There's about three episodes left to this, as I'm writing, and I think I'm going to make it two chapters per episode to make it easier on myself. So, we'll probably be done at about 34 chapters. Yay!

I think what I'm going to do with the final sequel is write is as a 'movie'. Like some TV series end with a movie to finish things off, I think that's what I want to do here. One plotline, no episodes, just straight up one major conflict that she'll have to deal with (concerning a very important figure of her past), that will involve the other characters and maybe a few subplots, but not enough to slow it down too much. I'm thinking maybe 12 to 15 chapters, just to keep things from getting heinously long.

I don't usually make these warnings, but there's some harsh language in this chapter, so be warned. I think I'll change the rating to T, if I haven't already.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lux et Lex

Several weeks later, and I still hadn't found anything on Wilson Fisk.

He was a ghost. I couldn't find any records of him anywhere - not from people, not in the library, not online. Google didn't seem to believe he even existed. Even worse, I had no idea how old this guy was, what he might look like, anything that identified him more than just a name.

It seemed like progress, only it wasn't. I was still back on square one with this guy. I might as well never have gotten the name at all.

I hadn't heard from Smoke either, which worried me more. I spent time in class just thinking about him, worry constantly what might have happened. Teachers started to notice my lack of attention, and I got another detention for giving lip when they criticized me. Peter, Gwen, and Harry started to notice, to the point they tried to stage an impromptu intervention during lunch.

I knew I was in for it as soon as I approached the lunch table and saw that they were all waiting patiently for me to join. I hesitated before setting my food tray down, frowning. "Uh, okay, why do I have a bad feeling about this?"

"Just sit down, Amy," Gwen suggested with a wincing smile. I still had a hard time getting used to her non-glasses look, with the straight hair and new clothes. Mary Jane had certainly done a number on her. I also didn't fail to notice the way how Harry's hand was on top of hers - wait, when did that happen?

I obeyed, sitting down opposite them and not feeling any better. "What's this about, guys? Why are you looking at me like I just killed someone?"

"This is the ninth detention you've had since the start of semester," Gwen told me, as if that had somehow escaped my consciousness.

I tried to play it cool, though. "So?"

"So?" Harry snorted, disbelieving. "You've never had a detention before in your life, and now nine in two months? You broke Astor's arm! What's going on?"

"I...I'm..." I couldn't form the right words, then threw a hard look at Peter, who hadn't said anything yet. He knew what was going on, but of course sharing such information would be kind of bad. "It's just been kind of hard...lately. A lot of stuff happening."

"Like what?" Gwen raised an eyebrow.

Oh, I don't know. Just regular vigilante things. Losing control of my temper and my powers, getting stabbed, almost dying, finding out dead men are still alive, that the police are corrupt; or how about Venom, the symbiote, which may or may not still be out there. And let's talk about my mom, how she's still missing, or the fact that Smoke almost died, too, maybe he is, I don't know, I haven't heard from him in weeks. Did you know that the leader of the White Rose is a man named Wilson Fisk? Yeah, never heard of him either.

"...Amy? Amy, hello?" Gwen's voice jerked me back out of me reverie, and I blinked at her. She raised her eyebrows at me, holding out a hand. "Are you going to tell us what's going on or what?"

I glowered at my food, working my mouth and trying to find an answer that would work. "I've just been...thinking a lot about my mom, recently."

That was as close to the truth as it was going to get. It worked, though; Gwen and Harry exchanged looks, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of a topic we rarely discussed. Actually, I don't think we ever talked about it, it was just sort of danced around like an ugly chair no one wanted to sit in.

A part of me hated that they were afraid to bring it up. Like I was some live wire ready to explode at any mention of the wrong topic.

Then again, maybe they were right to be afraid. I barely trusted myself half the time.

"Have you...been talking to that therapist?" Peter asked, making a face because he knew it was a stupid question. No, I wasn't, and I hadn't been for a while.

"Yes," I said, because that's what Gwen and Harry needed to hear. "But it barely seems to help."

