Re-Edit on 10/7/14.

Some things get better before they get worse.

Chapter Two

Sanctum Sanctorum

I wasn't kidding when I said I would jump out the window as soon as detention was over.

I waited until Mrs. Murphy left, then checked the ground below for any passerby. Affirming the area clear, I jumped four floors down into the alleyway, landing in a cloud of dirt. I ran off before any of my detention mates could realize I was outside before they were.

I stayed out until dark, going to the gym for my Judo warm-up before prowling the streets for trouble. After bashing some ugly heads together, I called it a day (since it got dark around 4 this time of the year and I was freezing) and made my way back to my temporary living arrangements.

For the past few weeks I've been going back and forth between Aunt May's house and the apartment, having crafted the latter into a sort of base of operations. Easier to hide and find privacy when I need it, closer than anyplace in Queens. I also don't have to worry about anyone going through my bedroom and finding something they shouldn't.

I had set up a cork board and created a diagram of everything I knew so far, with pieces of colored yarn to connect them. For example, my mother was the target, red yard connecting her to a label "White Rose", who was using her to get back at my father; another line, red, between the White Rose and the only picture I had of him, as a boy at a circus. A blue line, representing a relationship, sat between him and my mother – all together it created a triangle at the center of board, with many more pieces spanning outwards with their own branches. This was the center of my problems.

I knew so little of my father. Just that I looked like him, he had a connection to the White Rose. Maybe the reason my mom left him, raising me alone; I didn't know, she had never told me and I was never specific enough. He's been MIA for sixteen years, and apparently the White Rose wants him back. They used my mom to get him.

As far as I knew, it hadn't worked.

I was going up to check it again, having gone as my civilian identity because I had recently gotten word of a new landlord and I had to see him.

The old landlord was a nice old man named Charlie who sometimes forgot when to collect our rent. I didn't know what happened to him, or what to expect when I knocked on the office door in the lobby – but a giant brute of a man was definitely not it. A billow of smoke followed him, rising to the ceiling. The man had thick black hair, cropped close to his head, no neck and shoulders broad as a cello. He glared down at me from a crooked nose, once broken and healed out of place, healed pockmarks on his face from some mysterious bygone disease. He sneered down at me, showing nicotine yellow teeth, and asked in a raspy grunt: "What do you want?"

I jumped at the sight of him. I swallowed, unsure of how to respond, preoccupied by the sight of a table behind him, surrounded by men smoking cigars in suits, holding cards in their hands. They were all turned to face the door, watching me with inscrutable expressions on their faces. When the man at the door raised a greasy eyebrow, I quickly said, "Apartment 1003, you left a note?"

My voice was a little higher and squeakier than I meant it to be. The man huffed out of his nose like a bull letting off steam. He pulled at his green corduroy lapels, straightening his shoulders as he told me, "Oh, right. Rent's been increased to five hundred a month. So you owe that. And last month's payment didn't come in, the check bounced, so I need that too – You got one week to pay that back before I have to evict you."

"Whoa, what?" I gaped at him, blinking as though if I did it enough times, he might disappear like a mirage. The apartment had been kept up by the monthly checks from my mom's bank account, but I guess it ran out. Only lasted for two months... "A grand? I can't get a whole grand in one week! Where am I supposed to get that much?"

The man shrugged, making a face and pulling out a cigar and lighting it. At the same time, I noticed the black metal of a gun in his waistband, a not-so-subtle warning. He told me, "Not my problem, doll. I don't give special treatment, everyone else has to pay, too. Consider yourself lucky I'm even giving you a second chance. I could've dumped your stuff on the street for missing November's payment. So you better get used to the new establishment, before I change my mind. Capiche?"

New establishment? What the hell did that mean? My eyes fell to the card players, who turned and whispered to one another. I didn't get a chance to ask before the man slammed the door in my face, I stood there like an idiot, staring at the new name on the office door: Luca Tomoni. The man with the gun.

Still in shock, I made my way upstairs. Despite the arrival of Luca Tomoni, the elevator still didn't work, so there were ten flights of stairs ahead of me, plenty of time to take in this new information. Or rather, a challenge.

Well, so much for my new secret HQ. But I had already decided it was too important to lose. Somehow I had to find a thousand bucks in the next seven days.

