Regrets

Brooklyn, New York

Night had fell over New York. The moon lit up in the sky along with the thousands of other lights emitted from countless skyscrapers towering above over the vast city. The action wasn't as close by to where Peter lived, with the lights and all, but the crime, on the other hand, was inevitable. It wasn't old news that crime was always around in New York, especially Brooklyn. It has seemed to get a little better over the years, but it's always the same.

Peter was in his room, looking through his closet out of boredom. Any other day this would seem odd for some sort of form of entertainment, but today he was really bored. He always knew there were quite a few things in his closet, but he never really took the time to see exactly everything there was. Things were just kind of thrown in there, and very many to never be seen again. Today though, he was going to see just how much he really had stored up in his closet. It seemed fascinating to go look through old things from his earlier years. He got to remember and re-experience old memories and artifacts from his past.

His head felt silent. There was barely any sort of cognitive activity going on besides taking in everything his eyes captured around him. No form of brainstorming or even thinking about what he did this morning came to mind. It was probably because he was soon ready for his slumber, but he wasn't quite that tired yet.

He sat down in his closet with the light on, the only thing in the entire darkness of the room which was lit, and looked through everything he had. A Rubik's Cube was pulled out, one still incomplete, then an old school binder probably from middle school, and a yearbook from middle school. In his head, he laughed at his younger picture. It always felt awkward to see pictures of himself as a child.

After what felt like hours of him sitting and looking through his closet, Peter finally called it a night. He got up and slowly walked out the closet door and was about to close it and turn its light out until the faint picture of him and Gwen caught his attention. He almost missed it since it was on the opposite side of the door where there was no light, but the closet light spread through the half-open space of the door. It was a picture of them from last year. It was their senior year. She still had that same smile, always full of joy and happiness. Then he started to remember things. Like the time he made her lose her smile. It was the time he made her go from happy to sad in a matter of seconds. He told her that it wasn't going to work between the two of them because he felt guilty for not complying with her father, George Stacy, or Mr. Stacy, as Peter referred to him as. But in the end, he didn't sick through with it. He went back to her. And now she had to pay the price.

That's when his Aunt May came home from her training at the hospital. She had called for him to let him know that she was home, and he came downstairs to see her. Exhaustion was clear over her expression.

"Hey, Aunt May," he said, really glad that she was home.

"Home sweet home," she said.

"You sound happy to be back."

"Today was pretty bad."

"A lot of people came in?"

"I don't even know if 'a lot' is enough to describe how hectic it was today. Then again, it's summertime. You can expect a lot of stupid teenagers doing stuff they have no business doing – no offense."

Peter smiled. "None taken, Aunt May."

"What all did you do today?"

"Nothing really," Peter said, since it was true.

"You didn't go out anywhere?"

"I did, but I didn't do much. Just walked around, really. Went to Central Park and stuff, and then came back here."

"Oh, you really walked," said Aunt May, astounded by the distance it took to get there by foot. Peter has done it before, though.

"It was nothing," he said, knowing in the back of his mind that he didn't just 'walk,' but found another particular way to get there as well.

"Well it's good you're getting your exercise," his Aunt said with a smile. "God knows I've been."

She threw her keys and purse on the kitchen table, tired of carrying them.

"I'm going to bed early," said Peter, as he walked over to her.

"Okay, good night," Aunt May said as she hugged him and kissed him on his cheek. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah, before you came."

"Okay."

"Good night."

With that, Peter made his way back up to his room, turning out the lights and lied on his bed. He didn't fall asleep as quickly as he thought he would. He only found himself staring at the white ceiling above. The whiteness of the ceiling at night gave it a smooth, crisp look to it. The distance between it and Peter seemed to not be there. It was like he could just put up his hand and he could slide his hand across its evenly flat surface. Over it, hundreds of images flashed from Peter's mind, making the ceiling a projector board of some sort. They were hundreds of images of memories. Everlasting memories. Of the two of them. Why couldn't he just let it go? When would he? He wished he could, but at the same time, to forget would be disrespect to her, and a burden on him.

