3.

"I spent the next week or so experimenting with my powers, testing how far they could go and what their limits were," Peter said after working out what he was going to say to Heather about how he had become Spider-Man and what had happened soon after he had gotten his powers, "one of my problems was putting my hands onto walls, pulling them away only to take off bits of the plaster or brick. It took me a while to learn that I can subconsciously decide whether to adhere to a wall or not, but it took time for me to practice until I was doing it for real and it became second nature. But I still didn't have a clue about what I wanted to do with my powers."

He went silent as he remembered those weeks of going to school, putting up with the rumours and the stares after what had happened to Flash. He remembered the looks he had received from girls he'd worked hard to try to muster the courage to speak too, only to discover he didn't care for them afterwards. It was strange, that reaction. For years Peter had been the social outcast in the school, and he had tried hard so many times to try to get in there with the girls his age. He had wanted with them what he had with Heather, friendship and maybe something more. But really, Peter had no real clue about why, after the spider bit him, he no longer gave a damn about girls like Sally or Liz. He still didn't, though he had noticed their interested looks since Uncle Ben's death. Peter couldn't help but think their timing was a bit sick; his Uncle had died and already they were looking interested in him. Where was their compassion? Nowadays he didn't care.

"I saw an ad in a newspaper - can't remember which one - that asked for different people with different talents to come to show off what they could do," he went on to take his mind off trying to figure out the thought processes of the girls he had known in school. "The winner would appear on live TV, with his or her own show. The idea of making such easy money doing little tricks was compelling, and I decided to give it a go. I knew that I couldn't appear as I was, so I had time to prepare. I started by entering a wrestling ring wearing a makeshift mask, and I brought down four wrestlers. At first everyone assumed I was a mad man in a mask, but when they saw what I'd done, they showered me with cash, and I used that cash to make myself a costume so I could appear at the audition.

"When I was finished, I saw a spider web outside, and then I subconsciously knew which enzymes and chemicals would make the strong sticky webbing. Creating the web liquid itself was simple, making the webshooters to complete the mechanism wasn't easy," Peter looked down at the bracelets in question, remembering all those times the nozzle spurted lines of webbing everywhere instead of a single, fixed direction. "It took me days to work on them, fine tuning them and refining the design. When I was finished I went for the audition, and I got in. My act was the most original they had seen, half of the people who'd gone were only doing it to make cash. It never occurred to them to try to look for a talent and exploit it."

Heather watched him and listened to his story as he smiled at the memory, even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth now since it had eventually led to a something that damaged his soul. "I made $300 in my first night alone, Heather," he said quietly, looking at his hands, remembering the feel of the wad of cash he'd held in his gloved hands that night. "If my Uncle Ben and Aunt May had tried making the same amount working, they would have needed to wait for a month to save it all up. And yet it took me less than half an hour to make. I felt it was my big break, my big chance. This went on for another two weeks, and my act was becoming popular. I'd become a media darling, and more and more people were flocking to see me in action. I always varied it to make the audience gasp in amazement, to give them something unexpected. Under my mask I smiled each time they cheered whenever I did something like creating a web, tying a blindfold around my head, and dodging an obstacle course I'd had arranged to test my spider sense.

"I grew cocky with each performance I gave, for the first time in my life I was a star. Then it all changed for me."

"How?" Heather asked, she was stunned trying to picture her best friend as a boastful egoist. It was virtually impossible, but she could sort of imagine it because she tried putting herself in his place. If she had somehow become a superhuman herself and decided to make quick cash, awing and amazing people under a mask that hid her true features, she would've felt good about herself. Like Peter, Heather had been treated like a dog at school, and like him she had wanted to put them in their place, but they'd never had the proper means.

Peter sighed, this was the part of the story where things had started to go wrong. "You've got to keep in mind that the whole point of entering the entertainment business was to make money to take the strain off my Uncle and Aunt, but it was also to pay them back for their kindness. But somewhere along the line, I think its when I was becoming cockier and big headed, I started to lose sight of my original aim. But the real turning point was when I was asked to wrestle someone.

"An agent had been in the audience, he didn't say why he was even there, but I found out after it all changed that there were other, less nicer people, in the audience. But this agent, he came into my dressing room; I didn't want anyone to see what I looked like in case it got out, and I was getting ready to leave to change back into Peter Parker. But he made an offer I couldn't refuse. He offered me $800 to wrestle some of the best wrestlers in New York. How could I refuse?"

