Sorry for that weird month-long hiatus. I had a summer painting class that took place everyday, and it kind of sucked all my creative juices out of me. I did a little bit of writing, but Falcon is usually a tougher job for me. A lot of stuff to remember, but I guess that's my fault.

Throughout that period, I've spent some deep thinking on what I want to happen for Falcon, and I've got some news:

—I'm thinking of ending the series either in this story, or in a third one. I had a whole five part arc planned out, but I just don't have the energy or motivation to continue writing this story. I like it, but it just gets too long, and I've put so much extra canon in there that sometimes I forget what I write and its almost a chore now.

— If I do decide to write a third part to finish this story off, I plan to include Daredevil (inspired by the Netflix series, not the 2003 movie) and the appearance of the Hulk, not just Bruce Banner. In fact, if you haven't already noticed, a certain blind lawyer has already made his appearance in previous chapters. I have been planning this for a while, I just don't know how to pace it.

— If there's a third part, I think I will have to limit myself to twenty to twenty five chapters, or three mini-arcs. I want to put more Peter in there, so we still get his storyline, and maybe have some conclusion to what happens with the Osborn's. We'll also get the identity of the man in charge of the White Rose, as well as the identity of Amy's MIA father.

— I also want to write another version of Falcon - like how there's a Spectacular Spider-Man and an Amazing Spider-Man, same character and concept but different storylines and themes. This new version coincides with the MCU and would tie it together with Sony's the Amazing Spider-Man (of course). The main difference is that it changes the identity of Amy's father (who becomes a canon character from one of the movies, but still a mystery! And thus even more plot important), rather than an OC I made up in my head. Amy's superhero name will also change, I think, but I haven't come up with one I like yet. However, the title of the story will probably be INCANDESCENT.

It would start pre-Avengers, where the summer would be the Battle of New York, and Amy gets her powers in the following months. Peter would have gotten bit by the spider earlier that May or April.

If you have any thoughts on this, please put it in a review or send it in a PM! I'd like to know what you, the readers, think would best serve the story. —

Sorry for that super-long note! Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Seventeen

In Absentia

"Amy! Where the hell have you been?"

Instead of going home, I went back to Aunt May's. It was the farthest from the Village I could get without ending up somewhere cold and hungry. And I figured Peter deserved an explanation for my week-and-a-half absence.

He stood in the doorway, staring at me standing on the stoop. Peter's expression was a cross between relief and anger. "And where did you get that jacket?"

Before coming here, I had burned my old suit — it was completely unsalvageable, what with the blood and giant tears — in an old oil barrel a few bums were using to keep warm. I left my helmet in the Hell's Kitchen apartment, since I definitely wouldn't be using it for a while. I wasn't sure when I'd get back to being a vigilante, but right now I wasn't too worried about it. I was too tired to care.

Then I went to a nearby thrift store to get some more suitable clothes. I was lucky, really; there weren't a lot of shops open on Christmas Eve at six in the morning. I had a few dollars on me and found the thickest sweater I could find, along with some boots that were a size too big.

The cashier lady had taken pity on me, apparently thinking I was homeless or a runaway, what with my bare feet and general unhealthiness. She added a hat to my purchase for free, even though I didn't ask for it, and maybe felt a little miffed to be seen as a charity case; but I was grateful enough to say thank you and leave without a fuss.

"It's a long story," I sighed, my voice a little hoarse. The bitter wind turned my cheeks red and ears numb. My fingers were so stiff that I had to press them against the wood just to knock on it. "I'll explain later. Right now, I could eat a horse. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course you can," Peter looked scandalized that I even had to ask. I was feeling pretty sheepish at the moment, and I hadn't been here in so long that it felt weird just to walk right in. "Are you all right? You look really pale."

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me. I need food heavy in iron." I said, trying to sound natural in order to keep Peter from worrying too much.

It didn't really work. A line formed between his brow, but he nodded, closing the door as he said, "Well, we got leftover Chinese food in the fridge you can probably have. Aunt May's been cooking all day, so she's taking a nap."