Manhattan, New York

A woman with pretty fiery auburn hair walked the streets as the wind blew in her face, making the strands of her hair wave backwards like flares from a flame in the night sky. As far as she knew, she was a New Yorker. She was born and raised in the Bronx for all her life, and now resides in the island of Manhattan. Times get hard when it comes to making up enough to pay the rent, but she gets by the best way she can. She was 30-years-old working a job as a waitress by day and a bartender at a local nightclub by night. She has no close relationships with any sort of friends or family. Her name, as she knows it, is Cathryn Jones.

She knew that this was only a temporary thing. Staying in New York wasn't going to get her by living in secrecy for long. It was expensive to live in the Big Apple, and her cover wasn't going to make much progress very much longer. Working two jobs was already enough. Sooner or later she'd have to find another temporary identity and keep jumping to others until she can maybe settle on one. At least she didn't have to make any new friends along the way. The last thing she wanted was to get other people involved in her affairs. Cathryn Jones was an identity she picked up along the way. As much as she had become a changed person, or even a hero maybe given her recent actions, though, that's still quite debatable, the real Cathryn Jones got what she deserved. She was a no good, self-absorbed broad who wasted her life. She dropped out of college and decided that partying was the only answer to make up for her failure. For all she knew, her parents were probably idiots as well. They were a snobby, Caucasian, wealthy upper class couple with only one daughter. A bitch, as others saw her as. Everything about her was trash, despite having a wealthy background. But she was spoiled, like so often many rich kids are, unfortunately. Cathryn's identity thief knew she was to be her 'rightful victim.' To be honest, she felt her life was far more important than Miss Jones's.

Her place was just enough for her to live in for a short time. It was always dark. The only light that came through was from the paper-thin creaks missed by the black sheets put up on her windows to cover up. That was perfect for her, though. The least she was seen, the better. Whenever she wasn't working, she kept herself locked in for the most part, until she had to go out for food or something. She had enough clothes. Changing her appearance wouldn't be a problem. But the world knew who she was now. Keeping her face hidden as much as she could was crucial. Now she knows what it feels like to be a celebrity. Maybe now she can empathize with Stark. God, did she hate being in the spotlight.

The woman sat down on her bed, in nearly complete darkness except for the faint, dim light of her lamp only letting her see some things around her to some extent. She was alone, all by herself, and that was okay. She kept sitting for minutes and minutes, not doing anything, hardly doing as much as a blink. She didn't want to do anything. She didn't feel like it. The only thing she felt like was crap. She felt like crap because she felt somewhat guilty. But she had nothing to feel guilty for. She did nothing wrong to alter Peter Parker's life. It was Harry Osborne's wrongdoing that brought it upon him, not her. However, she couldn't help but feel bad because she did her best to keep him out of never-ending danger, failing to realize that he already was. Though, as hurt as she was for not being able to help him, despite her best efforts, for the first time she felt somewhat relieved to not be responsible for another's misfortune. It used to be always her to make the choice that others couldn't. And she would do it without a care. Though now, since a number of events that's happened in her life recently, having some care isn't a bad place to start for trying to at least be a hero. Normally, putting time into the life of a young adult, especially one a little more than half her age, would be considered a waste of breath for her, but Peter wasn't like the stereotypical young adult. He's ambitious, willing, committed. And he was smart, most importantly. Stupid people bothered her the most. They were a waste of her time. But if there was any sort of way for her to start building a friendship, intelligence was the first step.

But she didn't know if Peter considered her a friend or not. Maybe not. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't. He had no reason to trust her. Even though she tried to make herself seem as friendly as possible, including the time she paid him a visit in Central Park last year, to her, that didn't mean much. She worked with intelligence, so that alone should say something. And she knew that only a few people were worthy of her trust; Clint, Fury, Steve, Hill . . . Coulson, even. The truth is a matter of circumstances. It's not all things to all people all the time, and neither was she. For once, she knows now that she's fighting for a better purpose. But even still, only so many would believe it. The world saw her for what she truly is. An enemy to the nation, and that's all they would ever see her as. No matter how much she would attempt to change and prove herself different, no one would care. Once it's been done, it's done.