CHAPTER ELEVEN: RUN RABBIT RUN

Happy Hogan

. . .

. . .

"What do you mean, you can't get a hold of him?"I demand, phone tight to my ear.

"I mean he found the bad guy's secret lair and then went completely offline."

"Shit," I mutter, pushing the car door open. I glance both ways down the street before jogging toward the restaurant. "I'm pulling May out. This is too dangerous."

"Good idea. I'm trying to reestablish the connection, but-"

I tune out the techno geek jargon, approaching the door. An elderly man in a tailored suit raises his hand. "Sir, do you have a reservation?"

"I'm making one now."

"I'm afraid there's noth-"

"For Tony Stark."

His mouth snaps closed, and I brush by him. I'm not one to name drop to my advantage, but Tony freaking owes me. Everybody owes me.

I enter the main dining area, spotting May standing by her table, glass of wine and basket of breadsticks empty. Her face is flushed, and she looks embarrassed as she pulls on her purse. She looks up, eyes meeting mine.

"Happy? Hi, how are you?"

My gaze narrows on the empty seat across from her. My whole body is braced for confrontation, but the threat isn't here.

May is still looking at me, the candlelit glow from the table making her earrings gleam, and I'm momentarily distracted by the black dress she's wearing. "New dress?"

She smiles. "It is, yeah."

"Looks great. You look great, I mean."

"Kind of doubting that at this point, but thank you," May says. "My date bailed on me."

"Your . . . he what?"

"Do you think it's because I started talking too much about Indian food and he took me to an Italian restaurant?"

"May," I say, stepping forward, urgency pulling my insides taut. "How long ago did he leave?"

"Sad to say I sat here for half an hour while he was in the 'bathroom'. God, I'm so embarrassed."

I take her elbow and quickly start guiding her from the restaurant.

"Happy, what-"

"Peter's in danger. We gotta go, now."

We've reached the lobby, the maitre d raising his hand and saying "Excuse me-"

May jerks away. "Hold on. What about Peter?"

"I'll explain in the car."

She lets me take her elbow again, and together we rush across the street. I go to open the passenger door for her, but she beats me to it and we both get inside the car. When I look at her again, her face is pale.

"Happy, does this have anything to do with my date?"

Feeling like a complete ass, I say, "It has everything to do with your date."

She blanches, and then a second later her eyes go hard and steely. "Take me to him, now."

I obey without hesitation.

Peter Parker

. . .

. . .

"Ned, talk to me buddy. Come on, I have to be out of range of whatever West was using to block our signal by now! Ned!"

Nothing.

Karen doesn't respond either, and any attempts to make a call or send a distress signal are met with more silence. Running diagnostics on my suit tell me that any form of communication is a no go.

I'm grateful, at least, that everything else still works.

Shutting down all of my suit's capabilities would have made my murder too easy for psycho hunter I guess.

I'm moving rapidly through the streets, swinging around corners, diving through narrow, shadowy gaps, going high, then dropping low. My body goes so fast, my hands and feet barely make contact with a web or a wall before I'm airborne again.

The sense of deja vu threatens to pull me under, to change a modern cityscape to dense alien jungle.

The hunt is on, and all I can do right now is flee.

Because I don't know the man masquerading as Logan West, animal trainer and seducer of aunts. I don't know where he came from, what he's killed, what his enhancements are . . .

For all I know there's a tracker in my suit, making my wild flight utterly useless, and I'll turn a corner straight into a trap.

Except . . . I do know some things about the man hunting me.

He mentioned honor, didn't he? Not "sullying the hunt" by accepting a contract for my head.

And the challenge, the thrill . . . he doesn't want this to be easy. He wants to earn this kill.

Which means he plans on doing this the old fashioned way, without tracking me via technology, and has only limited me by isolating me from the others.

Or so he thinks.

I swing into one of the upper levels of an old parking garage, the concrete stained and plastered with layers of old graffiti, half the lights flickering or not working at all. Despite its aura screaming "You will be murdered here", the structure is at least half-filled with cars, parked near the equally rundown hotel nearby.

My heart pounds in my chest as I drop down the fourth level, scanning for civilians before sliding under a suv that's covered in cobwebs and has a back window missing and the hole covered with a t-shirt duct taped around the edges.

Behind one of the front tires is my backpack, webbed to the underneath of the car.

Panting, I rip open the zipper and pull out my phone.