"You can't give up, Amy," Harry said, and I was surprised by how earnest he looked. It didn't occur to me until then that he might have personal experience with stuff like this. "It helped me, Amy. If I didn't see someone, Dad would've never let me come back. It's not great, exactly, but it's better than it used to be. You just have to keep trying."

I took this to heart, perhaps more than I wanted to. I didn't want to disappoint them; I didn't want my friends thinking I was broken and helpless against my own nature.

But they were so far out of their depth it felt stupid to try. "...I suppose. But that doesn't mean I'm going to like it."

"We're here for you, Amy," Gwen gave me a reassuring smile, and I felt compelled to return it. "We're your friends, that's what we do. Right, Pete?"

"Uh, yeah, right," Peter stuttered, shaking his head. I had noticed that he, too, had been zoning out a lot - more frequently now, and I was starting to think it was because Harry was back. And I was starting to think why.

The rest of lunch went amiably, at least. No one talked about my mom (no surprise there), and we left the conversation behind without another reference. While I tried my best to appear normal so they wouldn't bring it up again, Peter continued to be withdrawn, and it was hard not to ask him what was wrong in front of Harry and Gwen.

The two seemed to be shy about each other, like the relationship wasn't exactly official - but it was there, all right. The PDA hadn't become insufferable yet like it had with Peter and Liz, so that was good. I still kind of had a hard time wrapping my head around it. When did they become (not) official? Maybe it had been around the time of the auditions...and when were those?

I was frustrated with myself for being so out of touch with even the people I cared about. What a great friend I was, right?

Surprisingly, I didn't feel too much better for the rest of the day. But I still had a million questions swirling in my head, and I couldn't shake them off.

I finally got the answer to one of them in Biology class with Peter. The class was fairly loud as we worked on the textbook questions; sitting next to Peter, my question wasn't easily overheard by anyone else. "What's going on with you? You seem distracted lately."

"It's..." Peter made a face, rubbing the back of his head, keeping his gaze focused on his work. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"It's not nothing," I hissed, placing my hand over his textbook so he couldn't ignore me. Peter looked up and gave me an irritated look, so I said, "Come on, something's bugging you, I can tell."

Peter just exhaled through his nose, palming his hand over his face. Then he leaned in a little closer, bringing his voice down a little. "I think - I think the Green Goblin is back."

I stared at him. "B-but Harry's all right! He's better!"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling I have," Peter shook his head, looking unsure of himself. "Something about all this. I just get this feeling that something bad is about to happen."

"What, like your Spidey Sense or something?"

"Y-yeah, I think so."

"Hmm," I scratched my pencil thoughtfully on my paper. "I think you're right. I think things are going to get worse before they're going to get better."

Then after a moment of consideration, I asked him, "You ever heard of a guy named Wilson Fisk? They call him the Kingpin."

Peter threw me a curious look. "No, why?"

"Someone...someone told me that's the guy in charge of the White Rose," I whispered, and Peter's eyebrows shot way up. "Yeah, I know. But I tried looking for him - I can't find anything! I feel like I'm chasing a wild goose or something."

"Who told you?"

"You know that friend of mine?"

"You mean the one that likes you?"

I threw him a disgruntled look, before admitting, "Yeah, him. He almost died telling me, too, so I have reason to believe he knows what he's talking about."

"What are you going to do now?" Peter asked.

I frowned at my textbook. "I don't know."

OoOoO

I wanted to believe Smoke was still alive, but I wouldn't be sure until I got a message, which after this long, I was starting to believe was never going to happen.

Doctor Banner seemed to believe he might be all right; he himself was proof that Smoke had other friends, people not involved with the White Rose. I still felt stupid for not bringing Smoke to him; maybe he could've helped Smoke the same way he helped me.

But the Doc said it best: "The past is the past. You can't focus on your mistakes. Just figure out how to make it better."

So that's what I planned on doing.

I decided to go to the police. It was stupid, it was insane, but it was the only thing I could think of. And after Gwen's offer for help, I realized I could still trust her dad, Captain Stacy, out of everyone on the force. I knew that of all people, he wouldn't be so easily bought by mobs or corrupt politicians.