There seemed to be some extra weight in those words. I cast him a side glance. "Is she angry, too?"

"I'm not angry," Peter shot back, heading towards the kitchen. I followed him, flexing my hands in the wonderful warmth filling the house. "And yes. But it's because she's worried."

"Right," I mumbled, wincing internally. Sometimes I forgot I still had people to answer to, that I wasn't as completely alone as I'd like to be. "I think I better eat and get some calories to my brain before I talk to her."

"Good plan."

I kind of just wanted to keel over and die. My eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and as I sat down at the table, I had to prop up my chin just to keep my head from dropping. I still felt weak and woozy, and making a cross-city trip in zero degrees did not make it any better. It had already gotten dark by the time I made it here.

Peter closed the fridge and tossed the paper container across the tabletop. A fork was stuck in the top. "There's your noodles, beef, and green leafy things. Rich in iron, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," honestly, I would've eaten anything Peter put in front of me at that moment. Grabbing the fork, I started shoveling food in my mouth, not even caring for politeness or etiquette.

Peter sat opposite me, watching in silence. He tilted his head, a curious frowning pulling on his face. "So what happened?"

I paused to take a big gulp (ow), before saying, "Er, well, you know that friend I talk to you about?"

"You mean the thief who has a crush on you?"

"What? He doesn't —" I spluttered, shaking my head, too scandalized to even consider the thought, or how casually Peter said it. "He's not — that's not the point! Look, it's all his fault, okay? If he didn't still that stupid Key thing, then I wouldn't have gotten a knife in my back!"

Peter's jaw dropped. "Whoa, what? You didn't say anything about knives! Is that why you're limping?"

"I'm not — I'm limping?" I hadn't even noticed. Or maybe I was too tired. The latter seemed to be my default excuse as of recent events. I just shrugged, then winced when the stitches protested. "Well, then, yeah, it is."

I gave Peter an abridged version of what happened. Including Doc, who saved me, and why I left sooner than I probably should have. Also why I had this coat, which was not mine. He listened, growing a little pale in parts, but nodding occasionally in understanding.

When I was finished, Peter remained silent for a second, staring at the tabletop before saying, "So you didn't get this guy's name?"

"Uh, no," I shook my head. It was an easy lie, even though I only had a first name anyways. I didn't know why I was protecting the Doc; maybe it was thanks for saving my life, even if he was kind of liar about everything. But whatever. I didn't want Peter poking his nose where he shouldn't. "All I got was that he was a doctor. Smoke knew him somehow."

"Really? And this Doc guy is legit?"

"Apparently."

"But you hate him," Peter surmised, even though I had never said it aloud.

I just made a face, sighing to myself. "Yeah. No. I don't know. I'm angry and I don't plan on ever going back; that's all that matters."

"And what if you get hurt again?"

"I won't."

Peter gave me a hard look. "But what if you do?"

Why was he being so stubborn about this? I learned my lesson. I sure as hell wasn't going to be dealing with anyone like Goliath again. "It won't. In fact, I'm not going to be doing anything for a while. I'm officially grounded."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but it was another voice that said, "You got that right, young lady."

We both spun around in our seats, startled to find Aunt May standing in the doorway, arms crossed and about as angry as I'd ever seen her. I went frozen underneath her bespectacled glare. Aunt May was a patient woman, perhaps a product of all her years, her patience as thick as her gray hair.

It took something truly amazing for Aunt May to lose that patience. Of course it was me that had to find out the hard way.

"A-Aunt May," I said, stuttering and trying to swallow the lump of fear in my throat. I hadn't seen or heard her approach — and my radar was out of commission, thanks to my healing factor. Lovely how that worked out. "I didn't...I mean, I'm sorry —"

"Sorry? Sorry for not calling? For not leaving a message?" Aunt May fired back, making me cringe.

