miserable. "But you had the next ten years to say something, to find a way to explain it. Why didn't you?"

"Because I was scared!" Peter snapped. "I was scared, and angry, and lost, and…" His words grew quieter as he seemed to lose momentum.

"I'm sorry, Mary Jane," he whispered brokenly.

She drew in a long breath, but kept her eyes locked on his. "You said I chose him, and I did. But I said 'yes' to you first. You pulled away from me, and you didn't even have the courtesy to tell me why. I loved both of you - the difference between you and Ben?" She leaned forward, voice earnest, "is he told me the truth. He gave me a choice. I didn't pick him because I didn't have other options. By all accounts, I could have left you both high and dry. Ben never tried to 'steal' me away from you. He just wanted to be there for me. He told me, more times than I can remember, that if it was too weird to have him around he'd leave. Or that if I wanted to be rid of the whole Peter/Ben mess, I had every right to walk away. He respected my right to choose my own path."

"I just wanted you to be safe," He whispered desperately.

"Being with you or Ben didn't put me at any more risk than living a normal life," she said, and pointed at him when he opened his mouth to protest. "I mean it, Peter. I had an abusive, possessive boyfriend before we were together. I live in New York City, where people get mugged, raped, murdered, and god knows what else on a daily basis. I could step off a curb and be mowed down by a cab tomorrow. You can't protect me from everything, but I have never asked you to. You or Ben. All I've ever asked is that you love me and my children."

Peter's eyes flicked to the closed door for a moment. His expression reminded her of cracked glass, like any second he could shatter.

"When you asked me to marry you, we agreed that we'd do this together. We'd face whatever came our way together," MJ slid her hands over his, her touch finding all the familiar calluses and scars. "What suddenly made that change?"

"How could I promise you anything, when I wasn't even sure who I was?" He asked, voice trembling.

She took a breath, a spark of relief igniting in her chest. Finally… finally we're getting somewhere. "Do you have any idea how many times Ben and I talked about that? How many long sleepless nights we spent together, going around in circles over that? But at the end of the day, we kept coming back to the same conclusion: that it. Doesn't. Matter."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it doesn't! You are two different people. From the moment you started living your own lives, you became different men. You're no different than siblings who have the same childhood memories. You share DNA, but not the same soul," MJ stressed, squeezing his hands. "I loved Ben. I will always love Ben. I shared a wonderful life with him, but he's gone and you're still here. You've been here for ten years. I know you love me, or you would have left a long time ago. That's why I came looking for you."

"Mary Jane," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."

She took in a slow breath and waited for a beat.

"You don't forgive me, do you?" Peter asked and his eyes threatened to break her heart.

"Peter, I love you," She said slowly. "But I am still very angry with you. I'm angry that you lied to me and our children. I'm angry that you've spent the last several years pushing our kids away. Don't try to deny it," she said sharply, seeing the argument in his face. "I know you probably did it because you were scared of getting too close to them, in case something happened to you too, but that's no excuse. They're children, Peter, even Heather. They need their father."

"It's not just that," he admitted, shoulders sinking as his head hung with guilt. "I look at Heather, at… at Harry, and all I see is Ben. I see it in how Harry laughs, the way Heather gets lost in her thoughts when something's bothering her. Ben should be here to see them grow up… he never even knew you were pregnant with Harry, and he won't see Heather graduate."

"So because their birth father isn't here, you're going to deny them your attention too?" MJ retorted, her patience wearing thin. "Excellent logic, Peter. They could have used you during the Cuban missile crisis."

Peter winced at her sarcastic jab. "If I push them away, it won't hurt as bad if - if I die in the field… if I push Heather away from this life, I can keep my promise to Ben to keep her safe…"

"If you push them away, you push me away," MJ spat. "Do you want that Peter? Do you want all three of them to grow up fatherless? It's not just Audrey that's your kid," she continued more gently. "When Ben died, Harry and Heather became yours as well. You're the only father Harry has ever known! And Heather would be a lot safer if you taught her to do this job well, rather than you continually trying to bench her," she added.

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether she wanted to go for the low blow. The doubt lingering in Peter's eyes cemented her resolve. "When Ben and I found out we were pregnant with Heather," she said quietly. "He worried that she might have his powers. He told me a few times that he thought she had something, a spider sense at least, but he had a feeling it wouldn't truly develop until she was older. I asked him what he wanted to do if she did. He didn't hesitate; he told me he would teach her everything he knew. He wanted to train her to be the next Scarlet Spider, if that's what she wanted."

"She's just a kid!" He protested.

"So were you," she shrugged. "Wouldn't you have given anything to have someone there to mentor you from the beginning?"

He sighed heavily. He picked up the glass, the ice long since melted, and swirled the amber liquid. "So you're angry at me, but you want me to stay?" He asked carefully.

"I am angry with you, but I'm mostly disappointed," she acknowledged, and he winced.

"Dammit MJ, that's Aunt May's line," he joked weakly.

"It's a mother's line," she smirked.

She sighed, "Peter, regardless of what problems we're having, our kids have to come first. I don't want them to choose sides - either because we create sides, or the kids think they need to. I don't want them to grow up resenting either of us."

"Bit late for one of them."

"No, it's not," she denied. "You can still fix things with Heather. You still have time with her, and I won't let you squander it." She got up and came around the desk to cup his face in her hands, waiting until his eyes met hers. "Come home, Peter. Come home and be the father I know you can be."

Peter studied her features for a long moment, tracing over the familiar curves and dips of her smile, the spark in her eyes. He raised a hand up to meet hers still cupped to his cheek, leaning into the touch. "I'm not sure I know how," he admitted.

"We'll figure it out," she promised. "Please, Peter. I know this is what Ben would have wanted."

His eyes flicked to a photo on the wall, and she knew immediately which one. Ben at the hospital, a newborn Heather in his arms, the gentle awe and happiness in his face so pure it almost hurt to look at. A tear slipped down his cheek, sliding through her fingers.

"Okay, MJ… I'll try."

Chapter Text

"Why won't you tell me where we're going?" Harry asked, kicking his legs restlessly against the hard plastic seat of the train. Heather rolled her eyes as she handed her little sister another cheese cracker. Audrey took it and leaned back in her stroller, munching on her snack happily.

"Why can't you trust me?" She asked, smiling patiently.

Harry now rolled his eyes. "I do, it's just - okay, look, getting the day off from school is awesome. I'm not going to ask about that, just in case Mom changes her mind. But now we're heading way uptown, and I just want to know - why?"

"There's something I need to show you," Heather said quietly.

Harry frowned, not liking the sad glint in his sister's eyes. He knew she'd been upset the last several days, but he figured if it was important she or their parents would explain it eventually. He'd never liked to pry into his sister's life. She was six years older than him, and while he loved her, he knew that the age gap was always going to cause some amount of division between them. Ever since the superhero thing had started, Harry had secretly hoped that Heather would talk about it with him, but it felt like she'd only gotten more reserved and secretive.

Maybe… maybe today that would change.

When they finally got off the train and were walking along the sunlit sidewalk, Audrey had fallen asleep. Harry and Heather shared an amused look. Their youngest sibling was so far proving to be someone who could fall asleep anywhere, and once asleep she was usually out for several hours.

"It's not fair, you know?" Harry said, shaking his head. "Takes forever for me to fall asleep."

"Hey, at least you never have to worry about her waking you up," Heather said with a teasing smile. "When you were her age, you woke me up three or four times every night. That's why I look so exhausted in all my elementary school photos."