With me, I brought the photos I took for Nelson & Murdock. It turned out they didn't need it, as Jenson had mysteriously paid up without even the case reaching court. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had no idea why the guy folded so easily with little pressure on their part, but a success was a success, and they could finally pay that heating bill and take the office out of the freezing hell it had been stuck in since November.

I asked first, of course. Well, kind of. Foggy and Karen seemed okay with it, but Matt hadn't been there. A part of me suspected he wouldn't want me to do this, that I should let someone else do it, but I didn't want to wait around for a volunteer; Captain Stacy needed to see these as soon as possible.

I walked into the downtown precinct, the front office was hub of activity. The front benches were full of people waiting to be processed: druggies, big guys in leather jackets, some drunk people. Officers were carting others back and forth, while a woman behind a caged desk was scribbling something on a clipboard.

She glanced in mild disinterest when I approached, before going back to her work. In an entirely dull tone, she asked, "Can I help you with something, hon?"

"Uh, yeah, I need to see Captain Stacy. Is he here?"

The woman looked up at me again, a frown marking her previously bored expression. "You got an appointment or something? Who are you?"

"C-can you just tell him that Amelia Fletcher is here to speak to him?" I said, rocking back and forth on my feet. The photos were burning a hole in my backpack, and I kept looking around, wondering which cop around here was a corrupt. "It - It's important."

"All right, but I ain't making no promises," the woman muttered, reaching for her phone and pressing a button. She spoke quietly on the phone for a few seconds, perhaps relaying my message, before placing back the phone and turning back to me with a truly impressed look on her face. "Well, you have some interesting friends, girly. Go on up, the Captain's waiting in his office."

I nodded shortly before heading towards the elevator, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. It followed me, even while I was alone in the elevator.

It dinged when I reached the tenth floor, home of the homicide division. The doors opened up to a bullpen of desks and detectives, writing reports and making phone calls and talking to witnesses. I started forward, walking past them as I headed for the office on the other side of the room - a few detectives looked up as I passed by, but none tried to hail me down or ask what I was doing here.

The door was cracked open, and I prodded with my finger, peering in. I saw Captain Stacy was standing by the window, looking out and apparently deep in thought.

"Um, Captain Stacy?" I said, stepping in, hoping I didn't intrude on something important. The guy let me up, after all, but I wondered what he was thinking at the moment. I was still somewhat jarred by what he told me after the Venom attack. "I'm not...you're not busy, are you?"

"Amelia, no, come in, it's fine," Captain Stacy waved a hand, shaking his head as though to clear it. He turned around to face me, a weary but genuine smile on his face. "What brings you to the precinct? Is it about Gwen? She told me you got another detention -"

"Uh, no, no," I jolted, surprised he brought that up. What the heck, Gwen told him about that? When? How? I literally just got that detention today, and it had been a pain in the ass waiting for it to be over so I could head over here. "It's not about Gwen. I've been, uh, working with as an intern at a law firm lately, Nelson & Murdock -"

"Oh, yeah, I've heard of them. For a small set-up, they've definitely been making the rounds." Captain Stacy's eyebrows shot up, but it was less judge-y and more pleased. He went over to his desk, righting a tiny statue of Lady Justice, before sitting in his chair. "It's nice to see you taking an interest in criminal justice. To be honest, I wasn't sure you had any interest in the law."

The unwitting truth in that statement made me flush a little, and I fumbled with my backpack, trying to get it off. "I, uh, yeah, it's kind of a new thing for me, ha-ha. Er..." before I could further shove my foot into my mouth, I pulled my gaze from Captain Stacy before I could lose my nerve. Dropping my bag on the floor, I unzipped it and reached inside, pulling out an envelope. "Um, so I was helping them get some, er, dirt on a defendant they were prosecuting, and, uh, turns out they didn't need it. But I think you might find them interesting."

When I looked back up, Captain Stacy was giving me a curious, almost suspicious look. He held out his hand to take the envelope. "You've been...investigating people? Tailing them on your own?"

