Author's Note: Hello everyone! I am so, so, SO sorry I haven't updated! I've had an insane summer. I have been traveling essentially non-stop for the past six weeks. I spent three of those weeks at an intense summer physics program at an Ivy League school. While it was absolutely incredible, it was really exhausting!

Enough with the excuses, though. Just know that I feel bad. I don't like to torture you guys! A lot of you were commenting about wanting to know about the next update. If you ever want to ask me a question like that, you'll have better luck reaching me by PMing me or messaging me over my Tumblr, argeiphontesthesecond.

In the future, I'll make sure to let you know before I go on hiatus!

I'd also like to make a note about Gwen. To be clear: I have NOTHING against Gwen Stacy. It might not seem like it from my writing, but I happen to quite like the character. I'm going to ramble about this, but please humor me.

1. I don't think Gwen's a bad person at all, regardless of her actions against Autumn. She was frightened to bump into her in the hall at OsCorp. She had no idea what sort of experiments Harrow was conducting. She panicked and pulled the alarm because it's what she was supposed to do. Of course, Autumn sees Gwen differently than I do, and you, as readers, have only seen Gwen through Autumn and Peter's negative, bitter perspectives.

2. Gwen has been through a lot. She's lost her father, and Peter broke up with her immediately after. Of course she's bitter. And Peter did lead her on by saying "but those (promises) are the best kind". As seen in TASM 2, he didn't completely follow through with that. It's only natural she would feel so terrible, and she slept with the other guy in an attempt to get over Peter. Grief makes people do things they wouldn't otherwise do.

3. I identify with the character of Gwen greatly. I'm generally quiet, serious, and studious. In fact, I am perusing a scientific research internship through a program at an international company not so different from Gwen's program at OsCorp. My favorite fictional characters are girls in STEM. There need to be more of them- young girls interested in the sciences need more positive role models like Gwen Stacy.

4. Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone are an absolutely adorable couple. 'Nuff said.

5. The fundamental difference between Autumn and Gwen is this: Gwen doesn't completely understand Peter's sense of duty. This is best shown in TASM when she says to Peter: "This isn't your job." He replies, "Maybe it is."

Autumn, on the other hand, never questions Peter about his sense of obligation. In fact, she shares it. She understands it. Gwen says, "I love Spider-Man, but I love Peter Parker more". Autumn doesn't see a difference between the two identities, embracing both equally.

So, there you go! My lengthy explanation!

Chapter 7

Autumn Legler

I wrap my arms around my knees and draw them close to my chest. Night sighs above as I sit on the rooftop of the building that contains the apartment I once called my home. The bitterness of Peter's betrayal lingers in my fingertips, rushes through my veins. My mind keeps turning over itself, tide after tide crashing upon the shore, unable to move past the image of Gwen's lips on Peter's. I see this, over and over, until I'm sick to my stomach and angered to a state of fire, and finally, emotion erodes away at me until everything that is left is numb.

Then, I tear my thoughts away from that travesty, turning them to my mother. It has been nearly three weeks since I watched the OsCorp guard shoot her, powerless to intervene. I always used to dismiss the supernatural, but after everything that has happened as of late, I find I can no longer do so with such ease. Now, it's as if the image of my mother is palpable, cool to my trembling touch. I shut my eyes, and I can see her: a radiant form, ethereal and near, but absent.

I have no words to exchange with this ghost, who may or may not exist at all. Perhaps, she exists and does not exist all at once, Schroedinger's Cat beyond the confines of the box. Instead, I merely feel myself reverting from feline to human, hardened vigilante to frightened, hurt child.

The apparation dissolves as a loud, metallic clang rings out from somewhere on the side of the building. I stiffen, protracting my claws, whipping my head from side to side to locate the source of the noise. If it's Peter, I think, I won't hesitate to give him a nasty gash.

But it's not Peter. A man- tall, broad, muscled- leaps from the side of the building to the top. I spring to my feet, tensing in anticipation, for most ordinary humans do not climb in such a way. When it rains, it doesn't pour- it sets off a goddamn flashflood. The prospect of fighting off an OsCorp guard tonight does not amuse me, to put it lightly.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the man calls. "I'm going to have to ask you to drop your weapons!"

