fixed the title slightly, makes me feel better. Also! many thanks to all the reviews so far, its very encouraging! Hope i don't disappoint xD Enjoy!

Chapter Two
✭

"Hey there, birthday girl!"

Thwap! A bright wrapped little box dropped down on my desk, and I looked up to see MJ's self-satisfied smile as she plopped down in the seat next to mine. Glancing at the gift, I laughed a little and said, "It's not my birthday for another two days."

February was in full swing. Outside, the windows revealed a minor flurry taking place, what would turn into a bigger snowstorm this evening. Homeroom was covered in Valentine's Day decorations, pink and red hearts and cut-outs of chubby cupids and their little bows. It made me itch a little just looking at them, but another part of me was nostalgic. I hadn't seen a corny school Valentine's Day in two years. I wondered if being in high school would make it any more extra than it was in eighth grade.

"I know." MJ shrugged, lounging back against her chair. She wore a massive red wool scarf that scrunched up all her curly hair around her face like a halo. "I just wanted to be the first. Establish dominance and all that."

"Uh-huh," I said with a wry look, smiling a little. Establish dominance. I should use that more.

More kids shuffled in, giant marshmallows of puffy coats, fuzzy hats, and giant bookbags. The loud hallway echoed into the room, and the TV in the upper left corner of the room was playing the school channel — out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed anchorman Jason Ionello try and fail to ask his co-anchor Betty to be his valentine.

"And I know you hate getting birthday gifts on Valentine's Day," Michelle added with a roll of her eyes, spiraling her hands as if this were a minor detail she only just remembered.

"Uh-huh," I said, not quite believing her act. For the past week she had been asking me questions about my birthday and what i liked — some in more subtle ways than others (like friending me on Facebook to find whatever stuff I had on there behind the privacy wall, for example). MJ liked to look like she didn't care about anything, but I had a sneaking suspicion she had been thinking about this a lot more than she wanted me to know.

"Well?" MJ pressed, raising her eyebrows and throwing a pointed look at the little box. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Okay, okay," I laughed, and as the final bell rang for homeroom I began pulling apart the ribbon and ripping open the paper. There was no card or message, just a cardboard box. I paused before opening it, smiling as I watched MJ slide to the edge of her seat in anticipation, before opening the box.

"Aww, I love it!" Inside was a creation of MJ's own making, it seemed. A bracelet made of interlocking bottle caps, fittingly retro in color and style. Slipping onto my wrist, I lifted my hand and let them jangle and clatter gleefully. I grinned at her, more than pleased. It was so MJ, and I couldn't wait to annoy someone with it.

"Yes, it fits!" MJ grinned, slumping back in her seat in a combination of victory and relief. "I was afraid I made it too small for your giant man hands. Speaking of, is your dad still coming to your birthday?"

That immediately killed my enthusiasm. I dropped my arms, mood put out. "What does that have to do with my giant man hands?"

"Because I want to meet him!" MJ said, actually smiling a little. It made me scared she was being genuine this time. I couldn't detect a hint of sarcasm and that was scary indeed. "C'mon, Mia! You know I've been dying to meet this mysterious baby daddy of yours."

"Oh, god, please don't call him that," I cringed, the very thought forcing my head to the desk. I covered up my face, unable to look at MJ. "Great, now that's going to be stuck in my head forever."

She nudged me with her boot, persistent. "You're avoiding the question! Is he or is he not coming?"

MJ hadn't met my dad because I didn't want her to, but she didn't know that. She also didn't know that my dad was Steve Rogers, which would be a pretty big deal when she figured out what that meant. Aunt May had only figured out he was Captain America last month — he was good at keeping a low profile, so none of my neighbors really caught sight of him, or recognized him when they did. Despite the whole world knowing his real name, Steve somehow managed to live a private life.

A very private life. Go figure.

Anyways, that wasn't the real problem here. The real problem?

"I don't know," I finally answered with a deep sigh, lifting my head. "He said he'd be there, he promised me he wouldn't miss it."

"So?" MJ tilted her head. "Sounds like good news to me."

"He said the same thing last time he missed dinner." I reminded her.

"Psh, don't worry about it," MJ said, scoffing and waving the thought away with her hand. "It's your Sweet Sixteen, Mia. The big one-six! Why wouldn't your dad feel obligated to come to a party celebrating your coming-of-age that's just a shallow construct of society as a way to engage more consumers in the economy?"

"I — what?"

"You haven't been kissed yet, have you?" MJ leaned in with a whisper.