I bit my lip, thinking back to the Devil who had been following me around a lot. The guy had my back, if nothing else. "Um, no, I had help. But that's not the point. Nelson & Murdock were after this guy, some Wallstreet dude, Hank Jenson, who they think was double-dealing under the table. The pictures I took kind of pointed in that direction, too, if you look."

"Hm," Captain Stacy frowned in consideration as he opened the envelope and started flipping through them. He gave them all a short period of thought, so I was hopeful he was taking my claim seriously (unlike some people). After a while, Stacy rubbed his chin and said, "This is...this is some intriguing stuff. How did you get these high shots? Did you scale a building?"

Why is everyone so interested in that? I pondered to myself incredulously. Like, is that the only thing people find most interesting when they look through the photos? Peter never got these kind of questions when he submitted his crazy good photos of Spider-Man. "There were stairs."

"Huh." Captain Stacy nodded once, but I wasn't sure if he believed me or not. "And what happened with their case? Was he sued?"

"No, he paid up before the case even made it to court," I shook my head, shrugging my backpack on again. I gripped the straps tightly, reminding myself all the important facts that Stacy needed to know. "Which is weird, because Nelson & Murdock hadn't even shown him the evidence they had to prove he was guilty. I'm not too surprised, though. When I was trailing the guy, he seemed like the jumpy type. He seemed like he was, I don't know, afraid of something. I think someone made him pay up."

"That's called conjecture in the world of law," Captain Stacy told me, apparently not taking my word for it. Not that I blamed him; he had a point, and I only wished I had more proof to show for it. "It won't hold up against any jury. And Wallstreet's not really my area of expertise."

He pointed at one of the figures in the images. "And who's this guy, the one in the mask?"

"I dunno," I shrugged, trying to feign indifference, even though the very sight of Smoke in those photos made my gut twist. I had tried my hardest not to look at those images in particular when collecting them, and now I just felt intense pangs of guilt whenever I thought about him. "A thief, maybe? Jenson seemed to be making some sort of deal with him. I wish I got it on tape."

Captain Stacy nodded and went into another length of silent thought, leaving me standing there awkwardly, awaiting a verdict. Was he going to do anything about this? Had I even found anything worthwhile of investigation?

"It's funny..." Captain Stacy said, making me look back at him with a new twinge of anticipation. The man was still focused on the pictures, pursing his lips. "Hank Jenson sounds familiar to me, but I'm not sure - no, wait, I remember. Yeah, one of my detectives was prepping for March Madness, said a guy named Jenson was at the head of it. Maybe it's a coincidence?"

It felt like the sudden weight on my shoulders was lifted, and I had to try hard not to keep the smile from exploding on my face. "Uh, I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, my boss was representing this boxer guy, Willy Baxtor - Jenson was a sponsor or something, making bets with other guys to give Baxtor a bigger paycheck for winning, or something. Sports seems to be his sort of thing."

"I have to make sure," Captain Stacy said, getting up and going to the door. He called out into the bullpen, "Hey, Sudowski, get over here! I want to show you something."

Stacy stepped back, and a few moments later, another man appeared, looking confused. "What's the matter, Captain?"

I jolted at the sight of Sudowski. Dark hair, square jaw, beady eyes. When he looked at me, instantly my blood ran cold. It was him! It was the cop in the alley, who shot tried to shoot me!

And I knew he recognized me, too. His eyes widened at the sight of me, shocked recognition. Then, narrowing with suspicion, cold and calculating.

It lasted only a second, but I was rooted to the spot, my mouth frozen and gaping. Captain Stacy didn't notice, instead showed Sudowski one of the pictures, "Hey, I gotta ask. Is this the guy you were talking about earlier, the one organizing that March Madness game. His name's Hank Jenson, right?"

Sudowski stared at the photo for a moment, then his gaze flicked up to Captain Stacy. For a second, I thought he was going to lie, but then Sudowski's shoulders dropped and he smiled, "Yeah, yeah, that's the guy. Kind of a wimp, if you ask me, but he's got a lotta players in the game. You thinking about joining, Cap?"