Heather blinked, seeing the emotion playing across Peter's face. It looked like a cross between shame and regret, but why, what had gone wrong? She knew that, a year ago, Ben Parker had died, but why was Peter so depressed by it? She could guess that there was something more than what she knew already; whenever the conversation had turned to Ben Parker, Peter always looked sad, regretful, and sometimes even angry. But why, what had he done?

"I won't bore you with the whole story of how I wrestled 10 wrestlers in the city," Peter went on, his expression grim, "but I did earn that $800 that night. I was just leaving the arena when a crook ran past me, holding a gun in one hand and a bag stuffed with money in the other. An old cop was chasing him. The cop was slow, so he called for me to stop him. Now, you can guess that with my powers it would've been easy for me to stop him, but I didn't stop him. I simply stood there, letting the thief run past. I said to the cop that I was an entertainer, it wasn't my job to catch thieves. I didn't see the need to get involved."

Peter looked down at his hands, clenching them angrily. This was the part of the story he hated the most, but he needed Heather to realise what had gone wrong.

"I was heading for the store my Uncle worked in," he said after giving himself a moment to try to work the memory of what had happened next out of his mind, "I knew he was still working since he had the longest shifts, and I wanted him to give me a ride home when he was finished. But when I arrived at the store, there were cops..."

Peter walked to the store Uncle Ben worked at with a spring in his step, feeling very proud of himself. Even the knowledge he'd let a thief run past him meant nothing to the young man, after all it wasn't as though the thief had used the gun besides threatening a few people, right? True, his smile faded somewhat as he considered what he'd done, the thief might still injure people, but the police would deal with it. They were trained to do things like that, and they dealt with them all the time.

But, it wasn't his problem. He would let the cops do what they were paid and trained to do. It might not be what Captain America and other superheroes would have done, but Peter didn't care. He could imagine that other superheroes would've jumped into harms way without a thought and wrestled that robber, but Peter wasn't like them. He had just gained a lot more money, and soon he would reveal to his Aunt and Uncle how he'd come to it. Peter wasn't looking forward to that; he had no idea how Uncle Ben would react, but he knew his Aunt hated spiders, but would she hate him if he revealed he had their abilities? Uncle Ben's reaction might go both ways, but on the whole the man had always been supportive of him, tried his best to get him interested in things like sports and comics, and whilst the latter had succeeded, Peter had never managed to become popular as a sportsman. Before the spider bite, he could barely hold a baseball bat in both hands without trembling in fear.

Uncle Ben might be a bit disgusted by what had happened to Peter, but he would definitely support his budding career in showbiz, right? Peter honestly didn't know, but he knew that his Uncle valued hard work above all else, it was how he had made his living, and why he had taught Peter to use what he had to get anywhere. But would he be proud he was using his new powers like a circus clown made people laugh?

Caught between jubilation and worry, Peter almost missed the police cordon as he approached the store his Uncle worked in. But when he saw the growing crowd, speaking over themselves as they tried to ask what was happening and get a picture in their minds, his heart went cold with dread. This was his the store his Uncle worked in, was he hurt?

Using his spider strength to push the crowd away as the bodies of other people tried to bundle him in, Peter got through the throng in no time, and what he saw horrified him.

"Uncle Ben!?" Peter cried with horror, ignoring the police officers as they tried to hold him back, but considering his strength and reflexes, they may as well have tried to hold back thin air.

"It's okay, he's Ben's nephew," the store manager walked over to intervene. He looked pale, haggard and frightened. Peter simply ignored him as he focused on the body of his uncle.

He knelt next to his uncle, glaring at the cops as they realized who he was. "What happened?" Peter snapped, in no mood for politeness.

"A robber came in, ordered the till and safe money, and your Uncle tried to stop him, and-" the cop trailed off as the answer was obvious. Peter looked away from the woman's face and focused on Ben's instead. His Uncle was in a bad way, the bullet was somewhere in his chest, and he was coughing up blood. Peter looked around desperately, hoping to see paramedics coming with a trolley to stabilize his condition, but there were none. Peter's rational mind told him that there was nothing that could be done for Ben. The wound he had in the chest was too serious and even if the paramedics helped him in time, he could still die on the way to the hospital.

"Uncle Ben?" he whispered; if this was going to be his Uncle's final moments, he didn't want to waste them.

"Peter?" Ben gasped, peering at him as though surprised he was even there. But Ben's voice pushed that away, and Peter had to lean over to hear him better, knowing Ben didn't have much time left, and he cursed the state of how the New York streets went; he could hear the distant sounds of sirens, but they were too far away, and by the time they arrived Ben would be dead.