It's stupid, I suppose, to feel as hopeful as I am, that this will work. In all likelihood, whoever is helping West hack into my tech has already disabled my phone.

But maybe . . . just maybe.

I slip up my mask, the phone quickly scanning my face and opening up to a bright rainbow of apps. Hands almost shaking, my thumb moves to press against Ned's number on my recent calls list-

A picture of me pointing at a snoring Tony Stark suddenly fills the screen, Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" blasting and echoing in a violent rush that nearly has me dropping the phone before I swipe to answer the FaceTime call.

"I'm used to being stood up by beautiful women, but superpowered teenage nerds? This is a first."

I look around wildly, my stomach so knotted up and sitting high in my chest I can barely breathe. If West was anywhere nearby and heard-

"Mr. Stark, you've gotta-are you eating ice cream?"

"Bourbon butter pecan. From the new joint on 23rd. You'd have some too, if you'd bothered to show up. God, is this what it's come to? Showing my spite through ice cream?"

I watch, baffled and nearly startled out of my panic, as Mr. Stark jabs a large spoonful of dessert into his mouth. "You-"

"Hey, so not to sound needy, but we had plans tonight, in case you didn't recall. And that looks very much like your Spidey suit pulled up over your head."

"It is, because I-"

"Which, call me crazy, I thought we were working on said suit tonight to help you feel more secure about possible potential-what was it? Ninja hacking hunters?"

And because I know it's the only thing that will shut him the hell up, I snap, "A little late for that, Mr. Stark, seeing as said 'ninja hacking hunter' has shut down all communications in my suit and is currently tracking me across the city to remove my head and put it up on a plaque as his newest hunting trophy."

His face goes very satisfyingly blank, and I vaguely notice that a drop of tan-colored ice cream is slipping off his spoon onto his desk. "I-come again?"

It's stupid, so stupid of me to keep going, but my blood is boiling and my skin is too hot and my body doesn't know what to do with all this adrenaline and rage and-"Yeah, that's right. Peter's not crazy! Which yes, I realize sounds bad when I refer to myself in the third person like that, but you were wrong, and I was right. I'm freaking being hunted right now and I told you and-"

There's a brief flare of warning, a burst of magma on my heated skin before a massive hand encloses around my ankle, and I'm yanked sharply from my hiding spot before I can utter another word.

The phone clatters to the ground, slipping from my hands, and before I know it, I'm on my back, looking up at a disappointed Logan West.

"Any chance we could try the whole 'headstart' thing again?" I ask.

His mouth is a grim line, and I notice he's foregone his cyber-ninja getup for militaristic hunting gear, including a leather bandolier and fur at the collar.

"That's a no," I say, and yank my mask back down as he lunges for me.

I let him grab me, feel the utter immensity of his hands curl into the front of my suit before I seize his wrists, tucking my knees up to my sternum and plowing them into his chest. West stumbles back with a grunt, releasing me for a brief second before making another grab, but I've already flipped up onto the vehicle at my back-

-the vehicle he slams his boot into and sends spinning across the narrow space of the parking garage before it smashes into another car. I'm already crouched on the ground, lenses wide as Kraven stalks toward me, his fierce visage suddenly encased in shadows.

I lunge for my phone, but he's faster, his steel toed boot slamming down onto it with a painful crunch, and then his hand is around the back of my neck. I reach up, but again, he's too fast, and I'm lifted up and slammed into the concrete.

My nose is spared from breaking by me turning my head at the last possible second, but I feel a sharp jab of agony in my cheekbone that sends white sparks across my vision.

"I expected better," he says.

"So did I," I say, and from where I lie pinned on the ground, I jerk my arm forward with all my strength. The web attached to my wrist goes taught, and the minivan at the other end goes flying into West with a satisfying WHAM.

The pressure on my neck is gone, and I roll back with a wince, eyeing the hunter pinned against the wall as the minivan's alarms blare across the space, lighting him up in flashes of angry red.

His eyes meet mine, and he smiles.

Shit.

I back up, then take a running leap off the barrier separating the fourth level of the parking garage from the open air above the freeway. My stomach soars somewhere up past my throat as I plummet down, down-

BANG!

I hit the top of a semi in a crouch, but the speed and momentum are all wrong, and my body goes rolling, flipping backward until I reach out wildly with my hands and stick.

My eyes lift to the parking garage. A silhouette stands shadowed against the flashing red lights.

A chill shudders through me, and I roll onto my back, trying to catch my breath.