"Oh sure, blame the baby," Harry rolled his eyes, but laughed when she lightly shoved him.

Heather looked up then and frowned, her steps slowing.

Harry followed her gaze and felt his stomach clench. They were standing in front of a church with a rather large cemetery. "Heather?"

His sister sighed. "Come on, Harry," she said, significantly more subdued than before. She pushed the stroller through the gate and across the lawn. He followed her uneasily. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, and in no time they were standing in front of four gravestones.

He frowned, a memory niggling at the back of his mind. "You brought us to see grandma and grandpa Parker, and great uncle Ben's graves?"

She smiled sadly at him. "You were Audrey's age the last time we were here, I think, or maybe a little older."

Harry could now vaguely recall this same cemetery covered in a light blanket of snow, his mother fussing with his winter coat while his dad and sister placed flowers on the graves. "Yeah, I think so. Why are we here though?"

"We're not here for them," She said, moving closer to the headstone marked Benjamin Reilly. She carefully brushed some leaves off of the top. "I know this is going to be hard to accept, but I didn't want you to find out from someone else."

"Find out what?"

"It's a very long story," Heather warned, sitting on the grass beside their sister's stroller. She patted the ground next to her and her brother slowly sat down.

By the time Heather finished, both of them were crying. She'd come a little more prepared this time and had brought a box of tissues that they were sharing.

Harry wiped his face, his eyes red. "I wish I could remember him," he said eventually.

"He was a great dad," Heather murmured. "I don't think he even knew mom was pregnant with you. But he would have been thrilled. I remember them telling me that they wanted to give me a little brother or sister."

"I don't understand why Dad never told us," He asked, looking lost.

She bit her tongue, resisting the urge to call Peter a coward in front of her brother. She'd promised her mother she wouldn't drag him through the mud, but it was difficult to keep her mouth shut. She'd tried to keep the story as simple as possible, skipping over basically any part Peter had the night their father had died, and only said that Peter had brought her home. "I don't know," she said eventually.

"I mean -" He hesitated. "I hate that he's busy all the time, and it always feels like he favors Audrey over us but… I mean, nobody is perfect, right? She's the baby, and - well, lots of parents have favorite kids," he added glumly.

"Hey, c'mere," She pulled her brother into a hug, brushing her fingers through his dark hair. "He loves us, he's just not always great at showing it…" She bit her lip over his shoulder, glad that he couldn't see her face. He could always see through her, and he'd know instantly that she didn't really believe that. "You'll always be my favorite brother," she added in a lighter tone, making his shoulder shake as he laughed.

"I'm your only brother, stupid."

"Hence, my favorite," She said, pulling back to press a quick kiss to his temple.

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his smile. "You're kind of cool, too," he murmured.

Heather's heart suddenly felt a little too full, and she quickly wiped her eyes. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry looked over as Audrey let out a small snore. "Should we tell her?" He asked quietly.

"Maybe someday, when she's old enough to understand," She answered after a moment.

"...Heather?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you… are you mad at him?"

Heather smiled bitterly, "You're just like Mom, you know? Nothing gets past you."

"So you are mad," Harry pressed. She hesitated before nodding slowly. "Are you still going to, um, work with him?"

"I…" She blew out a breath and combed her fingers through her hair, pulling it into a messy bun while she considered her answer. "I don't know if I have a choice. I mean, I guess I either get over it or I stop."

"But, you found out who hurt your friend, right? Do you have to keep going?" She looked at him then, studying the way the sun brought out small streaks of gold in his brunette hair. Hours of soccer practice had given him a scattering of freckles across his nose and arms. He was almost twelve, but today he seemed so much older.

"I think," she said slowly. "When you're able to stop bad things from happening, you should. If you don't, I mean, what kind of person are you then? Like, if you saw Audrey was going to touch the stove when it was hot, wouldn't you stop her?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I would. But… you know that you can't fix everything, right?"

"Of course not," Heather ran her fingers through the grass, unable to meet his eyes. "I think that's why there's so many like me. We can't fix everything alone, but I think together we can at least make a difference, and I want to help. I think Dad would have wanted me to help."

"Well… maybe there's other people you could learn from, aside from D- er, Peter," he finished awkwardly.

"It's okay if you still want to call him 'dad', you won't hurt my feelings," she said gently. "I just don't think I can right now. It's still too fresh for me."

"Okay…" Harry squeezed her shoulder.

They sat for a little bit in silence, just enjoying the sunshine and the occasional breeze. The chill of early spring had long passed, and the stifling summer heat hadn't come yet. Soon the pavement would feel like walking on the sun, and crowds of tourists would make the city feel even hotter, but for now it was comfortable.

"Do you think he would have liked me?" Harry's voice was so quiet, it might as well have been the breeze.

"He would have loved you," she assured him in a whisper. "Just as much as the rest of us do."

He leaned against her side and she put her arm around him. "Thanks, Heather."

When they arrived home that afternoon, they found MJ and Peter sitting in the living room talking quietly. They both stood up as soon as they saw the kids, several emotions flashing across Peter's face. There was an awkward moment of silence as Peter tried to catch Heather's eye, Heather stared at a spot on the wall and Harry fidgeted, uncertain.

"Oh for goodness sake," MJ finally exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Come over here you two. Peter needs to talk to you both."

Peter shot her a helpless glance. "Mary Jane, I-"

She met his glance with a steely one of her own. "You promised me, Peter," she said quietly. She quickly unstrapped Audrey from her stroller, picked the now awake toddler up, and put her on her hip. "Audrey needs a bath, and you three need to talk about this. We're clearing the air today - right here, right now." She gave each of them a stern look before disappearing into the bathroom.

Heather rolled her eyes, but slowly sat down on the sofa, in the seat farthest from Peter. Harry hesitated before finally picking a seat in the middle. Peter very slowly joined them, looking like he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

"So…" Harry said, clicking his tongue. "You're not our dad." He was twisting his hands in his lap, glancing between the two of them.

Peter sighed, running his hands through his hair, hands coming to rest at the back of his neck. "I - No. No, I'm not. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Oh sure, you apologize to him," Heather's scoff was barely a breath, crossing her arms. Peter's eyes flicked to her, and she could see the argument on his lips before he took a sharp breath through his nose and refocused on Harry.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked, voice cracking as a tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped at it, the way any teenage boy would - like he couldn't believe he was actually crying. Heather wanted to tell him that he didn't have anything to be ashamed of, but couldn't manage to get the words to leave her.

"I never knew how," Peter admitted. "And then it felt like it was too late. Your dad… he left some very big shoes behind, and I've never felt adequate enough to fill them, much as I tried. I've been trying to be him, while also holding onto my past, and clearly that's not working."

"What do you mean, holding onto the past?" Harry frowned, leaning toward him.

"Why do you think I still work at The Bugle? It's certainly not for the paycheck," Peter shook his head, leaning on his knees with his elbows. "I've worked for that trashy paper since I was a teenager. Even when I basically became Spiderman full time, I paid for my hole in the wall apartment with money from The Bugle. Your dad was the one who finished studying at Empire State and got the professorship. Ben was a brilliant guy... and a good friend."

No... Heather's skin felt hot and agitated. She got up from the sofa and stood in front of the window, her back to them. You shouldn't get to say his name. You took his place, took his seat at the dinner table, took his name - you took him from me. Why won't you just admit it? Admit that you stole him from us? She kept her arms crossed, as if doing so would keep her from falling apart. She heard Peter sigh.