"I'm proud of you, kid," Ben whispered, "I'm proud of what you've become-"

For a moment Peter wondered what he meant, and then he asked himself if Ben knew he had become superhuman. How? He had cleaned up the webbing left over from the tests he'd made of his web shooter experiments, and he had always left the house to properly train his powers. Peter shook his head mentally, now was not the time to worry about that.

"I want you to look after May, promise me, Peter," Ben demanded, and for a moment some of his old fire came back into his eyes as he tried to push death out of the way to say his last words.

"I promise," Peter whispered.

"Look after yourself, learn to have fun with the things you can do, and remember, with great power, comes great responsibility," Ben's voice slurred at the end, and he went limp.

Peter shook his desperately. No, no, this couldn't be happening. When Peter realized there was nothing he could do, that his powers couldn't help him this time, he rocked back onto his bum and stared at his dead Uncle with shock. He was oblivious to everything, he didn't care he was sitting next to a corpse in the middle of a crowd, he didn't care about anything anymore. His mind had gone numb.

But his ears picked up something. The robber, he'd been cornered in a warehouse after being chased by the NYPD.

Peter stood up and told the cops he wanted a bit of time to himself to get his head around things, he overheard where the NYPD had cornered the robber. The good news was, a detective had been sent already to deliver the death notice to his Aunt, so Peter wouldn't be the one responsible to tell her. Once the cops had left him to his own devices, Peter slipped into an alleyway. Hopefully, this wouldn't take long. He could leap and web sling from where he was towards the warehouse, and if he was lucky he could return to Forest hills with time to spare.

In full Spider-Man costume, Peter managed to web his way to the warehouse in no time at all. He had experimented with his web shooters and webbing to work out how strong the web lines were, and he had been sure that like real spider webbing, the lines could hold his weight. But theory and practice were different things. But there was no other choice but to trust in how good he had made the webbing, but with a bit of trial and error, Peter had managed to web his way through the concrete jungle of New York. The web lines were incredibly elastic, but they were as strong as the real thing.

He paid no heed to the danger, even as his spider sense had given him adequate warning about potential hazards on the way to the warehouse, all that had mattered to Peter at the time was getting to the warehouse and dealing with the robber himself; the NYPD would surely wait him out before making a move, but Peter wasn't prepared to wait. He wanted justice now!

Peter arrived at the warehouse, and he adhered to the side of a nearby tower. He surveyed the scene, his position giving him the perfect vantage point. The police had not wasted time; some may call the cops incompetent, doughnut guzzling fools who sat in cars all day, but they didn't waste time on things like this. There were squad cars everywhere, and they surrounded the warehouse. If the robber wanted to escape, his only hope was to surrender. There was no way out.

Sticking to the shadows, Peter fired a line to a corner of the warehouse and stuck it to the tower he was sticking to. He had no intention of swinging over there, he'd be seen if he did that. The best way to get in was to attack like a spider.

If Peter Parker before his bite had tried this, he would've lost his grip and fallen noisily. But as Spider-Man, Peter had no trouble breaking into the warehouse. Apart from the flashing lights from the squad cars outside, the place was in pitch blackness, the light from outside was casting the interior in shadows, but that didn't bother Spider-Man. Peter could hear the frightened gasps from the robber. Peter didn't know if he was panicking about getting caught after robbing and murdering someone, whether he realized he was trapped and cornered and could not escape without firing that gun, and frankly didn't care.

Silently, Peter stalked the robber like a spider. The robber was standing close to a window, and he was clearly weighing his chances though his options were limited. Peter knew he could stay where he was, but he couldn't stay in this warehouse forever, and he probably wouldn't even try. He could try to hide, but the police would search the place and even if he got out he could be caught by them eventually. The robber could try to fight his way out, but he had a single gun and Peter had no idea how many bullets were still inside and how many more he had spare. The option was out too, the cops had guns themselves, and there were more of them than the thing that he had, but he could still have a chance to escape. After tonight he would never have another chance to hurt anyone again.

Peter watched quietly as the robber left the window and ran through to the other side, but he saw the same problem. Peter used his distraction, he dropped from the ceiling, alerting the robber to his presence. The thief tried raising his gun, but Spider-Man had seen the move, and fired a thick wad of webbing at the man's hand, rendering the gun useless.

Spider-Man leapt at the thief, delivering a punch to the man's jaw, knocking him out, and he dropped with a pathetic cry that barely echoed over the ambient noise outside. Peter grabbed him before he fell, and lifted him up, using the light from the squad cars to see his face.

No.

No.