Mr. Stark heard. He had to have-

Except West didn't speak before he smashed my phone. All Mr. Stark would have seen or heard was me disappearing, talking to the air, and then a few crashes.

But he'll come. There's no way he won't-

I lurch to the side, spidey-sense screaming through my nerves, just as two heavily booted feet slam onto the semi right where I was lying.

"Were you born enhanced or were you the result of a very unfortunate experiment that made you super strong but also a complete psycho?" I call out over the wind battering our bodies as the semi picks up speed.

"What does it matter?"

"You know way too much about me. Seems only fair if you tell me a little about you."

"That, and you're stalling for time?"

"Well, yeah."

West stalks forward, unfazed by the fact that we are now in the middle of traffic on the six lane freeway heading deeper into the city.

Then he's on me, his movements fast, aggressive, controlled. A trained fighter. Experienced hunter. Jacked up on whatever enhancements run through those Dwayne Johnson sized muscles.

I block two jabs, taking the hits on my forearms that I keep close to my face. He swings for my exposed side, but I twist, flipping back on my hands and spinning my legs to sweep his out from under him.

But he catches my knee, grip so hard the bones creak, and then his fist drives down to my face. I twist again, and his fist goes plowing straight through the metal with a screech of sound.

West bares his teeth, and I fire a splatter of web across his face.

He stumbles back with a grunt, releasing me to try to pry off the sticky mass. I'm crouched low, my wrists rising as I fire off two more webs, securing his arms at awkward angles to his chest.

Then I decide I'm not taking any more chances, and I just keep firing until most of his body is cocooned in web, and he sways to keep his balance on the moving vehicle.

I blow out a breath.

New plan. Keep webbing him up until Mr. Stark or someone shows up and then hand deliver the hunter to authorities. If I keep adding more webbing anytime he starts to squirm free, I should-

West's shoulders flex, the tendons in his thick neck bulging, and then webbing goes bursting, then flying back in cotton candy like wisps. With one massive hand, he tears the substance from his face, his black eyes gleaming in the traffic light.

Well, there goes that.

I don't wait for him. This time I charge, leaping up and spinning at the last moment to plant my foot into his jaw. He takes the hit, barely stumbling, then delivers several brutal blows in rapid succession.

I dodge all but the last, and pain flares hot in my jaw, then my shoulder, and I'm staggering, then losing my footing entirely. My body goes over the edge of the moving semi, limbs jerking wildly before sticking on all fours to the side of the truck.

The hunter drops with me over the side, his hand shooting up at the last second to grip the top of the vehicle as his foot kicks out toward my ribs. I spin, body rolling vertically along the side of the semi until I'm at the back right corner.

Headlights blare into me from behind, and a horn begins honking.

I glance over my shoulder at the car riding the semi's ass, its bumper only a foot away. "Really?!"

Warning clangs into my skull, and then I'm kicking off the semi in a panicked rush as West nearly seizes me by the throat.

Glass splinters and crunches at my back as I slam into the windshield, and there's a horrific screech as the driver of the car slams on its brakes, nearly sending me flying back forward.

West launches into the air as the distance between us grows.

"Shit!" I roll, somersaulting backwards over the ruined windshield, more horns sounding off in a symphony of chaos as cars brake hard all around us, some swerving to avoid turning into a giant pile up.

The car lurches as West collides with its hood, the metal denting beneath his weight. Then my foot hits his chin, knocking his head back, but not slowing him down in the slightest as his fist flies for me again, then again-

I'm firing a web at a greyhound bus flying by in the next lane over. It sticks, line going taut-

There's a violent jerk all the way through my arm and down my side as I am wrenched into the air.

Bad idea, I realize, as my body starts skidding on the asphalt, too much webbing between me and the bus to keep me airborne.

"Ow, ow, OW!" I manage to roll onto my stomach, pushing up at a particularly painful bounce and finding my feet. The tips of my toes skim the ground as the bus pulls me along, barely able to keep up, and then I retract the line.

I kick off a minivan, gaining some air before I finally stick to the side of the bus with a loud THWACK.

Panting, body screaming in several places at this point, I glance back a the dark freeway, the lanes of traffic filled with pairs of bright yellow headlights moving around the crashed vehicle now far back.

There's no sign of West.

My senses detect movement to my left, and I look inside the bus window at the dim interior lighting, an older bearded man blinking blearily at me. I give a half hearted wave, and his gives me the finger.