"The only way we can move forward is by talking about this, Heather," He said.

As if I'm the unreasonable one, she thought, jaw clenching so hard her teeth ached. "But we're not really talking about it, are we? All you've done so far is deflect. Why can't you just admit that you were wrong?"

"I'm not deflecting," He said, an edge of frustration creeping in.

"Then say it!" She demanded, turning back around. "Say you were wrong. Say that you shouldn't have lied to us. Go on, do it," she pushed, raising her chin, eyes steely.

His eyes narrowed. It was a look she recognized as 'you keep pushing and you're grounded'; but she wasn't going to back down, not this time.

Harry looked between them, torn.

She could tell her brother wanted her to let it go, but she couldn't. Every time she thought of releasing the death grip on her anger, her heart would constrict with hurt and heat and panic. As if the only thing holding her together anymore was raging magma, and if she let go for even a second she'd go cold. She'd freeze under the avalanche of her despair, sinking under densely packed ice that no one would be able to dig her out from.

"I -" Peter took in a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. He met her eyes, looking tired and worn. "You're right. I shouldn't have lied to you, any of you. I was wrong. I'm sorry, Heather."

Heather blinked, uncertain. She took an unsteady step backwards. He said it. I can't believe he- I mean... this is what I wanted. Right? So why… Why does it still feel like I lost?

"...Studied for Mr. Gillispie's test yet? I'm so nervous that I'll fail the final. You'll study with me, right?"

Heather blinked, suddenly realizing that Rhi had been talking to her for at least a minute and she'd barely heard a word. "Uh," she said intelligently, her brain struggling to catch up. "Yeah, sure, I'll help you," she finally managed.

Rhi looked up from her pasta salad and frowned. "You've been weird this whole week. Are you sure you're okay?" She tilted her head, forehead wrinkling. "Is it- I mean, have you been thinking about your Dad today?"

Predictably, her mouth went dry. "Um, yeah," she took a sip of soda. It tasted like nothing. "I guess I have." In a way at least...

"You know I meant what I said," Rhi put her hand over the other girl's cold limp one. "You can talk to me."

"I just-" Heather's eyes filled with tears. Again, predictably.

She'd been crying a lot lately. She'd had to excuse herself from three different classes this week alone so she could compose herself in the bathroom. She knew her teachers were concerned about her, but she'd been pushing them off and blaming the whole thing on stress from finals.

She blinked rapidly, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. He admitted he was wrong. He told me he was sorry. So why do I still feel like this? Why do I still feel like -" She swallowed. "Like I'm broken?"

"You're not broken," Rhi shook her head. "I think you need to talk to someone about this, Heather. Therapy did a lot of good for me and Mom."

"Who am I supposed to talk about this with? I can't exactly talk about Peter's night job with just any doctor," Heather pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"Robin might know someone," Mike said, coming up to the table with his tray and having heard the tail end of their conversation. He sat down next to his girlfriend, stealing one of her fries.

"That's brilliant, babe," Rhi smiled at him, but still flicked the hand that had stolen her fry. "Call him, Heather. Or text him, I don't know. He seems to really care about you. I mean, I wasn't there, but you sort of indicated that Batman - while still terrifying - cared about you too. I mean, he did push Peter to talk to you. That counts for something right?"

Heather stared down at her tray.

If you'd suggested she speak to anyone about her problems a few weeks ago, she would have rejected the idea outright. Even before secret identities had been an issue, she'd always hated feeling vulnerable and weak when she discussed her feelings. She'd been more honest with Rhi and Mike than she'd ever been with her parents, but she still held her cards close to her chest. She was just never a 'wear your heart on your sleeve' kind of person.

But whatever this was - this awful ache in her chest - wasn't going away on it's own.

"...Yeah. You guys are right. He's probably in class right now too, but it wouldn't hurt to text him." She took a deep breath, finally feeling a sliver of control creep back in. She pulled out her phone from her bag and opened her contacts. It didn't take long to find him - given that he'd entered his name as an emoji, he was at the top of the list.

Heather: Hey

Robin: What's up?

Heather: This is awkward, but can I ask you something?

Robin: I mean, you just did, but go ahead

Heather: ugh, don't be a jerk, okay? I've had a really sucky week… well, actually more like month

Robin: Sorry, KF is rubbing off on me. What's going on?

Heather: Can we meet? I feel like it'll be easier to talk about this in person. Plus I don't want someone finding this conversation later

Robin: Sure, I can meet you. I still want a tour of NY anyway

Heather: Right, I can do that

Robin: This afternoon work? I can bring something for your phone to make it unhackable

Heather: Considering you're the last one who hacked it, I think you owe me that much. This afternoon is good. Thanks Rob

Robin: No worries

Chapter Text

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter Thirty-Four

Heather leaned her elbows against the stone wall of the bridge spanning one of the many small rivers in Central Park. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly through the overhead trees. Here, this deep in the park, the sounds of the city around her were muffled; though not totally gone of course. She hadn't even realized she'd had a headache all day, until her brain registered the lack of traffic noises.

A slight figure in a navy school uniform suddenly leaned against the wall next to her. She took in Dick's blazer and loosened tight and couldn't help but giggle. "Seriously? Is B trying to torture you or something? What's with the monkey suit?"

Dick gave her a good natured smile, pushing his sunglasses up higher on his nose. He ran a hand through his hair, carding through it until the slicked back 'rich kid' style was gone. Now it reminds her more of the first time she saw him in his Robin uniform, messy and yet somehow cool. "Better Gotham Academy than Gotham North; they actually serve real food in the cafeteria," he joked.

"You still look about as comfortable in that, as you did in a tux at the charity benefit," Heather observed as Dick slipped his coat off and folded it over his arm.

"You get used to it. So… what's going on?" He asked, leaning his back against the wall and turning his head toward her.

"I…" She sighed. "I don't know how to ask this. I'm not-" she gripped her hands together tightly, until her knuckles turned white. "I'm not okay," she admitted slowly. "Peter came clean to Mom. He admitted that he's been lying all these years, and that my dad is dead. He said he was sorry-" her voice broke on the last word, tears dripping off her chin.

"Heather," Dick said gently, putting his arm around the taller girl in a one armed hug.

"I just-" She stuttered after several moments of crying, wiping her nose miserably with the back of her hand. "I got my answers. I know why I've felt so wrong in my own home for years. He apologized, he's trying to do better, so why? Why do I still feel like this?"

He seemed to weigh his words for a minute, studying the paddle boats they could see tourists using out on the pond. "You know, my first case was finding my parents' killer. Tony Zuko had been trying to extort protection money from Pop Haley at the circus, and he made an example out of my family. B helped me get my revenge and put my case to rest. Zuko will be in prison for the rest of his life… but there are still some nights where I feel like I haven't done enough," he admitted quietly. "I may have gotten closure for their deaths, but it doesn't change the fact that they're still gone. If it wasn't for Bruce, I'd be alone."

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her face. "It never goes away, does it," she said hollowly.

He frowned sympathetically. "Not really. It lessens, but the hurt never really leaves you."

Heather picked absently at a loose bit of stone with her fingernail. "Rhianna… suggested that I talk to someone about this. Someone who could be discreet. Do you - I mean - is there anyone you could recommend?"

Dick pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Dick, why are we here?" Heather asked, confused as they stood outside a bodega that was clearly closed and had been for some time. "I mean, if you wanted chips, I don't think we're going to get them here," she folded her arms and lifted one eyebrow as Dick pulled on the door which readily opened for him.