I glance down at my claws and frown. "Uh… they're kind of attached."

Undeterred, he begins to walk towards me, so I turn to leap to another building, out of his reach. But he's faster than I assumed he'd be- in mere fractions of a second, his hand firmly curls around my arm.

My heart begins to pound, frantically, and I twist and turn, unable to escape his iron grasp. Panic explodes, sending sparks through my veins, and blindly, I claw in his direction with my free hand. A pained, low grunt enters my ear, his grip slackening, and I know I've hit my mark. I spin around to face him-

Shit.

The face before me is familiar, shockingly familiar, leaving bitter morsels of regret in my chest. It's the face of a soldier, a hero, a miracle, an Avenger.

I inhale, shakily. "I am so, so sorry."

Steve Rogers- Captain America- whatever, the guy on the posters plastered inside every teenage girl's locker- shakes his head. "It's alright, ma'am."

I can't help it- a grin slowly creeps across my face.

Tenderly, he rubs his arm- with a start, I realize the fabric is shredded. I reach out to examine it. The skin beneath the sleeve is raised and red, but not bloody.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I didn't mean to- I panicked…"

"I understand," he says. "It just needs to be cleaned up. I've had worse."

I avert my gaze, ashamed by my outburst. "I assume Fury sent you."

"Yeah," he replies. "Peter came in, and he was worried about you."

My blood rises to a boil. "How dare he," I hiss, my eyes narrowing.

"Hey," he says, placing his large hand on my shoulder. "Take a deep breath, ma'am. We'll get things worked out between the two of you, but for now, you should go back to base and try to rest."

I shake my head, as petulant as a young child. "No. He's there."

For a second, Steve Rogers is silent, thinking. "I can take you back to Avenger's Tower," he says at last. "I'll get you a cup of cocoa, and you can spend the night there."

"Really?" I tilt my head, widening my eyes.

He nods. "Sure. I can't see why Stark would have any problem with it."

A sketch of a smile crosses my lips. "Thank you. Thank you."

I prepare to launch myself in the direction of the skyscraper, but Rogers clears his throat. "Excuse me, ma'am, I think it would be simpler to take a cab."

I glance down, then back at him. "You're probably right about that."

We slide into the back seat of the cab from the curb on 46th street. The driver looks back at us, and his mouth drops open.

"Avengers Tower, please," Rogers says calmly, as if he is used to such occurrences.

The driver keeps staring at me.

"What?" I growl. "Never seen a feline-human hybrid in a cat suit before?"

He blinks once, and turns back around to drive.

"No offense, ma'am, but there's no need for you to threaten him, or anyone else, for that manner," Rogers says seriously.

The corner of my lip pulls downward as I ponder his words. It's a defense mechanism, I suppose- if I were to be confronted by enemies, by OsCorp security, I would want them as intimidated as I could possibly get them, which is complicated by my stature. A rose has thorns, a little cat has claws- and a tongue as sharp as the sword that keeps the mob at bay.

So, I just shrug at him.

The ride is brief, as Avengers Tower is just about five blocks from my former apartment. Once the cab pulls up to the side of the street, Rogers thrusts a generous wad of money towards the driver, who eagerly pockets it without another word nor strange glance in my direction.

From the air, skyscrapers are toothpicks; from the ground, they are monuments built to the heavens, Towers of Babel with every intention of toppling over at any given second. Rogers leads me through a massive set of glass doors, into a modernly-decorated lobby, all composed of sleek, dark materials and sharp angles.

A receptionist glances up from the front desk as we walk past. "Good evening, Captain Rogers," she says, smiling warmly. I brace myself for her eyes to travel to my form and linger, as seems to be the norm, but that does not come. Instead, she casually adds, "Your companion has been granted access to the higher levels of the Tower."

Rogers nods and thanks her as he walks me to the elevator. The doors close, and a gentle, British voice begins to speak. "Hello, Captain Rogers, Miss Legler. To what floor may I take you?"

"Lounge, please," he replies, and I watch the levels rapidly tick upwards- 8, 13, 27, 39…

We finally come to a halt at floor 68. "Have a good night," the voice says again.

"Thanks, JARVIS," he says, stepping out.

I scowl. "Do you really need someone to operate the elevator all night?"