It couldn't be. It was, it was the thief from the area! The thief that he could've stopped, but didn't, because he had been so arrogant. He had put himself first, and Uncle Ben had paid the price because he hadn't bothered to act.

Peter almost dropped the thief, but he didn't. He rolled him over, and with his web shooters he covered the man's back and torso with thick webbing that he tied to a beam, and then he pushed him out of the window. He didn't care how the cops would react, he just wanted out of there.

Leaving the same way he'd come in, Peter swung away as fast as he could, and he went back to the alley he'd left. But he stood amongst the pile of clothes he'd left behind, leaning against a wall as tears cascaded down his face.

Peter felt numb. He had caught the criminal who'd murdered his Uncle, but he could have acted earlier, but instead he had been arrogant and cocky, and his Uncle had paid the price.

And now he had no idea what to do next.

"So there you have it," Peter looked grimly at Heather, tears in his eyes as he finished recounting what had happened on that terrible night. "I could've stopped a thief from escaping, instead I didn't. I let him run past me, and he later killed my Uncle in cold blood. I tracked him down and caught him, but found I wouldn't have been in that mess if I'd done what was right the first time. My uncle paid the price for my arrogance."

Heather wanted to reach out and say it wasn't his fault, but she didn't. Peter had been holding this in for a whole year, it was time for him to let it out. Besides, she mused after a few more moments thought, Peter probably wouldn't believe it wasn't his fault even if I tried to persuade him. She stayed silent for a moment to give him the space he so desperately needed and listen to what he was saying, then she asked, "What happened after that, Peter?"

Peter sighed. "Uncle Ben was the main breadwinner for the family," he said, knowing already Heather had probably guessed that since he'd told her Ben had worked long shifts to make ends meet. "When he died we lost a half of our income. The job Aunt May has didn't pay enough, but between the pair of them, we had a nice steady trickle of cash coming in each month, enough for us to keep comfortable and for me to attend school. We weren't rich before, but we were okay. But when he died, he left Aunt May and I to carry the torch. Our financial problems hit us, and I told May I'd drop out of school and get a full time job, but she wouldn't hear anything of it. She told me that Uncle Ben had wanted me to become a scientist, so I backed down, but I was still worried about how I could support her at the same time I was going to school. At the time, I saw one way out, well three ways."

"What were they?" Heather asked curiously, speaking for the first time in a while, wondering if it had anything to do with what was happening now.

"As much as I hated the idea seeing where it had gotten me and my family, I decided to re-enter showbiz like nothing had happened, though this time I would be doing it to support Aunt May and keep in clear in my mind that other people could and would pay the price if I was careless. I was only doing it for the short term," Peter said, but his expression was grim giving the clear message it hadn't gone as he'd hoped. "But they wouldn't have me back. I did say earlier when I described how that agent who told me about that chance to make money wrestling wasn't the only person there, but in this case it was not someone willing to give me a cut."

"Who was it?" Heather asked patiently, hoping Peter wasn't going to turn this into a guessing game.

" Jameson, the editor in chief of the Daily Bugle," Peter said grimly, his hands tightening with barely concealed frustration as he recalled the story he'd read on the day the entertainment business shunned him. "He wrote a criticizing article about how the business was letting a masked man con them. He went into too much detail about the kinds of things a masked man could do, but he wrote enough to make them worried. He said in the article it would only be a matter of time before I committed a robbery, and they would be the ones to blame. Anyway, the entertainment firm read the story..."

"And they couldn't take the chance," Heather nodded in understanding, finishing the sentence Peter had started. Peter nodded, the frustration disappearing into a kind of resignation. At the time he had been furious a perfectly good way of making some money to support his Aunt and himself had been closed off, but now he was plain indifferent though the memory still stung in his mind. "Yeah. I tried to tell them it would never happen, but they challenged me, they asked me to take my mask off so they could see who I was, but when I refused it was a mistake. The next thing I know was I was asked politely to leave. I haven't dealt with them since."

Heather shook her head, trying to hide her despair of how Peter had been treated. "So what did you do?" she asked. "You said you'd had three options, what were they?"

Peter sighed. "When Uncle Ben was dying, he sort of hinted he'd known about what had happened to me; he may not have an idea how it had happened, but he may have known about my powers. Anyway, he said that with great power, comes great responsibility. I had no idea what he meant, because responsibility could mean anything. Once the entertainment business threw me out, I wondered what I should do; I could become a crime fighter, but if I did that I wouldn't get any money from it, and my Aunt May was more important than anything at the time. I mean, yeah, I've loved comic book heroes since I was a kid, but this is real life."