"After you," He said with a sweep of his arm.

She eyed him for a minute before shrugging and walking inside. The bodega was dark, the glass windows having been covered with newspapers on the inside, but she could make out rows of empty shelving, trash was strewn about the floor, there was a counter with an ancient register and along the back walls were the refrigerator cases. "Seriously, why are we here? Shoplifting loses its appeal when there's nothing left to take," she joked.

Dick smirked. "I'm about to show you how superheroes are able to get from one side of the world to the other so fast." He strode down the empty aisle to the second to last glass refrigerator door, which had a handwritten 'out of order sign' taped to it.

Well that seems pointless, Heather thought. None of them are working. Her confusion only grew as Dick pulled the door open and stepped inside the fridge, motioning for her to follow. "Dick… why are you asking me to climb into a fridge with you?"

"It's not a fridge, it's a zeta beam," Dick said in a singsong voice, excitement radiating from him.

"What the hell is a 'zeta beam'?" She asked, throwing her arms out in exasperation.

"Will you just trust me?" He held out his hand to her, peeking at her over his sunglasses so she could see her eyes.

I don't have a lot of trust left to give, she thought, but found herself sighing and taking his hand. She let him pull her into the squished space. Unlike a normal fridge in a convenience store, which would have had shelves for drinks and be open at the back so staff could stock it from the other side, this one seemed to literally just be a square box with a door. There was something that looked like a camera lens mounted on one wall.

She didn't have to wonder at it for very long. The lens emitted a white laser that scanned them from head to toe. A disembodied robotic voice said, "Recognized. Robin, B01. Attention: second user not recognized."

"Dick, what's with Skynet?" Heather asked warily in a hushed voice.

"Relax," Dick said breezily. "Computer, authorize Black Widow. Code: Robin, B01," he told the camera lens.

"Recognized. Black Widow, B09, has been authorized. Requesting Location."

"Take us to Mount Justice," Dick said, grinning widely. "Oh, you might want to close your eyes," he suggested.

"What?" Heather asked stupidly, before being blinded by a bright white light.

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was Dick's black hair and she realized that in her panic she'd grabbed the shorter boy in a death grip. He chuckled and her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as she let go.

"Sorry," She mumbled, "It just - startled me, that's all…"

Dick's chuckle morphed into his signature cackle and she scowled at him. "You could have warned me," she complained, before looking around.

Heather's mouth dropped open as she looked around her, taking in the huge cavern. "This is where your team operates?" She asked.

Robin nodded, pulling his tie from around his neck. "Yep, this is it. Mount Justice. Normally, Aqualad, Miss Martian and Superboy would all be here, they live in the cave the majority of the time, but for now we're the only ones here. Come on; I'm going to get changed real quick. Black Canary will be here soon."

Heather followed along behind him slowly. She kept fidgeting with her hair, her spider-sense working on overtime as it took in all the new stimuli. She glanced around as they passed through a living room and a fairly spacious kitchen. "You're sure she doesn't mind talking with me? I mean, I'm not even a member of your team. Maybe this was a bad idea," she added, chewing her lower lip between her teeth as they came to a stop outside of what was obviously a bedroom. She watched as Robin placed his palm on the scanner outside, then punched in a very complex looking code.
As the door's lock clicked open, he turned to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Heather, trust me, it's no problem. Just… take a breath, yeah? You've got this."

She gave him a weak smile in return. "Stay welmed, right?" she asked quietly.

"Exactly," he grinned, then seemed to remember something. "Hey, there's a locker room down the hallway. Do you want to change into your suit, or stay in civvies? Doesn't matter either way, Canary's not going to say anything, but if it makes you more comfortable…" He shrugged.

Heather glanced down the hallway, debating with herself. "I… you know what? Yeah, I think, I think that might be better."

"Okay, just meet me in the kitchen when you get done. I think M'gaan made cookies yesterday. Hopefully there's still some left that Wally hasn't devoured." He offered his fist and she smiled before giving it a bump. He disappeared into his room, the door locking behind him.

Heather took a shaky breath. Even if this doesn't help, at least you're trying. Dick seems to think it will help so… I mean, it can't make things worse, right?

"Recognized: Black Canary, 13."

Black Widow fidgeted nervously with her glove as the Justice League member stepped out of the zeta beam. She glanced at Robin from the corner of her eye, wishing not for the first time that she had his confidence. He's been doing this for years. Most of the League sees him as like a nephew; of course he's not nervous, she thought, taking a breath to try and calm herself.

"You must be Black Widow," Canary said warmly. "Robin's told me a lot about you. It's nice to put a face to the name." She held out a hand and Widow shook it, trying to be mindful of her strength.

"Hi," Widow managed, her eyes darting to Robin again. He gave her a reassuring smile, and inwardly she scoffed. How pathetic am I that I need a thirteen year old to tell me not to freak out? Aloud, she said, "Nice to meet you too. I'm a big fan of how you can… uh, blow things up with your voice." She looked down at her boots, blushing.

Canary chuckled, not unkindly. "Thank you. Robin told me you needed someone to talk to. I understand you're still new, and that can be nerve wracking. Why don't you follow me?"

Widow nodded, shooting Robin a grateful look when he gave her arm a comforting squeeze. "I'll be in the gym, if you need me," he said, before walking away.

She followed Canary down several corridors before they finally came to a sitting room with two green lounge chairs, a coffee table and a waterfall feature that Heather found oddly soothing. Canary gestured to one of the chairs, and Widow sat down opposite her, crossing her legs up beneath her and gripping her hands in her lap.

Silence stretched out for several seconds, Black Widow unsure of how to proceed.

Finally, Black Canary crossed her leg at the knee and leaned back, feeling Heather's need for space. "It's alright, Widow. Let's take this slow. Why don't you just start by telling me about yourself?"

Myself… She nodded slowly. "Okay. Well… My name is Heather Parker, and I'll be seventeen in two months. I recently got super powers. I mean," she huffed, frustrated. "I guess I've always had powers, but they weren't really obvious until now."

"What kind of powers do you have?" Canary asked.

Heather picked at a loose thread in her pants. "Um, I have a precognition ability of sorts. It tells me when something dangerous is about to happen. We call it a spider-sense. I can stick to any surface, so that lets me climb anywhere I want to. I have this, uh, web silk I guess? It comes out of my wrists, and it's really strong. I use it to websling around New York. It's also really good for, like, catching bad guys," she paused, looking to see if Canary was still listening. She felt reassured that the woman looked like she was paying close attention. "Uh… oh! I'm also really strong."

"How strong?" Canary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, I haven't really figured out my limit yet," She hedged, playing with her hair with restless fingers. "But, supposedly, I can lift forty times my weight. Like I said though, I haven't really had a chance yet to test that. I might not be that strong, that's just what he told me."

"Who did?"

"Um," She swallowed the lump in her throat. "So, that's complicated?"

"I'm not in any hurry," the blonde woman assured her.

Heather sighed. "Alright so… I thought that my dad was Spiderman, and he kind of is, but not exactly. Twenty-something years ago, Spiderman had this villain, right? He was, like, really smart but crazy."

"That's usually how it goes," Canary acknowledged with a knowing smile.

"Ugh, I know," Widow lamented. "It describes at least ninety percent of Spiderman's enemies. It's ridiculous. Anyway, so this guy, the Jackal, he clones Spiderman. Which is crazy enough, but as far as I can tell he didn't do it for anything other than shits and giggles. He just," she shook her head, gesturing like she was looking for the answer to fall from the sky. "He just did it to mess with Spiderman. Which worked, so I guess, mission accomplished?"