"Typical," I mutter.

The old man's eyes drift up behind me, then widen.

Shit.

West is advancing fast, clinging to the top of a bright red Tesla going at least thirty miles over the speed limit.

I crawl up the side of the bus until I crouch at the very top, trying to catch my breath and roll my shoulders, readying for the next round. "Anytime, Mr. Stark. Anytime."

The hunter rises, looking like some Greek god incarnate charging into battle on a flaming chariot, then leaps for the bus. I move backward slowly as his fingers curl over the edge, and he drags himself up, eyes dark and hungry.

My insides are vibrating, my limbs feeling too light, too uncoordinated.

"You don't seem too worried about how much you've exposed yourself to the general public," I comment, fingers flexing. "No one's going to think I'm crazy now."

"What does it matter?" he asks, lips quirking in amusement. "When I will be holding your head in my hands momentarily?"

"Dude, there is something seriously wrong with you," I say, even as my chest constricts with panic.

Then the fight is on.

Bucky Barnes

. . .

. . .

"Zoo's closing, Buck. What's your plan, here?"

I stare at the caution tape still blocking off the tiger enclosure and ignore Wilson's question entirely. Then I duck under the tape and stride for the building.

Sam sighs, then follows. "You realize it's already been inspected for foul play. What do you think you're going to find?"

"I don't know," I say. "But there's something off about all this. I think Peter's onto something."

"Why not ask him if he's found anything? He'd probably appreciate the confidence boost," Sam remarks as we examine the untarnished glass of the empty enclosure.

"I don't want to get his hopes up."

"Kid's running out of hope. And we're running out of leads."

My lips tighten. Because Sam isn't wrong.

I glance over as his phone begins to ring. He lifts it to his ear. "Wilson."

Everything in me goes taut as Sam's eyes suddenly meet mine, grim and alert. "What kind of situation?"

My ears pick up Tony Stark's small voice on the other line as I move closer. "The one we were all afraid of. I need you to meet me at the tower, now."

"What about Peter?"

"I'm collecting him. We're going to have to do some major damage control. I hope you're ready for this. God knows I'm not."

Sam hangs up.

"What happened?" I demand.

He closes his eyes briefly, running a hand over his face as if to steady himself. "Peter's had some kind of psychotic break. There was a massive accident on the freeway, fourteen car pileup, injuries and fatalities unknown. Looks like Spiderman was the cause."

Blood drains from my face. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know, but we need to go. Now."

Peter Parker

. . .

. . .

I swing in a daze, city lights and buildings a blur around me as I obediently follow Ironman back to Avengers Tower.

My arms hurt, my sides hurt, everything hurts, and I can't remember for the life of me why I refused Mr. Stark's offer to give me a ride back. He keeps glancing back, making sure I'm still following.

There's a rushing sensation coursing within my chest, sending torrents of panicked energy through my limbs, even though the fight is over. I can't shake it.

It feels like there's an edge I'm very close to falling over.

And even though the sounds of the city nightlife are loud around me, it's all so so quiet compared to the chaotic blasts of the scene we just left.

Mr. Stark isn't the only one who keeps glancing over his shoulder. My neck aches from how quickly I keep whipping it behind me, expecting to see the hulking shadow of the man hunting me, the man who disappeared just before Ironman showed up to the scene of the accident.

The accident.

Oh god.

Oh god, please let everyone be ok.

The rest of that fight is a frantic blur in my mind, a whirl of pain and survival, and then suddenly it was all going wrong. I'm not even sure what caused the accident . . . was it when I kicked West off of me as his hands closed around my neck and squeezed? Was it when I ducked to avoid being splattered by the low tunnel overhang, and managed to get myself knocked off the bus?

All I can recall is the smell of burning rubber, the screech of braking tires and blaring car horns, and everything was going to hell.

Logan West forgotten, it was all I could do to stop the bus from flipping, to catch one, no, three cars before they plowed into the burning semi sprawled on its side in the middle of the tunnel.

So much noise, so much fire and screaming, and I was flying through it all, ripping doors off and yanking people out of smoking cars, webbing them out of the way of careening vehicles, and when everything finally, finally settled, I stood there in the smoke and fire and screaming . . .

Alone.

And then Ironman showed up, followed by the wail of sirens.

I release the web, freefalling only a couple feet before the soles of my boots hit the balcony of Avengers tower.