Rogers cracks a smile. "JARVIS doesn't exactly need much sleep."

"Oh, god, what sort of chemicals are you pumping into him?"

A chuckle escapes his throat. "JARVIS is an AI."

"Smartest one in the world," says a man's voice from around the corner. I can't help but stare at the face familiarized by both Times covers and tabloids. "Fury will try to tell you otherwise, that SHIELD can come up with stuff just as good, but that's bullshit. He just doesn't like to admit that he needs me."

I don't miss the quick roll of Roger's eyes. "Well, I suppose I get the pleasure of introducing you," he says, in a way that certainly doesn't make it sound like much of a pleasure.

The dark-eyed, dark-haired, goateed man extends his hand to me. I grasp it, shifting my gaze to his calloused hands. "So, you're the one that nearly decapitated Fury."

"It was a taser, not a guillotine," I mutter.

"Tony Stark," he says, giving my hand a firm shake.

"Black Cat," I reply tentatively. I will not remain Autumn Legler for much longer, so it's best I keep anyone from getting too attached to her.

Stark snorts. "Please. We don't do that "codename" shit here. Despite popular belief, we are not superheroes. We just happen to have a fetish for spandex.

My chest constricts, and I hesitate. "I… don't have another name to give you."

Rogers loudly clears his throat. "Let's sit down. JARVIS can get us some hot drinks."

I'm more than happy to oblige, and to find that some amount of tension has been diverted. The lounge is furnished with overstuffed leather chairs and sofas. I flop into one of the chairs, which is far more comfortable than my bed at the SHIELD Headquarters.

Stark sits in a sofa across from me, and Rogers in a chair to my left. Stark leans forward, tapping his foot, lost somewhere in the realm of thoughts. "Let me see if I can help you come up with a new name."

Before I can open my mouth to protest, his list comes pouring out.

"Whiskers. Mittens. Fluffy. Tiger."

Irritation begins to claw at me from the inside. "I'm sure I'll be able to think of something, thanks."

He shakes his head. "No, I've got this. How about Pussy?"

The last fiber of the rope snaps. Before he can blink, I have my claws at Stark's throat, pinning him down with a strength far beyond the reservoir of the ordinary fifteen-year-old girl.

"Suggest that again," I snarl, digging my claws into his shoulders just a little further, "And I will not hesitate to claw your eyes out."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rogers motion for me to release my grip. I ignore him. A strangled sound, a plea for air leaves Stark's windpipe. His eyes widen in panic, and I smile. "Understand? Excellent."

With that, I retract my claws and step back, as Stark sputters and gasps.

"Look," Rogers sighs, the single word spoken in the tone of a disappointed teacher. "We're all on the same team here. That doesn't mean we're always going to get along- in fact, those moments are rare. But you don't get to attack us. Even Stark."

"I appreciate it, Cap," grumbles Stark, smoothing out his shirt.

Thundering footsteps approach, and two people, a man and a woman, come running into the room. "What happened?" says the man, middled-aged, his dark hair gray at the edges.

"Stark said some stupid stuff," Rogers says. "I'm sure you're shocked."

The woman rolls her eyes and walks to Stark's side, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Tony," she chides, "You heard what Fury said. Give the girl a break."

"She damn near killed me!" He protests, but the woman simply scowls and flips a strand of strawberry-blond hair over her back.

All this commotion stirs up the dull sensation of guilt that I neglected just long enough to act upon a cheap annoyance. "I'm sorry," I say, looking down. "I shouldn't… I lost my temper… it's been a long night, and-"

The man takes a seat in the chair next to me, and sends me a sympathetic look. "I understand," he says softly.

The woman sits beside Stark, on the leather loveseat. "Oh, honey," she says, flashing me a little smile, "He was probably asking for it." She turns to Rogers. "Steve, was he asking for it?"

He gives a stiff nod.

"There we go," she says. As an afterthought, she adds, "I'm Pepper, CEO of Stark Industries." She turns to face the man sitting next to me. "And that's Dr. Bruce Banner."

Banner raises his hand in response.

"Nice to meet you both," I reply. "SHIELD's making me change my name, and I haven't come up with a new one yet, so…" I trail off, unsure of how to best convey the situation. "If you must call me anything until then, call me 'Black Cat'."