"So now there are two of them," Canary clarified.

"Right," Black Widow nodded, starting to feel more confident the longer she talked. "Thing is, neither of them is sure which is the real one, because they have the same memories and powers. At first, Spiderman doesn't want anything to do with the clone, because," she shook her head, rolling her eyes. "I don't know, I guess he figured the clone was evil or something? So they don't get along at first, but then the clone takes a different secret identity than Spiderman, and he's trying to live his own life. He even has a different superhero name, the Scarlet Spider. And he's trying to help Spiderman get answers about who's the real deal."

"He sounds like a good guy."

"He is," she nodded emphatically. Then she stopped nodding as something occurred to her.

"What is it?" Canary leaned forward.

"I mean," Widow said in a small voice. "He was a good guy, but…" She rubbed her eyes, the exhaustion of the last few weeks starting to truly hit her. "I found his journals," she said quietly after a minute. "He was in love with the same woman Spiderman was with. He tried to deny his feelings for a long time but then he just - he couldn't anymore. He was a good guy," she insisted, voice cracking as she felt tears building in her eyes.

"Do you want to take a break?" Canary asked gently.

Heather sniffed. "...No. I'm sorry, it's just -" She struggled to find the right words for a moment. "Spiderman isn't my father. My dad is the Scarlet Spider. And I have all these wonderful memories of him. He was the best. He made time for me, even when he was busy, and I - I mean, I know he wasn't perfect, obviously, but…"

"Heather," Canary said slowly, "children idolize their parents. In their eyes, they can do no wrong. It's normal to feel confused, or even betrayed, when you grow up and realize that your parents make mistakes too."

"I've been so angry at Spiderman," she admitted. "Because he lied to my mother. For the last ten years, he's been pretending to be my dad, when the truth is the Scarlet Spider died trying to save me from the Sinister Six. Worse still," she added, her voice louder as the anger she'd felt boiling in her gut began to fill her lungs. "He accidentally gave me amnesia, so I don't even remember it. My last memories of my dad are gone, maybe forever, and it's his fault! …But," her voice broke as she started crying in earnest.

"But you realize now that you're mad at your father too," the older hero said, her eyes sympathetic.

"Dad took advantage of Spiderman's paranoia and confusion and stole his girlfriend," Heather explained, pulling a tissue from her belt. "I mean, yes, he did explain everything to my mom - about the cloning, and the double life - which is more than Spiderman did. But it's still a really dick move to take someone's girlfriend, especially someone you claim is your friend. And I know my mom isn't innocent either. She chose to go with him, and I," she sighed. "I guess I get it, at least Scarlet Spider had the decency to be honest with her, but still."

"Is that the only thing that bothers you about it?" Black Canary asked.

Widow thought it over for a moment before shaking her head. She sat back in the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. "It's stupid."

"Your feelings aren't stupid. They're yours, and you have every right to feel them," the blonde woman insisted. When Widow didn't respond, Canary prodded her, "This is a safe space, Heather. Nothing you say here will leave this room, you have my word."

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into her cowl, and Heather finally pulled it off over her head, laying her goggles on the armrest. "He left me," she said in a small voice. "Dad, he - I know he couldn't control it. I know that he didn't want to die, but… he still left me behind. My dad will never see me graduate. He won't take me to tour colleges. He'll never walk me down the aisle. He's gone and I -" She twisted the tissue in her hands until it was a mangled mess. "I don't know if there was anything I could have done to stop it."

"Heather, you were a child," Canary said, incredulity leaking into her voice.

"But I already had my powers," Heather insisted, throwing her arms out. "Sure, maybe not the super strength or the webbing. But I've always had the spider-sense, and I've always had enhanced agility. Maybe there was something I could have done. But I'll never know for sure!"

"You were six years old," the older hero said earnestly. "Even if you were able to defend yourself, you were a scared little girl. No one expected you to save yourself, or your dad. You shouldn't either. That's too much pressure to put on yourself."

Heather just shook her head, unable to stop her tears. There was a pulsing pain behind her eyes from too much crying and not enough sleep, and god she was just so tired. She put her forehead to her knees and wished for a moment she could just go to sleep and not wake up.

Black Canary's mouth twisted in thought for a moment before she uncrossed her legs and leaned closer, resting her elbows on her knees. "Robin tells me you have a little brother and sister," she said quietly.

Heather lifted her head up a little and nodded.

"Heather, if something happened to either of them, maybe even something like what happened to you, would you expect them to save themselves?" Canary lifted an eyebrow at her.

Heather blinked. "I - I mean, of course not. Audrey's only a toddler."

"What about your brother?" She prompted. She shrugged and spread her hands, "He's older. If someone took him, would it be his responsibility to save himself?"

"No," She denied immediately, shaking her head.

"Then why do you expect it of yourself?"

"Because I-" She stopped, frowning.

"You what? You have to be the best? You're not allowed to make mistakes?" Canary prodded.

Heather winced. "No… It's just that - I mean, I've always had to look after myself. I'm the oldest. If I can't take care of myself, how am I supposed to look after Harry and Audrey?"

"Is that how you feel?" She pressed, "Do you feel that people, maybe even your parents, expect you to take care of yourself without any help? Do you think they expect you to be a third parent to your siblings?"

"I mean…" She wiped her running nose with the tissue. "I guess they've never said it like that, exactly."

"But that's how you feel," Black Canary raised her eyebrows and Heather nodded. "What else do you think you have to do without help?"

"I mean," Heather shrugged, rubbing the arm that had been grazed by a bullet. The wound had long since healed over.

Canary let them sit in silence for a moment longer before she seemed to change tactics. "You seem like a smart girl, do you take AP courses in school?"

Heather nodded. "Most of my classes."

"What about after school? Are you in any clubs, or extracurriculars?"

"Not this semester, but… I was on track for a while, and I was in a few school plays. I used to take gymnastics too. I was really good at it," She admitted, her cheeks warming.

"What made you quit?"

"It was," Heather swallowed. "I don't know, none of it really felt right. It was so overwhelming to keep up with everyone, and not let my grades slip. I couldn't take the pressure, so I had to quit."

"Were your parents disappointed?"

"Spiderman was," She said after a moment's hesitation. "Mom said I just had to find what made me happy. But nothing I tried ever felt right."

"Does this," Canary gestured at Heather's costume. "Feel right?"

Heather nodded immediately. "Yes, absolutely."

"I'm glad to hear that," Black Canary smiled, and Heather could tell she really meant it. "Listen, from what I've heard - and what Batman and Robin have told me - you have amazing potential. Your powers are really only just developing. There will be some growing pains still ahead of you. I think it's important to realize that you're going to make mistakes, and that is okay," She stressed. "It's taken most of the League years to get to where we are now. You can't expect to get everything perfect on the first go."

"Making mistakes here could get me killed," she murmured, annoyed when her voice trembled a little.

"Sometimes," The Leaguer acknowledged. She got up from her chair to kneel beside Heather's, making sure she had the younger woman's attention. "That doesn't mean you should expect perfection. You can't keep that kind of constant pressure on yourself. No person is designed to handle extreme stress for long periods of time. Your body has to have down time. If you live with the pressure to be perfect on your shoulders day in and day out, you'll collapse - sooner rather than later."

Heather let that sink in for a moment. She let out a breath, shoulders drooping. "Okay, point taken. But what about the rest? Why am I still so angry and hurt? Why do I feel like I'm living in a fog?"