There's a hiss of sound, a set of lighter steps, and I look up to see Mr. Stark emerge from his suit, dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt rolled up above his elbows. I'm trying to narrow down exactly what that expression is on his face, but it's hard when I'm so jittery and out of it.

"Let's get you inside," he says.

The tone sends warning shivers dripping down my spine, but I let him lead me across the wide, double tiered balcony and into the great room of the tower.

Still breathing hard, I look up at the multi-leveled great room centered around a lounge of couches, armchairs, and an oval glass coffee table not too far from the bar.

Mr. Stark sits down heavily into one of those chairs, his eyes hidden for a moment as he scrubs long and hard at his face.

I can't bring myself to sit, despite my exhaustion. I can't be that still. Throat raw and burning, I croak, "Mr. Stark?"

"I'm . . . at a loss, Peter."

"I know."

"You and I . . . we've muddled through this-" he waves back and forth between us. "-dynamic of ours. It hasn't been easy, but I feel like we've done a damn decent job of it so far, yeah?"

I blink. "Yes?"

"But this? I just . . . I'm at a loss. I'm trying to think of a solution here, something that makes us all safe and happy and less screwed up, but I'm coming up blank."

"You . . . what?"

Mr. Stark heaves a sigh, then leans forward, elbows on his knees. He says slowly, "Last time I took your suit, it was to protect innocent people."

I jolt. "You-you want to take my suit?"

"It gave you the push you needed, didn't it?"

My blood goes still, then rushes through my veins so fast and hot I can barely think. "I don't need a push. I've been pushed around all freaking night, in case you hadn't noticed," I shoot back, tearing off my mask. The material catches against the scraped skin on the right side of my face and sends pain throbbing through my cheekbone. "I didn't do any of this to myself."

Mr. Stark looks at me, and he's not angry or frustrated. He looks . . . tired, hopeless . . . resigned. It scares the hell out of me.

"You don't get to not believe me this time," I say. "I found his lair. He attacked me in public. On a freeway. With dozens of witnesses. No way you get to write this off as trauma."

"Kid-"

"What about the cameras?" I demand. "All those street cameras that we had to have flown past as that psycho chased me down on the freeway? All the damaged cars? There's footage. Lots of it. There has to be."

"You mean these cameras?" Mr. Stark asks grimly.

A swipe of his hand has a holographic screen hovering above the coffee table.

I blink.

I blink and watch as Spiderman swings from a bridge, his body spasming midair before he slams onto the top of a moving semi. He rolls, limbs flailing as if fighting an unseen foe, his fist connecting with his own face.

Then he's falling back, slamming into the windshield of the car behind.

The cars whisk out of view of the camera, and a new angle comes through, a vision of a tunnel.

There's Spiderman, alone, staggering against the side of a bus, firing web after web, causing cars to careen violently into one another, the semi going down onto its side and bursting into flame.

"I've already checked. The footage from your suit matches the ones taken from the streets."

I'm stunned. Stunned, because even though I knew West was messing with everything, he was so sure he'd kill me tonight, and the need to wipe away his presence would be gone. But the whole time, whoever he'd been working with had been compromising my suit and public cameras in real time to disguise his presence.

And if they were able to do that . . .

Mr. Stark's standing now, and he places his hands on my shoulders. "Kid, I'm going to need you to trust me, ok?"

I pull back, the remaining adrenaline congealing into something hysterical that I try to suppress. "I need you to trust me! The footage is wrong!"

My voice echoes in the large space, and I wince at how frantic and high pitched it sounds.

"Peter, look what you did!" Mr. Stark gestures wildly to the flaming images on the screens. "People were hurt tonight, they could have been killed! What is it going to take for you to see that this has gone too far?"

There's the sudden ding of the elevator, and we turn to see Sam and Bucky emerging, their eyes finding us immediately.

I let out a crazed little laugh. "What is this, an intervention? Time to fit Peter for his straightjacket and padded cell?"

"Hey, that's not what this is," Sam says firmly, the pair of them coming to meet us.

"I. Am. Not. Crazy."

"No one is saying you are."

"Bullshit!" I blurt. "I just found proof, PROOF that I've been right all along, I was nearly killed for it, and now my team's trying to take the only thing protecting me away?"

"No one is taking anything," Sam emphasizes again. "Let's all take a breath here."

"That's not your call," Mr. Stark tells him. "You didn't see what I did. Peter needs to take a break from Spiderman until this is resolved."