"N-no!" I shook my head, still reeling from her first spiel. What the hell did it matter that I'd been kissed. A little annoyed now, I retorted sarcastically, "No, I haven't. Why, are you offering?"

"Well, no, but now that you mention it —"

"You know what, never mind," I threw up my hands, killing that line of thought right there. "I'm sure you're right. Maybe he'll finally keep a promise this time."

MJ leaned back in her seat, and the room quieted as the PA system turned on with today's announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance. MJ remained seated while everyone else stood; including myself, but I refrained from joining my voice with the others. I had decided a week into the new semester that the Pledge was just an act of blind patriotism, and I wasn't going to participate just for the sake of it.

I wasn't quite bold enough to just sit through it like MJ could; standing felt like a sign of respect. Especially considering what the Old Glory meant to me now.

Not all positive things, unfortunately.

As I sat back down and announcements resumed, MJ spoke again. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't know things with your dad were that...rough. I thought things were good with the prodigal father returning."

Her voice was quiet to avoid being overheard by Ms. Hennessey, our homeroom teacher (or anyone else for that matter), but there was a note of compassion there, too, enough for me to get over the ridge of resentment I found myself on to glance at her, then away again. I felt ashamed for my snippy attitude; I just didn't talk about Steve much. I didn't want to.

"They are...sort of," I admitted at length, tucking my hair behind my ear. It'd grown since Christmas, since October; well past my chin now, I could pull it back into a small ponytail. It was nice to have it out of my face again. "I mean, I'm glad I have him, I'm glad I have someone to talk to but…"

"Not what you expected?" MJ guessed, raising an eyebrow in sympathy.

"You don't know the half of it," I muttered. I couldn't even afford to tell MJ Steve's name; if he did show up this Friday evening, then she'd get the big reveal. I was prepared for that. But it was a pretty big if. "I mean, I'm not angry at him, I know he cares, but he's lives hours away and is always busy and I just, I feel like I can't rely on him like…a real dad."

Those last words made me wince I regretted saying them almost instantly. I didn't want MJ to know my doubts, the can of radioactive worms that would open.

She took it another way, though. "I get it, man. But you say he really cares about you? Then he'll definitely show up to your birthday. He's gotta know how important it is to you."

The first period bell rang.

"Yeah." My voice was tiny as everyone jumped up from their seats, filling the room with din as they headed out the door. "I hope so."

~o~

"I'm sure he'll show up, Mia," Peter was unceasingly positive about the outcome of Friday's party — even after I told him my thoughts as we were walking home from school that day. "Don't you guys text every day?"

"Sometimes," I glanced at my phone. It was the best way for me and Steve to communicate. He preferred phone calls, I knew, but texting felt safer, even if I struggled with reading and spelling mistakes. "Haven't gotten anything today, though."

The snowstorm had picked up, as I'd predicted, since this morning. The wind as well, and I found myself leaning into it a little as we went on our way.

"Probably just busy," Peter shrugged, skipping along the sidewalk, scarf bouncing up and down. The cold wind turned his nose and ears bright pink. "Mr. Stark hasn't answered any of my texts or messages since Christmas. And Steve came to the dinner week before last right? And he promised he'd be there for your birthday? I mean, come on. Captain America is a man of his word. That's the best part about having him for a dad, right?"

I huffed a little, both sour and amused. "Well, I'd like a lot more than his word right now."

To be honest, I was excited. Maybe more than I cared to admit. I wanted so, so bad for Steve to show up tomorrow. Since January, he'd been trying to make it a semi-tradition of having dinner at the Parker Homestead twice every week, trying to make it every Sunday at least — but had missed more than a few; sometimes he managed to cancel beforehand and my disappointment was curbed. Other times, though, I'd just sit at the dinner table in silence, eating slowly and watching the door. Just waiting for the knock, for him to come in all smiles and excuses about lousy weather, something a normal dad would do.

But it never happened.

Either he showed up. Or he didn't.

And right now it was more often he didn't.

Peter paused on the street, allowing me to catch up before he continued, in a more thoughtful manner. "Well, if he doesn't show up, at least you don't have to worry about Aunt May figuring out what you really are, right?"

I made a face. "You've got a funny way of looking at things, Mav."

"Hey! It's what I do!" Peter grinned, throwing out his arms and swinging around a light pole. Then getting stuck because ice and spider fingers don't mix very well apparently. He struggled for a moment to unstick himself before catching up with me. "Anyways, I'm sure it'll be fine."