"You've had a lot of new information thrust at you all at once, and you need to take time to process it," Black Canary explained. She put her hand on Heather's shoulder. "You lost your father, you gained superpowers, and you feel betrayed by people you thought would never hurt you. That's a lot."

Heather studied Canary's eyes, blue like hers and yet totally different. "Harry asked me if I would still work with Spiderman. I don't want to give this up," she held up her hand, examining the translucent patch of skin on her wrist. "I can do so much good with this. I think it's what Scarlet Spider would have wanted for me. But I don't know if I can do it with Spiderman."

"Maybe it's time to do yourself a favor, and take a break, just for a bit. Try not to take on anything else while you process everything that's happened. When you're ready, you can start moving forward again. And whether that ends up being with Spiderman or not, I think you can do a lot of good too," Canary gave her shoulder a warm squeeze. "If you choose this life, you should choose it for yourself and not for someone else. Whatever you decided to do, I'm strongly encouraging you to do something for you, and not for anyone else, not even your dad."

Heather wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks with the heel of her palm. "Yeah… okay. I think I can do that."

Chapter Text

Two Months Later…

“Make a wish!”

Heather closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then opened them and blew. Seventeen blue and white candles flickered out, and she smiled with an embarrassed blush as everyone cheered. Her mom snapped several photos on her phone as her great-aunt began removing candles from the cake to cut it.

“Mom, come on, I think that’s enough pictures,” Heather complained.

“No such thing,” Rhi disputed as she dragged a finger through the piped icing on the side of the cake and stuck it in her mouth.

“Rhianna,” Aunt May scolded, but there was no heat behind the words. “Really, dear, can’t you wait until I cut a slice for you?”

“She cannot,” Mike said, kissing his girlfriend’s temple. Rhi grinned up at him, unrepentant. Heather just shook her head.

“What did you wish for?!” Harry asked her excitedly. He’d been a ball of energy all day as he helped to decorate for the party, almost as animated as if it had been his birthday and not his older sister’s.

“Nah-ah,” Robin cut in as he accepted a slice of cake, “if she tells you, it doesn’t come true. Everyone knows that.”

Heather took a slice as well and leaned against the wall next to him as Rhi and Mike argued over which icing flower they wanted on their cake piece. “Do you really have to keep the shades on the whole time?” She asked Robin quietly.

“Batman’s orders,” He shrugged. “I’m just glad he let me come at all. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve attended a birthday for someone that I didn’t have to hide at least half my identity from? It’s a lot of pressure sometimes, you know.”

Heather shifted, visibly uncomfortable as she took another bite. “Yeah, I guess so…” Suddenly, the chocolate cake and fudge icing was too sweet in her mouth. She stabbed her fork into the middle of the piece, appetite gone.

Robin seemed to realize what he’d said and grimaced. “Sorry, that was dumb. I wasn’t even thinking.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” She shook her head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Not your fault. You’re not the one that’s-”

“Please, don’t finish that sentence,” he begged, squeezing her shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve just been taking a break.”

“Right,” She murmured. “A break…”

Audrey wandered over to them, face streaked with chocolate, and tugged on the hem of her sister’s blouse. “Up!” She said, signing as well.

Heather smiled softly. “Up what?” She asked, lowering her eyebrows.

Audrey huffed in a way only a two year old can. “Up please!” She said, bouncing on her tiptoes as she reached for her sister, stretching her arms as far as they would go.

“There you go,” Heather encouraged, placing her unfinished cake on a side table before lifting her sister on to her hip. Audrey’s arms weren’t long enough yet to reach all the way around her sister’s waist, but she snuggled as close as she could, laying her head on Heather’s shoulder.

“I mean it, Heather,” Robin pushed as he watched his friend gently bounce and rock her sister. “Breaks are good things. You lost your dad, and that takes time to process.”

Heather leaned her head against the top of her sister’s, tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that today,” she said, only loud enough for him.

“Heather?” MJ suddenly appeared in front of them, apparently sensing her distress. “What’s wrong?” She glanced at Robin, her expression somewhere between ‘what did you do’ and ‘how can I help’.

“Nothing, Mom, I’m just-” She sighed, running her hand over her head before she remembered her hair was pulled up into a high pony and there were no free strands to play with. She dropped her hand back down to her side. “I think I’m tired,” she finally said.

MJ studied her for a second before reaching out and taking Audrey from her. “Why don’t you go lay down for a little bit? I’ll come get you when everyone finishes with the cake.”

Heather started to say something about not needing a midday nap like a toddler, but stopped herself when she realized just how nice that sounded. She really was tired. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and she’d gotten up early to help her family decorate the apartment before her friends arrived. She could feel a gentle pressure building behind her eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. “Okay, maybe just for a little while,” she conceded.

She closed the door behind her once she was in her bedroom, kicking her shoes off before she collapsed onto the bed. She stared up at the ceiling for several minutes. All she could see when she closed her eyes was her dad, on every birthday she could recall.

On her second birthday, she could still remember Ben handing her presents and helping her tear into the wrapping paper. Her third birthday, Ben let her help make the cake - which really consisted of them both being covered in flour and chocolate and eggs. Her mom ended up buying one from a bakery a few blocks down when they burned theirs. Fourth birthday, her squealing in delight over new barbies and Ben playing with her for hours. Fifth, they spent the whole day at Coney Island and they ended it with ice cream, and a new stuffed teddy bear he won for her on the midway. She still had it sitting in her closet, never having the heart to get rid of it.

Finally, her sixth birthday: a daddy and daughter outing to the zoo. They’d spent hours at the arctic exhibit - she’d been pretty obsessed with penguins and polar bears that year - and she’d fallen asleep at some point on his shoulder, listening to him explain the Northern Lights phenomena. She couldn’t believe she’d nearly forgotten about that. Sometimes, when she really missed him, she’d look up videos of nature’s light show to help her fall asleep.

She’d had a session with Black Canary once a week ever since that first meeting. It was helping her a lot, she could tell. Her guilt over Iris and Ben had lessened to just a dull ache - it wasn’t gone, but it was manageable now. She had also been able to start putting her relationship with her dad, as well as her step-father, into perspective. Yes of course her father had loved her, but he wasn’t perfect. He’d made mistakes, but that didn’t negate all the warm memories she had of him. Even knowing what she did now about her dad, it didn’t change her childhood or the relationship they had.

As for Peter…

Heather was still so torn about her relationship with Peter. He’d been her father figure for longer than her own dad, and there had been good years, there really had been. She had memories of Peter caring for her when she’d been sick, of him helping with her homework, and holding her when she’d had a bad day at school. But there were also a lot of bad days. Years of Peter pushing her to be the best in her class. Him missing important school events that she hadn’t even wanted to participate in, but did anyway to please him. She could remember all the broken promises, and nights when all she’d wanted was her dad and he wasn’t there.

She knew that most, if not all, of those nights he’d been keeping someone else safe. She’d grappled with her feelings over that one a lot. She and Dinah had spent an entire session helping her to dissect it. Clearly, she wasn’t so heartless that she wanted Peter to choose her over the entire rest of the city, but goodness there were so many superheroes in New York alone, surely someone could have helped him out. Did it always have to fall to him? Or did he choose it as the easy way out? She couldn’t say, and she doubted they would ever get to a point where they could talk about it civilly.