"Peter is standing right here," I say heatedly. "And you'll have to pry this suit off my cold dead body."

"That's a bit dramatic."

"Dramatic?"

"Easy," Bucky says, and I notice him sidling subtly between Mr. Stark and I, but his proximity just makes me more claustrophobic.

Mr. Stark notices too, and his eyes flash. "We've done everything, everything in our power to find a shred of proof that what you're experiencing is more than just in your head."

"I found the proof. On my own, thank you, while you were busy adding on the shrink appointments."

He points a finger at me. "That's not fair. We heard your concerns and we took it seriously. Do you know how many hours we poured into finding this nonexistent threat?"

"Nonexistent?! How can-"

"This isn't what you think it is, and it's time you got it straight. You aren't the unheard victim, Peter."

Sam jerks. "Hey-"

"Of course I'm not a victim. I'm a freaking target."

"Okay!" Sam's hands are in the air. "We all need to take a minute to calm the hell down. This is getting way out of hand."

That rushing sensation is a maelstrom in my ears, and then suddenly, with an almost audible snap, it silences. I'm shaking, and I don't know if I have ever been so furious.

Bucky speaks to me. "You said you found proof. Where?"

"Logan West's apartment," I say through clenched teeth.

"You broke into someone's apartment?" Mr. Stark demands.

"While he was on a date with my aunt."

"Woah, let me get this straight," says Mr. Stark. "You're accusing your aunt's new boyfriend now?"

"I realize how it looks-"

"Do you?" Now Mr. Stark sounds hysterical.

"Tony," says Sam. "We're taking a break. Now. This isn't getting resolved without having cool heads."

"I'm cool as a cucumber, thank you Good Will Hunting."

I can't breathe, and I shove past all of them to the lower level, closer to the balcony. God, I wonder if my skin is turning green.

"Kid, you can't just walk away from this."

Watch me.

The elevator dings again, and I'm about to just freaking lose it. But the door opens, and it's Ned and Happy and May standing there, breathing hard and sweating like they've been running.

"Hold . . . hold everything!" Ned gasps, bending over to catch his breath, one arm in the air, a USB clutched in his fist.

"Peter, are you okay?" May rushes forward, gently clasping my chin and tuning my face. She hisses at what she sees there.

"I'm fine." Lie. "Are you okay?"

"Pissed as usual," she replies. "But unhurt. Happy told me everything."

"You got Happy involved?" Mr. Stark asks, exasperated.

"Tony, you're gonna want to listen to the kid," says Happy.

"I have been, thank you, and-"

"Not Peter. The other one."

Everyone looks at Ned.

He straightens, puts his hand to his forehead in a salute. "Mr. Falcon. Winter Soldier, sir."

"Mr. Falcon?" Sam raises a brow.

"I have proof," Ned says solemnly, clutching the USB. "Peter is not crazy, and I can prove that everything he's been saying all along is true."

Silence meets his proclamation, and my heart is hammering in my chest.

Mr. Stark walks down the ramp, hand open for the thumb drive.

"Er," says Ned. "May I?"

"Be my guest."

Ned glances at me, giving me a thumbs up before heading for the nearest console.

"Wanna tell me how this is going to be any different than anything else we've seen?" asks Mr. Stark.

"Because Stark tech's been compromised and so has everything else," Ned answers, a lot more confidently now that he's facing a computer and not Tony Stark. "I installed my own in Peter's suit, layered it underneath your design so the hacker that's been messing with everything wouldn't detect it."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah . . . sorry. The hacker is good, really good. Actually found my tech during Peter's big chase, and I had to outhack him to protect the footage. Which I have. Uno Momento. And . . . here we go."

Ned steps aside, letting out a long breath.

May steps away from me, closer to the screen. They all do.

If Ned and I were wrong, if this doesn't work and the footage just shows me pummeling myself into oblivion, I might as well just throw myself from the balcony and save Logan West, or whatever the hell his real name is, the trouble.

Please.

The screen is filled with a first person pov, peering over the apartment building edge down toward the open window.

There I go, creeping through an average looking apartment.

I know what it looks like. They see a paranoid, damaged teenager breaking into his aunt's boyfriend's apartment, convinced that this stranger that entered into his life is hunting him, traumatized by his screwed up past.

Please. Please. Please.

On the screen, I enter the bedroom.

The others watch intently, none more so than Bucky. Mr. Stark looks impatient and upset, like this is all painful enough without having to watch it.