I was glad I had Peter to look on the bright side of things for me, because right now I was just getting more worried by the second. What if Aunt May figured out I was really a super soldier? She'd never said anything, not a word about what Steve was or did as it pertained to me. I knew she knew Steve Rogers was Captain America, a super soldier, a 90-year-old man from 1945. She had to know my change over two years had to have something to do with it. Did she know I was a super soldier? Did she know I was Rebel Columbia?

I figured I'd be in a lot more trouble if she did.

As it was, I was still grounded, and unlike Peter, had no interest in going behind May's back and doing street-level vigilante work. In the dead of winter. In pajamas.

Which, when I turned around after a long stretch of silence, found exactly what I thought I'd see. "Oh, Peter, come on!"

"Here, take this," He handed me his backpack, which he never took with him as Spider-Man. Peter was now wearing his "super" suit, which consisted of his custom-made webshooters, welding goggles, old sweatpants, and two toned hoodie — now with extra thermal padding. He must've ducked into an alleyway while my back was turned; Peter was always quick little guy, and now I was walking side-by-side with Spider-Man as he pulled his mask on.

"You're going to get a cold if you keep doing this in bad weather," I said in the best discouraging tone I could muster. No point in bringing up Aunt May — we were both well-aware of the consequences if Peter broke curfew for even a minute. "Forget about my secret identity, what about yours?"

"What? It's fine! I know what I'm doing," Peter had initially complained about the extra layers, since it apparently slowed him down; he wanted to tough out the cold like I could, but since I didn't need to worry about the wind chill from swinging three hundred feet above the city, I didn't have to. So thermal underwear it was.

"It keeps riding up," he muttered, yanking on the inseam of his sweatpants, shoes flopping in the wet slush. I couldn't convince him to switch out of his usual chucks, and could only imagine how cold his toes got just wearing those.

"The curse all superheroes must bear in noble silence," I said, nodding sagely. "Wedgies."

"Ha-ha."

"It's what you get for being Spider-Man in the dead of winter."

"It'd be a lot funner if you joined."

I just scoffed. "Yeah, Rebel Columbia, roaming the streets of New York. Fallen on hard times since her epic showdown in Florida against the Mandarin."

"What's wrong with New York? Street-level stuff is great!"

"For you, maybe," I said, shrugging. Spider-Man was perfectly fit for sticking to a single city; he was way more mobile than I was, faster and stronger, and just, you know...neighborhood-friendly. I couldn't move around the entire city like he could, and what with my particular get-up, I'd always be associated with Captain America. Or him with me. And he probably wouldn't appreciate an upstart copycat trying to build a reputation with catching petty thieves and bank robbers.

In the end, it just wasn't...feasible for me. And to be honest, I was kind of glad I had an excuse not to. "Pretty sure Steve would know right away what I was doing. And I'm eighty-nine percent positive SHIELD is still monitoring me."

"Oh, right," Peter grimaced. He had the benefit of not having Steve or anyone else knowing his secret identity. "Okay, good point. Have you talked to him about it at all? About Rebel Columbia?"

"No more than I already have," I said, which is to say, not at all since the first day we met. I scowled at him, "You're really just gonna go off like that, huh?"

"What? Yeah, why?" Peter replied, looking down at himself in his suit. We were lucky it was such a snowy day — there was virtually no one in the streets to notice the kid in the bright red-and-blue getup. "Is there something wrong with it?"

I wanted to say 'yes' but didn't think that'd be enough to convince him to stop. Instead, I pulled off my scarf, and wrapped it around his neck. Then stuck my hat on top of his head. "Your ears are gonna get cold, that's all."

"Oh, ha-ha, thanks," Peter chuckled, embarrassed. Scratching the back of his head, he turned and jumped, using a nearby fire hydrant to boost himself up to the top of a signpost. Looking down at me, he shivered in the thickening snowfall and called, "Just tell Aunt May I'm studying with Ned, okay? I'll be back before dinner."

"You better!" I called back, walking backwards to see him off. "Don't make a liar out of me, Maverick!"

"I won't, I promise!" Spider-Man replied, rising to stand on what seemed like the impossibly narrow edge of the post. He gave me a quick salute, "See you later, Goose!"

Giving a salute back, I watched as Spider-Man took a flying leap off the post and swung off, disappearing into the white haze of the storm.

~o~

Valentine's Day was as much as a nightmare as I expected; thankfully, everyone was so wrapped up in the holiday that anyone who didn't know it was my birthday didn't bother with me.