The thing she always came back to is why Peter could never find a better balance. Why was it always all or nothing? If she came back, if she chose this life as her own, could she do better? Or would she also be constantly torn between two lives? And what about when she was older? She wanted a family, she’d known she wanted it since the first time she’d held Audrey as a newborn. Was it even possible to balance the two lives and keep them separate?

She closed her eyes as her headache only seemed to get worse.

Then there was a soft knock on her door.

“Heather?” Peter asked, voice muffled by the wood. “Are you up for presents, kid?”

Heather sat up, frowning. Peter had been missing all morning. She’d started to ask where he was half a dozen times, but she’d never been able to get the words out of her throat. What did it matter, anyway? Just another birthday missed. It shouldn’t make her feel this disappointed. She should have seen it coming.

So why does it still hurt so much? She thought, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, I’m coming,” she finally answered, climbing off the bed.

Peter gave her a tense smile when she opened the door. “Hi,” he said quietly.

Heather fiddled with the end of her ponytail. “Hey,” she said.

“Happy birthday,” He said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder.

She pursed her lips, then sighed. “This is dumb, come here.” She pulled him into a hug. He stood stiffly for a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around her.

“I didn’t think we were at this point yet,” He said, absently stroking her back.

“I don’t know what point we’re at,” She admitted as she pulled back to look up at him. He was only a head taller than her now, it wouldn’t be long before they could stand eye to eye. “But for today, I’m tired of fighting.”

Peter nodded, carefully tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “C’mon, your friends are waiting.”

MJ had made sure Heather didn’t see the pile of presents all morning as they were decorating, whisking them into the closet as soon as her friends walked in the door. Now they were all piled on the coffee table in the living room, and Heather was surprised at the amount and height of them. She’d been expecting mostly gift cards this year.

To be fair, once she got into the pile, there were two gift cards from her mom. “Anything I buy you, you always return anyway,” Mary Jane said with a laugh. “At least this way, I know you’ll use whatever you get.”

“Thanks Mom,” Heather said with a smile, even as she rolled her eyes.

The next gift was from Rhi, who’d found an actual brand name backpack from Chinatown among all the knockoffs. The backpack was a soft brown leather with gold accents, and Heather knew immediately it was going to work with a ton of items in her wardrobe. “Thanks Rhianna,” she told her sincerely, and the blonde beamed.

Mike had bought her a gift set of her favorite brand’s scented lotion and perfume. Even though she knew Rhi had definitely helped her boyfriend pick it out, she still appreciated the thought behind the gift. “Thank you, Mike,” they exchanged fistbumps as he grinned.

Harry and Audrey had finger painted a card for her, paired with a relatively inexpensive necklace of a gold heart pendant with her August birthstone in it, a peridot. Heather’s real heart felt too big for her chest as she accepted the gifts, gathering her little brother and sister into her lap for a group hug. Harry had halfheartedly complained about her being ‘so embarrassing’, but she’d ignored him and snuggled them closer.

“I love you both so much,” Heather whispered, kissing their cheeks until even Audrey was begging her to stop, though they were both giggling.

Robin smirked as he handed over a relatively small rectangular box. “I know you’ll love this, but no kisses for me if it’s all the same,” he joked.

Heather stuck out her tongue at him as she pulled off the wrapping paper, frowning when she found a box for a cell phone inside. “No way,” she looked at her friend with wide eyes. “You did not buy me a new phone.”

“I did not,” Robin confirmed as she opened the packaging and pulled her familiar older model out. “I improved your phone. It is now unhackable, as promised, and should be able to get reception anywhere. It’s also now twenty percent more indestructible. I was trying for fifty percent, but I was running into problems with fitting all the components back into it without making it as thick as a brick.”

“Robin, this is…” Heather shook her head, turning the phone over in her hands. “You’re too much, dude. Thank you.”

“Promise is a promise,” He told her with a grin.

Great-Aunt May had knitted a cream colored sweater for her from a soft fluffy yarn. She scrunched the yarn between her fingers, marveling at the intricate cable knit design, and knowing she’d get a lot of use out of it in the coming school year. “Thank you so much, Aunt May,” Heather smiled, hugging the sweater to her chest.

“You’re very welcome, Heather dear,” May said, sipping a cup of coffee.

There was only one box left on the table now, and she knew it had to be from Peter. The box was rectangular, relatively thin and not very large. It looked like the kind of box you would wrap a garment in, but surely Peter hadn’t gotten her a t-shirt or a new pair of jeans? Heather pulled on the blue ribbon then tore off the red paper, wanting desperately to watch her step-dad’s expression but too nervous to look. She lifted the lid and froze.

Sitting nestled among the tissue paper was her Black Widow suit… Or rather, a new suit.

She carefully lifted the top up, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. The material was a flexible kevlar, just like Spiderman and Scarlet Spider’s suits, in her signature purple and black colors that she’d designed with Rhi’s help. The fabric was noticeably well-made and infinitely stronger than the knit fabric of her first suit. Her cowl mask was essentially the same, only now the eyeholes had been redesigned to fit more snugly with her goggles. The top no longer had a transparent section in the middle, but had been reinforced with a slightly thicker layer of kevlar, providing protection for her back and abdomen. She had no doubt this was due, in no small part, to Peter having to watch Tony Stark pull dagger-like shards of glass from her back. The top was also no longer sleeveless, and she could tell as she held it up that the sleeves would end at the perfect length to be tucked into her gloves.

It was her suit: 2.0 version.

“I -” She stopped, unable to form her thoughts into words.

“You don’t have to take it,” Peter said quietly. “If you never use it, that’s your choice. But if you want it, it’s yours. Your dad would be so proud of you, Heather. I know I am.”

“I uh,” Heather said intelligently, unsure if she was going to laugh or cry.

“Honey, it’s okay,” MJ said gently, reaching forward to tilt Heather’s chin up until their eyes met. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ right now. Peter just wants you to think about it, okay? We want you to know your options are open.”

“Actually, speaking of options,” Robin said after a moment of awkward silence, as Heather seemed to have gone mute. “Uh, Batman has a gift for you as well.”

Heather blinked at him, bewildered, while her friends and siblings were all vibrating and chattering with excitement. Her parents and great-aunt, however, seemed more than a little concerned. She chuckled nervously at Robin’s Cheshire cat smile. “I’m in danger,” she muttered in a high pitched voice, which made all the teenagers laugh. “Alright, Robin what is it? A signed batarang? My own utility belt?”

“Check your phone, you should be getting it right about now,” He said, checking the time on his watch.

“What are you-?” Heather asked before her phone started ringing. She shot the acrobat a look before answering the private number. She stood up as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Heather. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Batman - no, Bruce Wayne - said. She could tell he wasn’t using his Batman voice, which made her relax a little. She wasn’t exactly afraid of Batman, but even knowing the Dark Knight was on her side did little to settle the low level of anxiety she always got from her spider-sense while around him. His Bruce Wayne persona was a lot less stressful to deal with.

“Uh… Yeah, yeah, I can talk. Um, let me just-” She put her hand over the phone and shot the group a tight smile. “I’ll be right back. I just need to um…” she didn’t finish the thought, darting from the living room to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She started to sit on the bed, before it occurred to her that Peter literally had super hearing, so she climbed out the window onto the fire escape, sitting on the railing. “Sorry, I’m here,” she said, trying to stop her heart from hammering out of her chest.

Bruce chuckled. “No worries. I wasn’t going anywhere. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Heather twisted her fingers through the ends of her hair. “Robin said you had, uh, a surprise for me?” She asked, feeling like a little kid asking for ice cream.