"But you didn't become a crime fighter," Heather pointed out. "You've only recently become Spider-Man again, and you've turned down a different route."

Peter nodded at the question, and he couldn't help but wonder what her reaction would be to his reply. "It was the Fantastic Four that changed my mind, believe it or not. Do you remember the battle they fought a year ago, between those robots?"

Heather frowned, surprised by the sudden mention of the famous group of superheroes, and she was left wondering how they could have stopped Peter from becoming a costumed crime fighter. "I remember the story, but nothing more than that," she said slowly a moment later, casting her mind back a year. She could indeed remember the story, and the number of takes the media had on it, but it wasn't something she usually cared about. The world was full of costumed superheroes, grown men and women wearing playsuits, playing hero, it usually made no difference to her. But what did the Fantastic Four and one of their superpowered battles to do with Peter's decision?

"Well, I was there," Peter admitted, much to Heather's surprise. "I was looking for part time work once school was out, I'd told Aunt May not to worry herself. I was walking around the city, going into shops, posting my CV at the time the battle started. I watched in amazement as the FF fought the robots. They won the battle, hands down, of course, but the battle caused a massive amount of damage to a city block, and understandably a lot of people were injured, some of them critically. That's what I noticed the most, apart from the bystanders screaming to get out of the way. I saw Ben Grimm and the Torch smash and burn buildings, fracture streets, and god knows what else. But the FF didn't seem to care about the level of destruction they caused. When the battle was finished, they seemed to parade up and down the street to show everyone how great they were. But they didn't seem to care about little things like people buried up to their necks in rubble, even those with the strength of the Thing, the elastic arms of Mr Fantastic, or the caring nature of the Invisible Woman. They just spoke to each other, and then left. They didn't look back, and the Daily Bugle did not hesitate to point it out. How they managed to spin the story and keep it going without the FF lawyers coming down on them, I have no idea."

"Oh my god," Heather whispered at the thought of the superheroes not bothering to help people like they were supposed to, she had read the story of the battle and now it had been mentioned again other things came back to her, and she remembered how steamed up the media were after the Daily Bugle slammed the FF. Before the Bugle's article, other papers had printed about the battle, and how great the FF were, but the Bugle was not one of them; instead they had focused on the property damage, the number of people in hospital and so on. They had written the story with the full use of the English language as a means to paint the story a certain way, and it had worked to shift public opinion on the superheroes in general. The best thing was the editorials were not half truths or lies, but the whole truth. There were interviews with the crowd, especially the victims.

Heather remembered the story, but she had been so focused on her own life that she couldn't bring herself to care about the Fantastic Four. Heather had the feeling that the lawyers representing the Fantastic Four had gotten involved, but they must have spoken to the Bugle editing staff and told a few facts about the battle that told them the stories were truthful.

But hearing about it from Peter had her thinking that she knew where Peter was going with all of this.

"I didn't want that for a future career," Peter went on, "oh, my activities wouldn't have been like that of the FF. I would be a mortal, really, but any kind of fight would still be devastating to others, and what if I hurt someone?"

"There would be nothing you could do," Heather whispered, seeing the problem when compared to the FF. Because of their public backgrounds, the Fantastic Four were protected legally, they had money from all the discoveries they had made. But if Peter had tried something like that, the public would've crucified him.

Peter pushed past that, and focused on one thing. "I don't like Jameson," he said, "but I think, in that case, he had a point about superheroes. He called them menaces to society, and he emphasised what he thought about the level of property damage. He didn't see it, I did. The Fantastic Four have powers I don't, and yet they were more focused on fighting robots than protecting the people below from harm. Jameson focused on that as well once he'd gleaned the full story."

"That left option 3, but what was it?" Heather asked, though she had a suspicion.

"I become a thief myself," Peter said grimly, unknowingly confirming her suspicion. "I knew that with my powers, I could become a world class burglar. I could hang from the ceiling, spy on the people below to get the combination to any safe I wanted, and then web everything up and leave once the room was clear, and it would be child's play to hijack a money van and take the cash. But at the time I couldn't go through with it, even if it helped me with my family's financial problems."

"Why not? Why didn't you just do it?"

"Because my Aunt May's heart would break if I were somehow caught," Peter answered, inwardly surprised by Heather's nonchalance over a debate over his conscience; she wasn't passing judgement, he realised, but he couldn't work out why she merely being curious. "I decided, once all but one of my options were exhausted - becoming a thief was more tempting than a hero or entertainer - to hide the costume and webshooters, and wait a while to give myself time to work out what my other options were."