Pepper nods. "Black Cat."

Silence sets in, until it is broken by Rogers. "I promised you hot cocoa, ma'am. Would you still like some?"

I nod, and he raises his voice. "JARVIS, one cup of hot cocoa, please."

"As many marshmallows as you can fit in the cup," I add.

"You can take off your mask, make yourself comfortable," Pepper says.

To remove my mask is to make myself vulnerable, but I suppose I can't utilize that as an excuse. Somewhat reluctantly, I slide the black leather off and place it beside me.

Stark visibly winces at the sight of my uncovered face, probably at the juxtaposition of the human features and the feline eyes. "Yikes."

Another jolt of anger hits me, and I prepare to leap across the room, unsheathing my claws-

The man, Dr. Banner, places his hand gently on my shoulder. "It's alright," he murmurs. That's enough for me to regain my mental footing, and I retract my claws, my chest heaving.

"Tony," Pepper's eyes narrow as she takes on the tone of the scolding mother once again. Then, her countenance softens, and she turns to me. "I am so, so sorry." Broadly, she gestures at Stark. "I swear to god, he has no filter whatsoever. Not that that's an excuse, but it's the closest thing I've got."

"It's fascinating," says Dr. Banner, quietly.

My brow knits. "What?"

"The way you only express certain feline features," he elucidates. "The eyes, the claws- but not other traits. Whoever made you" He gestures broadly at me, "What you are now… Well, they must have spent a lot of time getting it right."

I let that sink in. I'm not a biologist- although I consistently set the curve in my AP Biology class- and, as such, I feel I often take the complexity of living things for granted. I unsheath my claws again, studying the sharp, curved tips, the smoothness of the surface, a pale silver sheen. There is a slit beneath my fingernails through which the claws emerge. With a start, I realize that my nails are growing brittle, dull, as if they have not grown or self-repaired in the past few weeks.

"Let me see that," Dr. Banner says, and I move my trembling hand towards him. He gingerly touches the bed of my thumbnail, scrutinizing it carefully. I watch his face for any betrayal of alarm, but his features remain firmly composed.

After a moment, he says, "You appear to be discarding the nail completely."

I feel my insides contort with unease. "What?"

"There's no need for panic- it's simply another feature of your design," he explains. "As of now, your fingernails partially obstruct the flap of skin that covers your claws. Once you shed them, you'll probably be left with a thin membrane to cover it- in a cat, that's skin and fur. I can't begin how it will manifest in you- not fur, but a more flexible cuticle, perhaps."

"Lovely," I grumble.

"It is," he says, his agreement surprising me. "Because none of this is accidental. None of this was left to chance."

I sit in stunned silence as the dust of his words settles into little creases.

"You're a miracle, not an abomination."

A cup of cocoa rises from the center of the coffee table with a ding. I reach for it and draw the cup into my chest, the steam curling up to my cheek. It's far too hot to drink, but comforting to the touch.

"If you're finished pouring your heart out, we have some business to discuss," says Stark. "So, you're spending the night here?"

I glance at Rogers. "He said I could."

Stark waves his hand. "No problem. We have several floors of guest rooms, all of which are currently unoccupied. You can take your pick."

"Thank you," I say, bracing myself for the zinger.

It doesn't come.

"The 60th floor should be open," Pepper says, glancing down at her phone. "JARVIS, prepare the room, please."

"Yes, Ms. Potts," the AI replies.

"Fury wants us to report to HQ by seven tomorrow morning," Bruce says. "You may want to get to bed soon."

I nod and take another sip from my mug. I open my mouth to ask the obvious question, but Stark's answer beats me to it. "Yes, Parker will be there."

My grip tightens around the hot ceramic, and my eyes narrow to slits.

"Just give him a chance to talk," Rogers says. "We're not entirely sure what happened- he was pretty distraught- but he seemed pretty apologetic."

Apologetic- that's a word I cannot reconcile with my first impulses. But I can see that there's little point to arguing with these people, and it's not as if they've got anything do with Peter's actions.

So I find myself agreeing.

Rogers stands up and gestures to the elevator. "I can show you to you're room, ma'am."

I follow him. "Thank you, Captain Rogers."

He smiles and presses the elevator button. "You can just call me Steve."