I suppose the idea itself wasn't so bad. I wasn't big on romance, but I could still appreciate people wanting a socially acceptable way to show affection. High school absolutely made it worse, though; I couldn't shake the feeling of competition the students had between each other, who got the most valentines. Boys and girls both, who got the most flowers, the most cards, the most gifts. Who bought the most obnoxiously expensive gift (Flash Thompson, of course), and who was the oh-so-lucky recipient (Sally Avril, who was already taken). It just made me want to bang my head against the wall. Even if I wasn't already mildly averse to showing any kind of vulnerable emotion, turning love into a competition definitely didn't help.

Peter, still pining for Liz Allen, sent her an anonymous gift, a flower with a card, a nice poem attached. I actually got to hear her read it aloud, as she and I were in the same homeroom class; wondering if Peter actually wrote the poem himself, I had to ignore MJ gagging in the background.

Ned surprised us when he got a few anonymous valentines of his own, though he suspected one of them to be from his mother. He made everyone's day by bringing in cupcakes.

For most of the day I stood in solidarity with MJ in never having received any Valentines (which MJ was especially proud of), right up until I got a phone call right before last period in the hallway, and had to duck into a stairwell to answer. Personal phone calls during class time was cause for detention, if Strickland caught you. Normally I wouldn't, but this case was special. I had recognized the Caller ID immediately; there was no way I could ignore this call.

Cupping my hand over my mouth, I whispered into the receiver, hoping not to be overheard. "Dmitri! You know you can't call me at school."

"Ach!" Dmitri said, and I heard a burst of tinny feedback through the phone. Sounded like he'd just smack his forehead. "Sorry, it is evening here, I forget the time difference. Did I get you in trouble?"

"No," I replied, glancing over my shoulder into the emptying hallway, and ducked under the steps for better cover. My voice echoed up and down the stairwell; maybe it wasn't the best choice for a clandestine phone call. "I'm fine for now. So what's up? Did something happen?"

He laughed at that. "Nothing happened. I just wanted to tell you с Днем рожденья. I'm not too late, am I?"

"Oh," I dropped my head against the wall, feeling silly now for thinking there had to be a problem for Dmitri to call like this. I'd forgotten it was my own birthday. I had to fight both a blush and a smile growing on my face. "N-no, you're right on time. Just surprised me, that's all. Спасибо."

"You're welcome. I just wish I could be there ," Dmitri sighed. "I'll be back in March, though, I think. Or whenever my father has business in America…"

As he continued to speak I heard footsteps behind me. Turning around, I saw Peter by the doorway, waving frantically at me. We had Biology together; he must've come looking for me when I hadn't showed. Class had already started. Grimacing, I turned back around and spoke quickly, interrupting him. "Sorry, Dmitri! I have to go. But when you come back, we'll hang out, yeah?"

"Yes!" Dmitri's reply was enthusiastic, and he made no complaint about the interruption. "Yes, I would like that very much. Can I still call you?"

"Of course. Just not during school hours."

"Right, right… "

With that, we said our goodbyes and I hung up, spinning around to face Peter again. He had a funny look on his face. And by that, I mean a shit-eating grin that only spelt trouble. Frowning as I stuffed my phone away, I said, "What?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging. "Just think its funny how excited you get when you talk in Russian."

"I wasn't talking in Russian. I was talking to Dmitri."

"I know." Peter laughed, and I followed him and this troubling conversation out into the hallway. "You were talking in Russian to Dmitri. You only do that when you two are alone."

"How would you know that if we were alone?" I demanded, forgetting to deny it. So what, I liked talking to Dmitri, and Russian just came naturally with him. It also came in handy when my previously-assumed private conversations were apparently being eavesdropped by little spiders.

"Uhh, don't worry about it," Peter said, not meeting my eyes, which was all the answer I needed. But the door to the biology room was open, and I only had long enough to punch him in the shoulder before we entered class.

"Glad you could join us, Mia," Mr. Harrington started, throwing me a reproachful look for being late.

I had the decency to feel ashamed about it and kept my head down, sitting in the back of class and minding own business for the rest of the school day. I still wanted to kick Peter, but I restrained the urge. I had teased him plenty about Liz during lunch.

As bad as Peter was, I still preferred his teasing to Aunt May's, who brought up Dmitri just the other day while we were making dinner. Peter had been out "studying" again, leaving me and May with some quality girl time together, something that was definitely not as fun as it sounded.

"What about that nice boy you've been helping?" Aunt May had suggested in an all-t00-light tone. She waved her spatula around.

"I'm not tutoring him anymore," I'd replied. At least, Dmitri hadn't asked; he'd passed his classes last semester, which in turn helped me pass the ninth grade I missed.