“Of sorts,” He hedged. “If you want it. You’re seventeen now, so whatever you decide, we’ll abide by your wishes. Dick and I have talked extensively about what an asset you’d be to the team.”

“The team?” She repeated dumbly, wishing she could get her mouth to work properly.

“Earlier this year, the Justice League decided it would be beneficial to have a more covert team which could handle cases we can’t officially look into. Robin is one member, the others currently include Kid Flash, Miss Martian, Superboy, Artemis, and the team leader Aqualad. There’s a spot for you as well, if you want it,” He explained.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I mean - why me?” She stammered.

“Why not you?” He returned, and she swore he was smiling.

“I barely have any experience,” She protested, standing up on the railing to pace, gesturing as she spoke. “I’m nowhere near Kid Flash’s level, let alone Aqualad or Robin. I didn’t even know there was a Superboy!”

“Don’t feel too out of the loop. He’s… new,” Bruce said cryptically. “Miss Martian and Artemis are also inexperienced, but all three of them show great potential, the same way you do. Heather, this is your decision, and there is no right or wrong answer.”

“But… I don’t know what I want,” Heather admitted quietly.

“This is a standing invitation with no time limit,” He assured her. “You’re still young, Heather. You don’t have to decide your whole life’s path right this minute.”

She paused mid step, staring at the alley four stories below, only just now registering that the only thing keeping her from falling was a two inch metal bar and her own sense of equilibrium. “Mr. Wayne? Why are you being so nice to me? You and Ms. Dinah have both been so kind, the Avengers too, and I… I don’t think I deserve it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Everyone deserves kindness; especially someone who’s always trying to do their best. Most of us in this line of work have been in your shoes at some point, and we all wanted someone to be in our corner rooting for us. Unfortunately, most of us didn’t have that. Let us be in your corner, Heather, that’s all we’re asking.”

Heather thought of her new suit sitting in a box on the coffee table. She thought about Peter with his quietly hopeful face, of Black Canary’s encouraging smile, and Robin’s unwavering support. She thought of her dad, and what he’d written in one of his journals that she’d been pouring over for the last two months.

MJ is pregnant. We’re having a baby! It feels like we’ve been trying for a long time, even though it’s been less than a year. MJ thinks it will be a boy, and several of the others at the university have told me I must be so excited to have a son. Honestly? I want a girl. A daughter with MJ’s hair and Aunt May’s smile.

I want to call Peter, tell him the good news, but he’s been in such a bad place that I don’t know how he’ll take it. He’s been Spiderman full time now for months. I think he’s only Peter when he has to grocery shop or drop off pictures at The Bugle. There are still days when I feel like maybe I stole his life - shouldn’t he be the one having a baby with MJ? But whenever we talk about it, she reminds me that a relationship takes two people who trust each other, and he lost her trust. It’s not that I don’t feel bad for the guy (the guilt has never really gone away) but whenever I look at her I just can’t understand what he was thinking. And in the end, his loss is my gain.

It does make me wonder though, will the baby have my powers? Would she, if she was Peter’s kid? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. If she does have powers, what do we do then?

I still believe that gifts like ours should be used for good, because we can help those that are otherwise powerless. But I’ve been wondering lately, is it right to put that kind of weight on someone else’s shoulders? Is it fair to expect someone to put themselves in danger for the benefit of others?

It’s one thing to put myself in the line of fire; I’ve done it many times, and I’ll probably do it many more before my time comes. But could I ask her to do the same? I don’t know if I could. Then… I think about what MJ has told me so many times. The greatest gift someone can give is choice. Choice is an intrinsic part of human rights and it gives people dignity. If she chooses this when she’s old enough to make a sound decision, do I have any right to stand in her way and deny her that choice? Even if it will make me worry like crazy?

I think the answer is obvious. So, I’ll help her. I’ll protect her until she can protect herself. I’ll teach her everything she needs to know to be safe. I think that’s what a good father would do, at least I hope so. If my life, short as it’s been, ends with me being remembered as a good dad, then I’ll die happy.

“Heather? Are you still there?”

Heather blinked, remembering that she was still on the phone. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Listen, I have a meeting I need to get to, and I don’t want to keep you any longer from your party. I hope you’ll think about what I’ve said. Have a great birthday, Heather,” Bruce said, and hung up.

She stared at her phone screen thoughtfully before sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans. She hopped down from the railing and climbed back through her window. She was still lost in thought when she opened her bedroom door, and didn’t even notice her friends and brother standing in the hallway until she bumped into Rhi.

Rhi grabbed her in a hug. “Well? What did you say?” She asked, almost squealing in excitement.

Heather raised an eyebrow, turning to Robin who grinned and shrugged. She huffed out a laugh and shook her head. “I told him I needed to think about it,” she said honestly.

“You said you’d think about it? You got offered a spot on a superhero team. That’s like a once-in-a-lifetime thing!” Harry exclaimed, shaking her arm impatiently.

Heather looked at each of their faces in turn, her eyebrows drawn together in thought.

I promise, Spiderman, you'll always be a hero to me

Sometimes I get scared about you. You put the weight of the world on your shoulders…I worry that one day it'll all be too much

Just be sure you know what you're getting into, and that it's not going to get yourself or anyone else hurt

Please Iris, you have to wake up! Please wake up!

As long as I have the power to make a difference, I have to use that power

You can do better...Keep trying

Come on Widow, you want to be a hero right? Then be a hero. Heroes don't wait for permission to help someone

One of the hardest things to accept about this job is that you can't save everyone. You can't change what happened, but you can move past it, if you learn to forgive yourself

“...Yeah, I guess it is,” Heather smiled and ruffled her little brother’s hair. “But I think it can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I want to watch a movie and I’d like to finish my cake,” she threw her arm around her brother’s neck and smiled at them, finally feeling sure of herself for the first time in as long as she could remember.

“Can we watch Star Wars ?” Harry asked hopefully.

Heather rolled her eyes and smiled good naturedly. “I suppose we could watch one.”

“You can’t watch just one ,” Robin protested, sharing a high five with Harry.

“Aren’t there six movies?” Mike asked.

“Six?!” Heather looked mildly horrified.

“At least they have hot guys in them,” Rhi shrugged, grinning at the withering glance her friend shot her. “What? Young Harrison Ford? Yum.”

“Oh come on, you're crushing on the white guy? What about Lando?” Mike complained, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

“Aw, you’re my Lando, baby,” Rhi cooed, kissing him.

“On that note,” Heather said, holding in a laugh as her brother pretended to gag. “Where’s that cake? I’m going to need a lot of sugar if we’re watching six movies at two hours a piece.”

Harry turned to her quickly, stunned and hopeful. “You mean it?”

Heather squeezed him closer. “Why not? Maybe now I’ll get all those reference jokes you’re always making. Besides, as long as I’m spending my birthday with the most important people in my life, I don’t really care what we do.”

Harry grabbed her by the waist, hugging her tight. “You’re officially the best big sister ever!”

“I’m your only big sister,” Heather said, repeating their old joke.

Hours later, Heather was sitting in the middle of piles of pillows and blankets, squished between her brother and Rhi, with Audrey asleep on her lap. Mike and Robin were cracking jokes about how coarse and rough sand was, Rhi was drooling over Obi Wan, and Harry was making a case for his conspiracy theory that Jar Jar was a sith lord the whole time. Heather snuggled deeper into her blanket and sighed contentedly, because she knew whatever came next, she knew who she was and where she belonged.