But they're watching.

Please. Please.

The screen is zoomed in on the fallen copy of "The Most Dangerous Game", and I turn for the closet.

I can't hear anything but my own heartbeat.

I watch my own hands lift to the back of it, feeling for something . . . anything.

PLEASE.

There's a burst of static before the screen clears.

And, just like earlier in the evening, the back of the closet slides away, the false panel revealing another room, lit up by a mass of computer monitors.

My knees go wobbly and weak.

Ned, you glorious, nerdy genius.

May's arms are folded across her chest, her lips a tight line. Mr. Stark jerks, half stepping forward, and Sam and Bucky are stiff and focused. My eyes scan their reactions as they watch me discover the truth about the slimy creep who decided to date my aunt to get closer to me.

There are the monitors, running the continuous lines of programming, like someone was using the software remotely to scan through cameras, to tamper with any documentation.

There are the screens looping videos of Spiderman swinging, fighting, saving civilians. Of Peter Parker walking with Ned down the street, jogging with Sam at the facility upstate, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

There are the pictures plastered on the wall. Of me. My friends and family. The Avengers.

A shadow covers it all, and on the screen I whirl around to find West silhouetted in the doorway. And his deep, suddenly accented voice fills the room.

"Life is for the strong, to be lived by the strong, and if needs be, taken by the strong. The weak of the world were put here to give the strong pleasure. I am strong. Why should I not use my gift? If I wish to hunt, why should I not?"

Hearing the quote from his lips again sends fresh, nauseating shivers wracking through me.

I'm jello, that coiled hysterical energy bubbling down into goo.

I stop watching the footage. I don't need to see it. I need them to.

I'm aware of Ned suddenly at my side. "Mic drop," he whispers, miming the motion and giving me a grin. It falls a second later. "Dude, are you okay?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I love you."

"Love you too, man," Ned says easily. "That guy really did a number on you."

"Yeah, I'm really starting to feel it. I . . . thank you."

He shrugs, but looks pleased with himself. "I'm your Guy in the Chair, dude. I got your back."

"Stop," commands Mr. Stark, and I glance up to see his hand raised.

The screen is paused on our fight in the parking garage, West's fist wrapped in the material of my suit across my chest, his teeth bared, eyes wild. My hands are raised to defend myself.

Sam has a hand over his mouth, and there's a darkness in Bucky's glower that I recognize.

And Mr. Stark?

His face is blank.

I thought I would feel triumphant. That I would crow "I TOLD YOU SO!" and revel in the fact that I finally, finally proved my sanity to them. I expected it to feel satisfying, relieving, and just . . . I don't know.

I don't feel any of that.

There's a long drawn out silence. Then, Mr. Stark says to May, "You're going to slap me again, aren't you?"

A/N

Hey . . . so it's probably going to be the new norm for me to post the rare update with a big apology on how freaking long it's been since the last one. So whoever is sticking around with this series, I'm sorry! And I beyond appreciate you! Several of you have reached out through reviews or PMs to see if I'm ok or to tell me you're still fans or rereading the series for the umpteenth time, and this update is for YOU. It means more than you know that you guys are still out there, still loving my stories, and wanting to make sure I know that.

Because God, I miss fanfiction. I miss the days where I could just write for 24 hours straight, only pausing to scarf down food. But life is a little different nowadays, and I don't get to write hardly ever, even on my own original work.

Which doesn't seem like it's going to change anytime soon. I'm happy to announce that I'm due to give birth to my first baby in just a couple weeks, a little girl who may one day inherit the title of "Queen of Cliffhangers" if she turns out to be a writer like her mama. ;) My husband and I couldn't be more thrilled, as starting a family has always been a dream for us.

However, balancing working full time and caring for a newborn means even less time to write than there was before, so I honestly can't tell you when I will update next. All I can tell you is I love you guys, I still think of this series often, and I really hope to continue it and finish it someday, even if it take awhile to do so. SO to those of you who still read, reread, and reach out, THANK YOU. I love and miss and appreciate you guys so much, and it always makes my day to get the random message or review. Hang in there guys, and hopefully I'll surprise myself and you and have more time to write and devote to fanfiction than I thought.

LOTS OF LOVE FOREVER AND ALWAYS!

-QUEEN

P.S. Also, due to the length of time between updates, there may be typos and inconsistencies, but I figured you'd like a new chapter regardless. ;) Happy reading!