Title: How the Other Half Lives

Author: Gaeriel Mallory

Rating: PG

Distribution: Twisting the Hellmouth, The Haven

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, Inc. or Marvel Comics.

Note: Written in response to TTH's Fic-for-all #154: Kennedy/Peter Parker

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Kennedy sighed and played with the hem of her sleeve. She hated these meet-and-greets that her parents always attended with various politicians, local and not so local. Just because Daddy was an important campaign contributor... She always felt so out of place at these fancy events, out of place in a way that she never felt when she was training with her Watcher.

Not for the first time, she wished that her father wasn't quite so high profile. If they had been a typical middle-income family with no political ties, it would have been easy for her to disappear. Instead, the Watcher's Council had to approach her discretely, even more so than normal, and train her in secret from the rest of her family. Her father knew something was up but had let it go for the moment, being too busy with other things.

The particular party was thrown in New York City by Senator Whatshisname, an old college friend of her mother's. His wife used to be her roommate or classmate or something. The senator was standing in the middle of the room, chatting amicably with her parents. The wife was playing hostess, making rounds of the room to make sure everyone had enough wine and canapés. Kennedy was leaning against the wall by the doorway, studying for potential threats. If she had to be here, at least she could use the experience as a training exercise.

There was a man across the room, a camera around his neck. A press badge was clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket. He seemed innocent enough, but she filed it away in the back of her mind. It would be laughingly easy for a vampire to sneak into someplace like this by pretending to be press.

Her gaze continued the travel the room. The waiters, too, she decided. They all look the same in their white jackets that it would be easy to impersonate one. And unlike reporters, who garnered some attention, waiters were just part of the scenery here. Most of the guests were wealthy and had gained the habit of ignoring servants, taking their presence for granted.

Wait.

Narrowing her eyes, she focused in on one particular waiter. He was dark-haired and was neither overly handsome nor plain. Everything about his appearance screamed normal but Kennedy had noticed that he seemed unusually intent on making his way towards the senator. He shifted his tray of appetizers, reaching inside his jacket with his other hand.

Kennedy ran across the room, ignoring the outraged cries of the people who shoved out of her way. "Gun!" she screamed.

The waiter dropped the tray and pulled the weapon out into the open, aiming it at the senator. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Kennedy leapt, tackling the gunman to the ground. Kneeing him in the groin, she punched him in the face with her right hand, scrabbling for the gun with her left.

A gunshot rang out and she whirled, accessing the room. Other waiters had produced weapons and where pointing them at her, the senator, and other guests in the room. "Shit," she said, raising both hands in the air. One of the men gestured her to get to her feet and she did so slowly, eyes trained on the gun in his hand.

He walked toward her and frowned. "You'll pay for that."

She glared right on back at him, not saying anything. In her quick study of the room, she had counted four gunmen. Two had been covering the crowd while the third had targeted the senator. The fourth one kept his eyes, and pistol, on her.

Her mother's voice reached her ears. "Please don't hurt her. She's my baby!"

Kennedy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a fine time for her to suddenly show affection. Nevermind the sixteen years before in which she had been raised more or less by the housekeeper. Still, there didn't seem to be anything she could do in the situation. There were four of them, all dangerously armed, against her. There were no security guards—a stupid gesture by the senator to show his trust in his fellow man during the holiday season.

Suddenly, a white cord appeared, attaching itself to the gun, pulling the weapon out of the surprised gunman's hand. Kennedy took her chance and side-kicked him in the stomach, ripping her skirt in the process but not really caring. As he was doubled over, she grabbed his arm and flipped him over her hip onto his back, and then finally kicking him unconscious in the head.

She then took a moment to scan the room for any other threats. The man who had been training a gun on the senator was lying wrapped in more white cording on the ground. A figured dressed in a blue and red masked costume was engaged in fighting off another one in the corner.

"That's three down," she muttered to herself. "Where's the last one?" Spotting a person edging towards a door, she grabbed a bottle of wine from the ground—fallen from the tray the fake waiter had dropped, cushioned by the plush carpet so that it hadn't broken.

The last gunman ran into the wall as the unopened bottle hit him in the back of the head. He slumped to the ground, broken glass and wine surrounding him.

"Nice shot."

Kennedy turned around and raised an eyebrow at the man in front of him. "Aren't you a little underdressed for this thing? I thought the invitation said formal wear."

Spider-man gave a surprised laugh. "Well, I would love to stay and chat but I have to run before the police show up. They tend to frown upon me in this town." He held out a gloved hand. "Thanks."

She grinned and took it. "It's always nice to be appreciated.

He shot out a line of webbing—the white cording that she had noticed before—and swung out an open window. She watched his escape with a smirk.

"Kennedy..."

She sighed and turned to her father. "Yes, Daddy?" she asked innocently.

He opened and closed his mouth several times before settling on, "You aren't in a gang, are you?"

She blinked. "No," she responded in disbelief, shaking her head.

"Ah, well, that's good." He nodded decisively. "We'll talk more later, when we're home." He then walked away and back towards where his wife was standing with the senator.

As she looked around her, she noticed that the guests were openly staring at her, pointing and whispering. Her shoulders slumped and she walked forlornly over to a corner, intending to sit and pretend she wasn't the center of attention. Before she got there, however, she was waylaid by the photographer she had noticed before the excitement had broken out.

He smiled at her. "Hi," he said, "I'm Peter Parker with the Daily Bugle. I don't suppose you'd let me take a picture of you?"

She shrugged. "Why not? There's not much more I could do that would scandalize my parents, is there?"

Peter looked a little disturbed at her answer but still posed her against the wall. "I'm not sure if the paper will use this one or not," he told her. "I took several that Mr. Jameson may want better because they're action shots."

Indeed. The next morning at breakfast, her father nearly inhaled his coffee as he saw his daughter on the front page, caught in the middle of throwing a man in a waiter's uniform over her hip. He held the paper out to Kennedy. "I don't suppose you can explain where you learned how to do this?" he asked her.

She sipped her orange juice. "Self-defense class?" she answered. He gave her a skeptical look.

Boy was she going to have fun explaining this to her Watcher.

--fin--