"And by doing that, you concentrated more on finding a part time job, in this case at Luigi's without giving yourself unnecessary stress by deciding what to do?" Heather said.

Peter nodded. "Yeah. Luigi was where I met you, remember, and I gained a friend. Someone who didn't judge me because of my apparent weaknesses."

"Peter, I would never judge you, even after hearing this," Heather said, jumping forwards and running a hand gently down his cheek. "I don't know what to say about your Uncle, but I know this, what happened at the arena may have been part of a crime spree. He may have not counted on your uncle trying to stop him, but you did redeem yourself by catching him."

"I wouldn't have needed to if I'd done as the cop shouted-"

"It's not your fault, how could you have known? You might stick to walls, but you're not omnipotent."

Peter didn't look convinced, so Heather decided to move onwards to get to the last few months. "So, when Luigi fired you, that's when you became Spider-Man again?" she said, though she had her answer.

Nodding, Peter replied with a sigh as he looked away briefly. "It was the last straw," he admitted, "I was so tired and fed up with everything; you and I working ourselves to the bone for nothing but dealing with Luigi and his clientele, you being harassed, your mother's injury, my aunt's illness. Hospital bills, travel costs, bailiffs, home bills, useless friends of my aunt who did nothing to help except visit and say how horrible it was she was ill when they could've asked if they could help. You know, Heather, I have wondered for the past year if I should don the costume, take the webshooters, steal some cash and use it to help my aunt, but I always held back."

"It must've been tempting," Heather whispered, knowing that since she was in the same boat as Peter, and the opportunity for some cash came along without any strings, she would be tempted as well.

"It was. I'd gone close to the wardrobe where the costume was hidden, but I never followed through with the temptation until recently, but before I put it on again the temptation had been growing stronger and stronger. Luigi firing us was all the incentive I needed to become Spider-Man again," Peter shook his head. "It's like fate wanted me to become a thief, like the bastard who killed Uncle Ben-"

Peter wouldn't gone on a rant that may well have woken up the street if Heather wasn't suddenly sitting on his lap, glaring down into his eyes. "You listen to me Peter Parker, you are ten times the thing that murdered Ben, and do you know why?" When the intimidated and surprised Peter shook his head, she went on, "Because you don't carry a gun, he does, he has to threaten people to get what he wants. You just break and enter, and you quietly go on with it. You don't steal for selfish reasons, you give money for your aunt-"

"And for you," Peter interrupted shyly. He'd confessed to enough things tonight, one more was hardly going to kill him.

Heather blinked in surprise at the unexpected interruption, but she was more surprised by what Peter had just said and what it implied, and then she gaped in realisation. "It was you?" she whispered, sliding down Peter's lap, but didn't get off. "You were the one sending that money in those envelopes through my letterbox?" She didn't care if the money was stolen, why should she if it helped her and her mum? Why hadn't she thought of this before? It made so much sense, but she had been too busy listening to Peter's story about how he'd gotten his spider powers, hearing about how Uncle Ben had died and Peter's unintentional role in it, and realising there was more to Peter's sudden decision and Spider-Man's reappearance than appeared to the naked eye that she hadn't paid much thought, like she hadn't for a while, to the mystery of the sudden inflow of cash through her letterbox.

Peter nodded, and Heather gasped. "Peter-" she couldn't get the words out. She had wondered if her father, god help her, had been the one to deliver money, but why would that self centered asshole push money through the letterbox? He hadn't given her or her mum any thought since he'd left, but truthfully neither Heather nor Louise knew who the samaritan was until now. It had been a mystery.

"I just wanted to help," he whispered, and Heather placed a hand gently on his cheek. "Pete, I don't know how to thank you," she gasped. "You helped me in more ways than one. I was able to buy mum more painkillers and keep our home going for another few weeks as we looked for work."

"You're not mad with me?" Peter's lost expression made her smile despite herself.

If the situation and the story wasn't serious, Heather would have laughed at the question. Keeping her warm smile on her face without trying to laugh was an achievement she was barely able to make. "Peter, you've been recriminating against yourself, saying how you're as bad as the bastard who murdered your uncle, and let you push envelopes of money I needed to buy my mum and I a bit more time until I got everything into gear at home, and you ask me a question like that? No, I'm not mad with you. I'm over the moon. Not only do I have a friend I love, but I also have a friend who cares about me-"

Then Heather paled and bit her lip in realisation about what she'd said, and she tried to jump off Peter, but he stopped her. "Wait, you love me?" he asked. Heather looked at him, and nodded shyly but happily. "Yeah, I love you," she looked away for a moment but then she turned back to face him. "I realised it when I saw you from my bedroom window, leaving the house with that gorgeous redhead. I hate to say it, but I was pleased when I heard it didn't work out. Sorry if that makes me sound selfish."