Stacy chuckled, tucking the photo away. "No, no, just checking up on some facts. You can get back to work, Sudowski."

"Uh, sure, Cap," Sudowski blinked, a little bewildered. He stepped back, heading back out the door, but not before throwing my one last look.

I could see the darkness in his expression, and I managed to keep mine entirely blank. Did he know I recognized him the same way he recognized me? Would he be stupid enough not to assume I did?

As soon as Sudowski was gone, Captain Stacy turned to me. He looked mildly impressed. "Well, I have to say, Amelia, this quite unexpected. And, more importantly, I'm glad you came to me with this, that you willingly sought help from the proper authorities."

"Uh, yeah, no problem," I mumbled, scratching behind my ear as Captain Stacy returned to his seat. "So, um, what are you going to do? Are you going to look into it?"

Captain Stacy leaned on his elbow, giving me a long look. "If I do, can you promise me something?"

I blinked at him. "I-I guess."

"I want you to come to me if you find other stuff like this," Captain Stacy said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Whatever it is. I know you want to help, and I think you're going in the right direction with this Nelson & Murdock. You got a good head on you, Amelia; you're rational, analytical, persistent. I like the way you look beyond the pale. I don't want that potential to go to waste; I think you can do a lot of good if you put that to good use. So, if you come across anything suspicious, I want you to come to me, okay?"

Captain Stacy gave me a small smile. "Whatever it is you're doing, trust your gut. It's done you well so far."

OoOoO

I stepped out of that precinct feeling unusually optimistic, for the first time in an incredibly long time. It was like I was actually doing good again, and I didn't have to wear a mask to do it.

The sky was already dark by the time I hit the streets. Maybe the result I got from talking to Captain Stacy made me so happy that I forgot the fact that New York City was, well, New York City. My guard was down, and maybe that's why, when I heading for a cafe to get dinner in Hell's Kitchen, I didn't anticipate the arm that snatched my hood and yanked me into an alleyway.

I cried out, but before I could make any substantial sound, a hand clamped around my mouth. I was nearly pulled off my feet by the arm that locked itself around my throat.

"Think you got the better of me?" a voice hissed in my ear as I was dragged further and further into the dark alleyway. "Who the fuck do you think you are, you little bitch?"

The arm around my neck tightened with emphasis on the last word, and I choked. Panic coursed through me as soon as I recognized the voice.

Sudowski.

I kicked helplessly, trying to cry out but finding barely enough air to breathe. Sudowski was taller than me, and strong enough to lift a tiny, hundred pound girl off her feet.

I should've known. I grit my teeth, closing my eyes and trying to think through the pain and fear and shock. I should've known that there would've been consequences to my actions. That I wouldn't be able to walk out of that Precinct and now somehow pay for outing a high-roller in the underground business.

And Sudowski saw me. I looked him right in the eye. How could I forget that so quickly?

"I'm not letting some stupid whore ruin everything," Sudowski continued in a low register, snarling. I could feel his heavy, hot breath against my ear, teeth grazing my skin with barely contained rage. "You think you can charm my boss with your little detective skills, Nancy Drew? You think you solved the case? Lemme show you what happens when people like you mess with guys like us."

"Guys like...who?" I gasped, my voice barely heard over Sudowski's own hard breathing. For a guy who was probably planning to kill me, he certainly wasn't keeping it together very well. Good thing I knew just what to say to make it worse. I tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. "Guys like Wilson Fisk?"

Sudowski stumbled, and for two seconds he stopped breathing entirely. "Where the fuck did you get that name?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I bit his hand.

Sudowski, in his shock at the mention of the name, had loosened his grip just enough to be in chomping distance. Sudowski uttered a cry of pain and outrage as I worked the full power of my jaw, my teeth going straight through the material of his jacket. I tasted, with some satisfaction, something warm and copper on my tongue.

"Mother-!" Sudowski reacted instinctively, trying to rip his arm away from me. But I clung on like a dog to a bone, and it wasn't until he landed a punch into my side did I finally relinquish him.