This was going to be so much fun.

Not.

The apartment was cold and dark when I entered. I saved money by not using too much heat or electricity. I didn't know what I'd do if I needed to pay more than I already had before. Not using heat during December or January wasn't exactly preferable, but I had planned to make do with the piles of blankets my mother had stored up in her bedroom closet.

Or maybe just go back to Aunt May's, who had actual heating and a fire place and, like, real food and people I could talk to.

I wasn't sure yet.

I set my backpack down, sighing. My breath formed a puff of steam in front of me. The door closing behind me as I moved forward, I checked the lights as I entered the kitchen. Three bulbs illuminated the dark space, creating stark shadows into the living room and hallway beyond. Alone in my island of light, I took an apple from the fridge (the only working appliance in the apartment), then a knife from a drawer as it opened on its own.

I took my time peeling the skin, using it to think about what I was going to do next. I wanted to call Peter and ask his opinion on the matter, but I didn't own a phone, and the one here hasn't worked since my mother's kidnappers cut the cords. Not to mention the homework I still had to do (I resigned myself to completing it after starting in detention). And then spending another afternoon with Mrs. Murphy tomorrow? I guess it was a bad idea to break Astor's arm.

Not that I meant to. Even if she did kind of deserve it, in a way. Even Gwen accepted the fact that it was bound to happen, which was nice because I didn't want to tell her the truth.

My week was just getting better and better, wasn't it?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flicker of movement. I spun around, throwing the knife where I felt the body pass by the couch, invisible in the darkness. But the knife sank into empty wall, the presence I felt just a second ago having disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Who's there?" I demanded, the knife flying back into my hand. "Show yourself!"

And out of the shadows stepped a tall, curly-haired form. An all-too-familiar voice said, "Hey, take it easy, dove. It's just me, remember? Or have you already forgotten?"

I swung the knife in his direction, the gleaming blade hovering in the air. I focused on him, although it was a little hard since he wasn't completely removed from the black behind him. "You're not welcome here, Smoke. Get out, now."

"What?" Smoke actually looked surprised, which was strange. I never gave him permission to be here. In fact, I had forgotten he even knew where I lived. Or one of the places, at least. "Why? I've been here before, and you didn't complain then."

"Yeah, because I was completely out of my mind," I snapped, the knife shuddering in response. A sudden fear took me; if Smoke has been here before, did he know my name? Did he know Mom's name? How much did he know about me? Not Falcon me, but me me? "And the insanity defense isn't going to work here. Now, leave. Go!"

"You're not even going to say 'thank you'?" Smoke folded his arms across his chest, giving me a disapproving look as he said, "Tsk, tsk, dove. I thought a lady like you would have better manners. Besides, I wanted to see how you're doing."

"How I'm doing?" I demanded, almost spitting, wishing I had my helmet to cover it. He already knew what my face looked like but that didn't make me feel any less exposed. And maybe my suit, too, because civvies just weren't cutting it right now. I never felt lamer than in jeans and a marshmallow jacket. "How the hell do you think I'm doing? Fantastic, since you've been gone. And here you are, acting like nothing's changed, strutting around like you own the place. I haven't seen you since Thanksgiving! I have no idea what you've been up to, never seen or heard from you once. Who the hell do you think you are?"

Smoke seemed to realize I was seriously ticked, and not just mildly annoyed like I usually was. He took a step back (or however that translated when the bottom half of him was still strangely in shadow) and threw up his hands, giving me a long look as he said, "Hey, look, I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch, but you'd be surprised how much business I get during the Christmas season. How many things the citizens of New York City wanted me to steal? Business is starting to pick up again. It's all well and good but I didn't know you'd miss me so much. If I'd known, I would've gotten you something, too."

"Oh, shut up," I scowled, throwing down the knife. It's slightly dented pointy end dug into the floor and I turned on my heel, unable to look at him. I didn't miss him. I didn't! That was so not what I meant. Did he really think that? "Teasing me isn't going to get you anywhere."

"So," Smoke took a step out of the darkness, arms extending like he was expecting a hug, and a hopeful smile on his face. "Am I forgiven?"