"No, it doesn't, I was always thinking of you before that date, but I didn't realise what it meant until after that fiasco," Peter chuckled without humour. "I did think she was beautiful, but as the date went on I realised how dull she was, how much of a bimbo she was. No, that's too harsh. She was so arrogant, so full of herself, how she shifted the conversation around to fit her own. She didn't even want to be with me, she only wanted to humour her aunt. I learnt there and then that I wished it had been you I was dating at the time. You're nothing like her, Heather, you're beautiful inside and out."

Heather nodded, smiling at the comment about how beautiful she was, and she could tell he meant it, she was good with people's feelings and Peter was genuine, whilst she wasn't liking the bimbo part of Mary Jane's description, but she knew what he meant. She had bumped into Mary Jane Watson more than once; the Watsons weren't her favourite people anymore than they were Peter's, the aunt was a gossipy bitch and the niece was no better. She was so shallow, so into herself, she reminded Heather of dozens of the girls at her school. Mary Jane was always the center of the party, and she could see Peter, who was incredibly private, insecure, and quiet wouldn't enjoy himself in such a setting.

Much like herself.

Then something entered her mind. "Peter, you'd said something about holding back from becoming Spider-Man," she said, "and a burglar, but why was that?"

Peter sighed. "For a year, I've been trying to figure out what to become, but I didn't want to become Spider-Man for no other reason than to make quick cash, not without exhausting all the options. But I didn't want to give up the chance to earn a living by not getting a normal job."

Heather's lips quirked. "I guess that makes sense, you didn't want to become Spider-Man again and just live on what you stole, not without getting a proper job."

"Yeah. But I am Spider-Man again," Peter observed, "so what do you think?"

Heather looked away, hearing the nervousness in his voice. "Do you think I should go to the police, betray you? No. I don't. I love you, Peter. I think I fell in love with you from the moment we met, and I loved how you stopped those drunks from touching me up without Luigi noticing. Do I hate you for becoming Spider-Man just for trying to make ends meet? No, I don't."

Peter went quiet as Heather carried on, amazed and surprised by what she was saying. He hadn't expected her to be so passionate.

"I heard about what you said about the Fantastic Four, and you're right," Heather said, "but you also didn't say how there's always someone going after other costumed heroes. I don't want to live my life in fear that my superhero boyfriend or husband," Peter blinked at the word, a warm feeling inside him that Heather would describe him as that, "might meet some kind of monster, and maybe even die from it. What if someone learnt of your secret identity if you became a hero? You'd be hounded, those who loved you would get hurt."

She looked at him suddenly. "Do I prefer the fact you have to steal? No, but understand it. My grandpa was a gentleman safecracker, Peter, believe it or not. He gave it up for my grandma, and she could have turned him in, but she didn't. She loved and cared about him too much. She told me stories about it, and you know something? Those stories gave me a rather skewered look at life. Most kids dream of becoming the next Iron Man, or Captain America, but take those masks away and they're just people wearing playsuits, acting like overgrown kids. I'm pleased that you're not like them."

Peter was surprised naturally by the admittance that Heather's grandfather was a safecracker, but he was happy that although her grandmother could've told the cops she loved him enough to say nothing. Maybe it ran in the family. It had not occurred to him to think of heroes like Iron Man and greats like Captain America of overgrown kids playing dress up and hero.

"I love you, Pete, but how long do you plan to be Spider-Man?" Heather asked, changing the subject. Peter was pleased, he felt they were going around and round in a loop.

"I haven't given it much thought," he admitted, "I was hoping to stay Spider-Man for a while to ensure my aunt and I, and now you and Louise were happy, but I hope when we get jobs I can pack it all in before I get cocky again and someone pays the price. I'm trying to keep a low profile in case some costumed vigilante or some mutant decides to stop me. That means I don't show off too much of my spider strength, so I don't tear off safe doors or anything like that."

THAT was the crux of the problem. Peter had learnt from his mistake by becoming an entertainer and becoming big headed, but he was human and therefore he had human tendencies to forget lessons he had learnt, and that was what he was afraid of. He was frightened that sooner or later he would go for a heist that was bigger than anything he had done so far. There was a good reason why Spider-Man had not robbed a place like a bank vault or a gold repository, it had nothing to do with the fact he couldn't do any of those things, nor the fact he might not be able to get rid of it. Peter could probably find a way into a bank vault, he was smarter than the average criminal, but there was the fear that a gang out there would learn who he was and who he loved, and use him and his powers to make such a robbery easier for them.