I spun away from him, slamming my elbow into his abdomen to further propel myself forward. Sudowski gasped, curling in and grasping his stomach, eyes bulging - did he expect me to be so strong? I know I didn't. I still thought I had weeks to go before I'd be back at full strength.

Well, I was strong enough.

Before Sudowski could recollect himself, I shifted my stance, bringing up my fists to protect my front. Then I struck out with my foot, launching myself with my other foot to send my body into a spin.

My heel landed against Sudowski's temple. The man could be considered handsome, I suppose, but his anger marred his features, turning him into some terrifying monster, and I felt nothing but satisfaction as his head jerked to the side from the blow and he went down.

I landed back on both feet, bending at the knees and turning to face him again.

Sudowski was down on one knee, a nasty bruise forming on his temple. "You're gonna pay for that -"

His hand flew up to his belt, but I acted before he could even touch his gun. I jumped forward, slamming my knee into jaw, delivering a fierce knee-buster.

Sudowski's hand left his waist to clutch his face when it met the ground. While I considered my next move - stay and finish the job, or run for my life while I could - Sudowski called out, "JACKSON! JACKSON, I NEED BACK - oof!"

Delivering another kick to his stomach, I stopped Sudowski in his tracks.

But I wasn't fast enough, because two seconds later I heard footsteps, followed by another set of arms wrapping around me.

This time I was prepared, though. Instead of letting my new attacker, Jackson, get me off my feet again, I instead dropped forward. Reaching behind me, I grabbed whatever fabric I could touch, then throwing all my weight and muscle into a crouch.

With all that momentum working for me, I managed to pull the attacker along with me, and sending him flying over my shoulders. "Agh!"

He slammed face first into the ground, but Jackson - a guy with a shock of red hair - was a little faster than Sudowski and managed to roll back to his feet.

I didn't see the gun until it was almost too late. The muzzle flashed and I just barely managed to throw myself out of the way, slamming into the brick wall next to me, but not before I felt a sharp pain in my arm.

Gasping, I looked down, seeing a new tear in my coat, and the scarlet sheen underneath. I grasped it, feeling the blood seep through my fingers. Goddammit! The Doc wasn't going to be happy about this.

I didn't have time to think about how the hell I was going to explain why I got attacked by two cops, because Jackson was still tracking me with his gun. Before he could land another bullet, I struck out my hand.

The clip fell out of the gun, and Jackson luckily was too surprised to fire the bullet still in the chamber. Which was good for me, because that little move sent a stroke of pain through my head.

Apparently, not everything was back. I wished for the days when I could lift a car without even blinking.

But those weren't those days, and I wasn't in the mood for reminiscing. While Jackson fumbled and bent down to get his clip, I took advantage of his distraction.

Lunging forward, I pulled back my arm, before landing a solid punch on Jackson's face. He grunted, dropping both gun and clip, and I followed up with a punch from the other side, sending Jackson stumbling back. Blood spurted from his nose, and he barely had time to cover it when I finished him off.

I slammed my palms into his chest, once more activating my telekinesis, because apparently I hadn't learned my lesson from a few seconds before.

Jackson went flying back, crying out before he landed in the muddy drift, sliding for a spectacular six feet before coming to a stop. He didn't get back up.

I was breathing hard, strange flashing lights in front of my eyes. I stumbled, the new agony disorienting me and nearly making me lose my balance.

Pressing my hands to my temple, I slumped against the brick wall, closing my head and waiting for my breath to even out and the pain to fade. By the time I could see without even the tiniest bit of light hurting, I knew I had to get out of here and fast, before either of these two jugheads woke up and called on more baddies.

Turning around, I peered out the alleyway to make sure it was clear, before ducking out and making a run for it. Home free, at last.

And as I disappeared into the streets, not once did I consider looking up. Not during my walk, not during the attack, and not now, when all I wanted was a warm meal and maybe some stitches.

If I had looked up, even once, I might've seen that horned figure watching silently from the rooftops.