"No," I mumbled, throwing him an uncertain look over my shoulder. Honestly, I had been a little lonely. I felt kind of hurt Smoke hadn't seen me at all in the last few weeks. I had wondered if he had gotten bored of me, or turned back to a life of crime without looking back. I was actually kind of glad to see Smoke was still, well, Smoke. "But I really don't want you hanging out here. It's...it's really kind of private, okay?"

His arms dropped to his sides, hug offer rejected. Smoke seemed a little disappointed. "Oh, fine. You take the fun out of everything, you know. Though I suppose it's better than you blowing up buildings."

"Yeah, glad that's over," I went back for my apple, half peeled, and took a bite out of it, trying to sound upbeat even as my heart sank further. It wasn't over at all, was it? Then something else occurred to me. As Smoke bent down to pry the knife from the floor (it was stuck pretty tight), I said around a mouthful of fruit, "How do you know him, anyways?"

Still tugging on the wooden handle, Smoke looked up and gave me a look of confusion. "He who?"

"You know, the guy that was supposed to help me... The guy at the warehouse," I almost wanted to say his name, but I wasn't sure if Smoke was privy to that information. I decided to play it safe and keep Bruce's secret safe. "The one that saved me."

"For the record, I saved you," Smoke corrected, finally deciding to phase the knife out of the floor instead of pulling it, then walked over and dropped it on the counter. He leaned against the corner, frowning at me. "If it weren't for me, and my wonderful collection of connections, we wouldn't be here talking about this right now. Not even your little normal friends could help. You still didn't say 'thank you' by the way."

I ignored that last part, and leveled my own gaze to his. "I asked first."

Smoke snorted, tossing his head like a child who didn't get his way. Then he muttered, "I met him at a bar once. He was the only one there not drinking, so I thought, 'hey, that's kind of weird,' and went over to talk to him, because that's what guys do. I even ordered him a beer, but he didn't drink any of it. Apparently the guy has real anger management issues, and alcohol just makes it worse. Seemed pretty chill though, for a guy the US Army is after."

I spit out my apple. "The US Army? Who the heck is he?"

"Don't know, wouldn't say," Smoke just shrugged like it didn't matter, but I could tell by the smug look on his face that he was pleased to have gotten a reaction out of me. He played it cool though, trying not to (visibly) soak in the attention I was giving him as he said, "He told me he had it under wraps, going sober for a couple months now. I felt bad for the guy, with no place to stay, so I helped him out, got him a place to hide. I check in every now and again, and the place is all right. At least, no cops have come round knocking. He might still be there, if that's what you really wanted to know."

He smirked at me, clearly figuring out what I was trying to get out him. I flushed and ducked my head, trying not to appear too guilty as I said, "Yeah, whatever. Maybe I'll take you up on that offer sometime. Maybe."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

I stuck my tongue out of him, a sign of my superior maturity and wit. "And you keep coming back for more."

"I just can't help myself, it's a vicious cycle." Smoke winced, running a hand through his hair. He got up from the counter, shuddering all over as if shaking off a spider that got down his shirt. "Ugh, I gotta get out of here before all this hominess gets to me. Catch you later, dove."

Smoke turned to phase through the wall or something, but at the last moment held up a finger and spun back around, an object flying from his hand. I didn't even think to look before my hand rose to catch it, an instinctual move. I looked at the hunk of metal in my hand, impressed with my reflexes. If that had been Spider-Man, he would've ducked and the radio would've smashed to the ground. "What is it?"

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he smirked at me like I was being an idiot. I flipped the radio over, not quite sure why there were wires sticking out of the end until he said, "It's a police scanner. I thought you might like it – you know, to pick up your game a little. New York is an ever-changing place; it'll eat you alive if you can't keep up."

I frowned at him over the scanner in my hand, suspicious of Smoke's motives. There was no doubt in my mind that somewhere out there a NYPD cop car was missing its radio. I wasn't particularly fond of the idea of getting caught for having it. "...Why?"

Smoke just stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging one shoulder and rolled his eyes like it was obvious and I shouldn't be asking. Still, I could see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. "Call it an early Christmas present."

He turned to leave once more. Smoke was half-way through the living room wall when I suddenly jumped forward and called, "Hey, thanks!"

Smoke halted, revolving around to look at me with half his chest sticking out from the wallpaper. He threw me a bewildered look, lips pulling down. "For what? The police scanner or me saving your life?"

I smiled at him. "Both."