Peter was afraid he would get off on such a heist if it was successful, and that would lead him to rob other places of similar size and security strength. His spider powers gave him an edge other robbers and burglars lacked, but Peter knew one thing, he was not infallible. He was human and he made mistakes like everyone else, he had learnt that terrible lesson already. Peter honestly didn't want Aunt May, Heather or Louise to pay a similar price for one of his mistakes. They were the only people he loved, and he couldn't lose them the way he'd lost Ben.

By keeping to the shadows and by relegating himself to concentrating solely on small and more low risk heists and using tried and true lock picks meant he wouldn't attract too much attention by the superhero community; Peter knew that some crime fighters were attracted to those with superhuman abilities, and that was the last thing he needed. Such a fight would mean his identity would be compromised, Peter hoped to keep himself below the radar of dozens of people. Another thing that worried him was he might gain the attention of a more powerful superhero; Daredevil may have been an urban legend that existed in Hell's kitchen, but he could be real, and then there was the FF. Peter wasn't really bothered by them, the FF were more interested in staying inside the Baxter tower, and dealing with threats from Doctor Doom than dealing with a burglar, even one with spider powers.

As Peter came out of his thoughts he became away that Heather was looking at him seriously, as though guessing what he was thinking, but what she said next surprised him in her brutality. "I think that's a good idea. While I don't have much of a problem with you making a few small heists, I don't like the idea of you supporting us primarily through crime," she said quietly, "but a few heists here and there when we need them, I can stand."

Peter blinked at the use of the word 'us' and the implications it opened in his mind. He liked the idea of being the responsible one in the lives of Aunt May, Louise and Heather, it felt more comfortable to him since Uncle Ben's words about power and responsibility had so many meanings, but what made him happier was the thought of having a chance to be a husband.

Family was incredibly important to Peter, and though school had done too much to bring down his self esteem about making friends and girlfriends, he had held out hope he could make friends with at least one girl, and eventually get married and have a family. Peter tried to wonder how, in a different world and he had not seen the FF fight those robots, and he had decided to become a superhero how it would've worked out for him. Would he tell his girlfriends the truth, or would he lie to them? Hurt them by missing out on dates or things like that which were important to them by fighting criminals?

Now Heather knew the truth, what would she do in the future? The good news was, if they did become a proper item, they could work things out in the future, but hopefully Peter just wanted to give Spider-Man up at the first opportunity.

"What do you hope to do when you've finished college?" Peter asked to get them off the subject of Spider-Man, though they both knew it would come back.

Heather didn't look amused, but she decided to play his game. "I intend to try to get into art school, become an illustrator or something along those lines," she answered.

Peter smiled back at her. "I plan to be a scientist at some point, maybe even work with computers. After all that, do you really think Spider-Man will appear again? Earlier on, I planned to never let this last year repeat itself."

Heather blinked at the implication Spider-Man might continue to steal, but Peter quickly carried on. "Who knows what the future will bring? I may not have wanted Spider-Man to return like this, but in the future we might be better off. Yeah, being a thief's great and all, but I don't want to support us like that forever."

Hesitantly Peter held out his hand, and without any hesitation Heather placed her smaller hand in his. Then, on an impulse, she leaned forward. Peter blinked in surprise as Heather's lips fused onto his, but when he felt her tongue work on his lips, seeking entry, he opened his mouth and let his own tongue inside her own mouth. Peter had always imagined that those stories of kisses which ignited fireworks were an urban myth, told by giggly girls who loved gossip, but not anymore. When Peter and Heather first kissed, it was as though a whole city block had gone up in flames. Peter enjoyed the moment, savoring Heather's cherry like lips, the vanilla and strawberry scent of her hair.

Peter deepened the kiss and pulled Heather gently towards him. He felt a dainty hand run through his hair, and it just made him gently rub her back. There was no forcefulness, there was no biting from one another to claim territory behind the kiss, it was just a soft, tender and loving kiss. Finally a need for air stopped the kiss.

Heather was smiling at him, eyes shining even though her face was beet red, and judging from her smile Peter guessed he was a mirror image right down to the blush.

"That was-" Heather began breathlessly.

"Amazing," Peter grinned as he finished the sentence. Heather smiled at him, and then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and Peter copied the move and eventually they were hugging one another.

Please tell me what you think.