"But you still hang out with him," Aunt May pointed out, then wiggled her eyebrows at me and smiled.

I flushed at that, and quickly looked away. "...S-sometimes."

More than a few times I had used my spare free hours before curfew with Dmitri, and maybe once or twice came home late because of it. For whatever reason, Aunt May was never too upset when I had that particular excuse. Of course, Dmitri completely charmed her with his good manners and refined accent that one time he visited in January, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised she was pushing the topic now.

When I got around to telling her what Dmitri was up to — how he was currently in Russia, visiting his dad, thus too far away to come to a birthday party — Aunt May had gotten really sweet and compassionate, consoling me as if that were the worst news. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say she was more disappointed about Dmitri not coming than I was.

And the only reason for that ? One less person I had to worry about learning who my dad was. Aside from Peter and Aunt May, no one knew that Steve Rogers was my dad, and I was pretty okay with that.

As of today, I still hadn't gotten another message from him, text or otherwise.

I didn't bring this up to Peter or anyone else, because I'd already gotten enough reassurances from the past couple days. He's coming, you just have to be patient . Stop worrying so much. He wouldn't miss it for the world .

As Biology came to an end, I steeled my nerves. Today, I was sixteen years old. It was strange to embrace this fact. Valentine's Day was distracting, and to me it still felt like only a few months ago I was thirteen, in middle school. How could I be sixteen so soon? I didn't feel...old enough.

This was in large part thanks to my missing memory; large chunks still just completely gone. I wasn't sure if they would come back. The past few months had been uneventful and I hadn't gotten any bad nightmares or flashbacks. A part of me was relieved, and a part of me was scared. What if what I had now was all I'd ever get? There were still so many questions left.

But I had Steve now. If anyone knew what it was like for a super soldier, it would be him. This would be the first birthday we could have together.

Of course he wouldn't miss it. Why was I worrying so much? I could trust Steve. If anyone, I could trust Captain America . I just had to get used to relying on adults again. Nobody could be as perfect as Aunt May, sure, but could I really complain when I had a superhero in the family tree?

As the last bell rang, I smiled to myself. Everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be fine. I just had to relax, for once in my life.

I was still nervous, but as Peter and I left school that afternoon, it transcended into a more typical excitement. Now that Valentine's Day was out of the way, my birthday would be in full swing at home.

Aunt May had everything already set up. No cutesy pink and red decorations, but silver and blue balloons and streamers. The kitchen smelled like cake and Peter decided to skip out on being Spider-Man this afternoon to hang out instead. The only guests were Ned and MJ — unlike Liz Allen, I had neither the popularity nor the space to have a full-on birthday bash of a hundred people and spiked punch. But I was fine was with that — I didn't like loud, cramped places, and I couldn't get drunk, so…

Still, there was something about today that wasn't quite right.

The first few hours, I didn't notice, I was having too much fun with MJ, Ned, and Peter playing Smash Bros.

At first, I thought it might've been Steve — still no messages after three days — but that wasn't it. The thing I couldn't find went deeper, left a hollow ringing in my chest. I missed Steve, but I didn't miss him that much.

This wasn't an emptiness I could fill.

It was when night fell, and the pizza guy came around did it hit me. Mom.

My first birthday without Mom.

My first birthday where she wouldn't turn off all the lights, wouldn't walk into the room carrying the cake, singing happy birthday with only the warm light of candles to fill the room. Watching me blow out the candles, and then make me promise not to tell anyone my wish, otherwise it would never come true. She'd be the one who'd order the pizza, a real treat because we rarely ordered out to save on money.

I remember hating how she ate pineapple pizza, and having to share with her sometimes. There wasn't any pineapple pizza today, and somehow I wanted nothing else right now.

I didn't say anything. Nor did anyone else. Just laughed along with them as MJ did an uncanny impersonation of Flash Thompson, Aunt May improvised a missing 6 candle by flipping over a 9, and nosy neighbor Mrs. Kleinburg came to check on what all the noise was about and leaving with an insincere happy birthday and a snotty look on her face. She didn't like kids, and she definitely didn't like teenagers.

But it was fine. Everything was just fine.

We ate slowly, still waiting. Even as I thought about my mother, my eyes were on the door. Or on my phone. Watching. Just watching for a change.

But it never came.

It was seven when Aunt May sighed under her breath and began lighting the candles. Afterwards, cake would be served, presents opened — the main occasion. She wasn't going to wait anymore.

And that's when I knew.

Steve wasn't here. He wasn't going to show.