I shrunk into my too-big sweater, while Peter slunk out of his seat, trying to make a quick getaway. But Aunt May grabbed his sleeve, as though using him as an example of my carelessness. He looked extremely uncomfortable as she went on, "You made Peter cover for you! All this nonsense about staying in Gwen's house! I called them, you know — imagine my surprise when I learned that Captain Stacy hadn't seen you in over a week!"

Apparently, Peter took some offense to this, raising a quaking finger and saying, "H-hey, she didn't make me do any —"

"Quiet, Peter," Aunt May said, and he clamped his mouth shut. May did not remove her gaze from me even for a second. She planted a hand on her hip. "Where in God's name were you? I was sick with worry! I thought you might've taken the wrong bus and was lost or, heaven forbid, gotten kidnapped! I was this close to calling Captain Stacy and issuing a missing person's report! He's a good man, and he knows you — there isn't a shadow of a doubt that he'd have the whole NYPD out looking for you."

"Well, actually," somehow, the nerdy part of my brain took over my mouth and I started speaking before I could stop myself. "The FBI are usually the ones who handle missing children cases —"

"Are you giving me lip?"

I turned my gaze to the floor. "No, ma'am."

Aunt May sniffed, still looking like she might have another rant or two up her sleeve. "Good. I thought Peter was bad enough, but you have clearly taken the cake, Amelia. What would your mother say?"

Oh, man, she pulled a double-whammy; using my full name and mentioning Mom, in almost the same sentence! But I couldn't make myself be angry or snippy at Aunt May for doing it. If anything, she was the only person in the whole world who had that right. I didn't have a word to say.

She waited, anyways, and that was torture enough. Aunt May softened though, her shoulders falling when she saw the look on my face. "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to say it like that. You just had me so scared. You two have gotten so out of control these past few months, you've got this old lady losing her mind. I'm putting both of you on curfew."

"Wait, what did I do?" Peter complained, surprised. He threw me a scowl, and I knew this whole thing wasn't over yet.

Great, now my whole family was angry at me. Just perfect. Everything was my fault, wasn't it?

"For being an enabler to this bad behavior," Aunt May said, not the least bit out of sorts. "And you're no angel, either, Peter. I'm sorry, but I think you'll both learn better from each other. Amelia, I want — no, you will be living here for the rest of the season, and no buts! I'm not letting you stay in that freezing apartment all by yourself. After school, I want you both home before 4 PM, when it gets dark out. That goes for weekends, too. It's too cold to be out so late."

"How long?" I finally managed to say, little more than a mumble.

"How long?" Aunt May frowned. "Well, for as long as it takes for you to learn your lesson. But since that seems unlikely, it'll have to be until February."

"February?!" Peter and I exclaimed.

"Yes, February," Aunt May said. She almost seemed to smile at our reactions. "That way you'll both be able to catch up on your school work and maybe get those grades back up. Especially you, Amelia. I don't know how, but you've actually dropped to a C in Physics. I got the report cards yesterday."

I groaned, my head falling into my hands. Not just for my punishment, but because I had totally forgotten about the test last Tuesday — the one I conveniently missed thanks to my little sports injury. I hoped I'd get the chance to retake it. I couldn't have a C marring my semester grade; what if it affected my chances of getting into college?

"Well, now that the ground rules are set," Aunt May finally let go of Peter, who rubbed his arm with a pout. "It's time for dinner. Pot roast, anyone?"

As Aunt May headed over to the oven (I didn't even realize it had been cooking, or the smell filling up the room. That's how tired I was), Peter flopped in the seat next to mine, muttering, "Thanks a lot,"

"Sorry for the inconvenience," I shot back, not appreciating his attitude. "I'll try harder not to die next time."

Peter rolled his eyes, but he deflated, anger leaving him. "Sorry. It's just... do you know how hard its going to be now? You're going to have to cover for me if I end up out later because of my...hobby."

"Yeah, I know," Just because our vigilantism got us in trouble, didn't mean it was going to stop us. Hell, just the act of solidarity alone was kind of uplifting. "At least I won't have to worry about breaking anymore rules. I don't think I'll be able to do anything for at least another month, anyways."

"A month, really?"

"Yeah, that's the recovery period," I nodded glumly. "Even after calculating my own, er, benefits. It won't be back to what it used to be for even longer."

"You shouldn't push yourself," Peter said, giving me a disapproving look. "It's bad enough we go out in just spandex. Besides, the cold's going to keep the bad guys off the streets, too."

"I don't know." I said, unconvinced.

"Just think of it like a vacation," Peter suggested, holding up a hand and looking a little precocious. He was trying to annoy me a little. "You get to read in bed, watch TV, pretend to be normal, just for a little while. I can take care of everything else."

"You sure?"

"Duh. I've been doing way longer than you. I'm an old pro," Peter said, jerking a thumb at himself and smirking.

"Not that long."

"Every minute counts. Heroes don't exactly have life insurance."

"What are you two talking about?" Aunt May called over from the stove, giving us a suspicious look over her shoulder as she stirred a pot of sauce. "Not plotting any more shenanigans, are you?"

"No," we replied.

"Hm," she gave us a squinty look before returning to the food. "You two rascals better be careful. I'm not raising no felons in this house."

Peter cast me a mischievous grin that made me want to punch him. "Of course not, Aunt May. We'd never do that!"

We glanced at each other again and started to snicker. Then we had to cover our mouths to hide our laughter. It's bad enough I got us in trouble; Aunt May would certainly make it worse if she thought we weren't appreciating our punishment the way we were supposed to.

But then, well, when did we ever?

OoOoO

Christmas night, and the only thing on TV was It's A Wonderful Life. A story about a man down on his luck, who wished himself out of existence, only to realize just how much good he had given up in the process. A terrible mistake that left the man wandering, lost and confused and regretting the worst mistake of his life, and wanting to die all over again.

Bruce could relate. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be getting the happy ending.

It was times like these he wished he could drink. But like how alcohol lowered inhibitions, so too did the walls he kept the Other Guy hidden inside. He did not want to spend Christmas destroying another neighborhood in New York City in a drunken fit of green rage.

Unable to hear the line about bell rings and angel wings again, Bruce grabbed the remote and turned off the screen, before getting up and stretching. Bones cracked like dry sticks. Good grief, he was getting old.

Deciding to call it a night after a double shift at the clinic, repairing broken bones and spraining swollen ligaments, a dozen car crashes in less than five hours...Bruce really needed the sleep. His heart rate had almost hit the the limit a couple times; at least he had his watch to remind him when the Other Guy got too close to the surface, and managed to get breaks before giving those eggnog-saturated frat boy idiots something new to think about.

Bruce turned off the lights in the living room, and had just placed his foot on the staircase when he spotted something sticking out from under the couch. A small piece of white, not part of the floor or carpet.

Mildly intrigued, the man wandered over, bent down, and picked up turned out to be a folded slip of paper. He opened it, stared at the messy handwriting that wasn't his own.

The last physics problem. Gamma rays and time dilation.

She had solved it.

Bruce nearly collapsed on the couch, aghast, staring at her work. It was messy, hard to read, even harder without any light - but her answer was wrong. The logic of her math made sense, but it didn't match his own conclusion, the one he made years ago before sticking himself into that death trap of a Gamma radiation machine. Science said it would work. Common sense said it would kill him.

But neither turned out to be right. And now, here he was.

How had she done it? How could she do what took a man with a Ph.D in physics four years to perfect? She had to be wrong. She must've missed something, because he never got this answer.

Yet it would explain why his experiment turned out the way he did. The unknown variable he hadn't foreseen. That element of unpredictability that ruined his life forever. What did she see that he hadn't?

Bruce would never know. It was too late now. The girl was long gone.

He never even asked for her name.

A/N: Doesn't it suck when your actions actually have consequences? I don't always see that in cartoons or shows, at least the superhero ones.