MY BREATH CAUGHT IN MY THROAT, though not just from his obviously heartfelt words, but for the shadowy movement that caught in the light behind him. I couldn't make out what had happened or who it was, but I didn't need to; it was the sign I had been reluctantly waiting for, the signal telling me that time was slipping away and I needed to wrap this all up. My heart rose to my throat, and I concentrated on my words, focusing on the task at hand.

"Well, you - that doesn't matter much, anymore. I'm moving on and you need to too - promise me, Peter. Please?"

"I...I promise."

"Okay." I stepped back and got to my feet with the boy quickly following suit. My hand lingered on his arm, taking in the boy in his fancy suit one last time before looking away. "Goodbye, Peter."

"No."

"No?"

He stepped closer and hugged me closer to his shaking frame, holding my face in a hand. "Not goodbye. We'll see each other again - when you're all done, we'll find each other, and we'll make things right. Goodbyes are forever. This isn't forever."

I stumbled back a bit and held tight to my tears, feeling my heart crumble to bits inside me. He held onto foolish hope, and I held my own, though we both knew that it was all a lie fabricated to hold us together. "Yeah, sure, okay. Okay, sure, we'll...we'll see each other again."

"Promise?"

My only answer was the last kiss we would share, holding our tragic embrace before letting go of him one last time. With only mere moments left, I scanned his face into my mind, mentally freezing the brief seconds when everything was perfect so I could treasure it when this all fell apart. "Sure. But, Peter?"

He nodded.

"There will be a stack of envelopes along with a tiny bottle in your room." I was relying on the promise Inga had given me for this part, and could only pray she followed my final unspoken wish. "You need to give those envelopes to your friend Tony Stark as fast as possible - don't read them - and you need to drink whatever is in that bottle, all of it. It'll, um, heal your wounds, make it all better - in the morning, it'll be like you had never been in a fight."

"What's in it?"

I smiled through my grief, "my last gift to you." And with those final words, I left him to stand alone in the grassy area, walking away into the darkness. I didn't look back, for fear I wouldn't be able to take another step forward, and kept my head down to hide my tears. The only thing that was in my head was the picture of the boy standing alone, dressed in red and blue, watching me walk away while tears built up. My lips still stung from the kiss, and I touched them, almost cracking a sad smile at the already-passing memory of the embrace. It was one of the only moments I really wanted to keep close to me, and I replayed it over and over again in my head, the movement still falling in line with my steps.

"It's time." The words fell like heavyweights and sunk in deep, hitting hard as I realised just how true those words were. "Isn't it?"

Inga tensed up and directed her gaze to the ground, not looking anywhere near me. She stood beside the vehicle, a tiny weapon in her hands and a frown on her face. She was alone, but I knew behind her stood the wrath of the world. "Freya, I just need to say I am sorry. What - you don't deserve what they want from you."

"It doesn't matter what I deserve, it matters what Peter does, and he has a chance to a normal life, now; it's all fine now. You can take me now."

"But you need to know-"

"-we need to go, now." My tone was bitter and cold and surprised even myself; never before had I talked so sternly to the woman, as if she was the child and I her berating parent. "It's done. It's all done."

Inga's eyes snapped back up at my words, but she didn't slap me or even react in anger; she simply stared at me, eyes devoid of readable emotions, unblinking. "Get in."

I didn't dare to speak, and she continued, leaving me to stare incredulously as she grabbed at my shoulders. "This isn't over, not for you. Get in and don't make a damn sound."

"What do you mean?"

She didn't answer my question, only gesturing for me to climb into the vehicle - one I had never seen before - and after a few moments and a loud scream of pain, sliding in herself. Her hands were shaking, ever so slightly, and she looked almost fearful. That was the worst of this; I had imagined myself to be locked up by now, but yet  I was still breathing and staring at the green world and Inga was trembling like she was about to commit a serious crime - a sight I had never thought I'd see.

"What are you doing?"

"Shut up. Now. Just...do not speak."

Her words were mumbled but final, and in strange fear trickling down my spine and drying out my throat, I did as asked. I fought the urge to give in to the thoughts polluting my mind and tried to keep it on one thing; Peter's survival. Wherever it happened that she was taking me to, he was safe and that was all I cared about.

She swallowed, a sound audible to me even from being a few feet away in the back. "I'm doing the right thing, for once in my life. Call it a payment for the debt created long ago."

The words meant next to nothing to me, but I could only hold on as she immediately began to drive, foot slamming on the gas pedal and swerving through the streets as if she was driving for her life - maybe she was. Inga's eyes were glued to the view in front of her as she sped away. Her knuckles were turning an ashy grey-white as they tightened on the steering wheel, only frightening me more and leaving me to question just what was happening and what I was soon to be a part of.

She drove without saying anything more for long, uncomfortable minutes, sitting in complete silence and not even sparing a glance my way. However, she slowed as the city peeled away behind us and seemed to relax ever so slightly - which wasn't by much, considering how tense the woman was. She still didn't look at me but didn't seem to have the urge she had not minutes before.

Something was not right. Something was not okay. It was not the place to be, I should not be in the car in that part of New York, I should not be still conscious, hell I should not even be alive. I had not anticipated being capable of speech or even moving at that point in the trip; something was not right.

"What...what are you doing?"

Inga sighed, wiped her brow, and finally looked towards me, eyes lingering on my curious gaze before sliding away. "I told you that I would do the right thing, for once. This is me doing that in the best way I can."

The first words that came to my lips were, 'by kidnapping me?'. However, I felt that it wasn't right, seeing as how torn up about her actions she seemed; this was a hard decision for her, it looked, and judging her didn't seem like the best choice on my part. Instead, I looked at my lap and at the fingers that rested in loose fists and sighed. "Where...what does that mean, exactly?"

"I've made arrangements," she whispered, her voice fading into barely a breath to the dull roar of the car engine. "You'll be cared for and you'll...barely seventeen isn't an age for a life to end it. At least, it shouldn't end there."

"Arrangements?"

How?

The car swerved to a slow turn, and we faded away from the busy traffic of the highway; this was a smaller road, one that was lined with large houses and pretty roses and, even in the dead of night, shown with a quiet elegance. It was a sight I had never truly seen for myself, and I didn't bother to hide my stare of awe, looking incredulously at the sight.

Inga gave another small sigh. "Here, you can carry out what you began. You'll go to school, and have friends, and you can be the girl you could have been. Of course, it'll be in a different location, but it won't be so bad; it'll work out."

"I...don't understand." Nothing was making sense; she did not have any time to do this, so how was she capable of making any sort of 'arrangements' for my survival in an hour? What did she do? What had been done when I was not around to know? "This doesn't make sense."

"I don't expect you to." The car made another slow, casual turn, this time onto a smaller street, one that didn't loop around; there was only a small circle of the same well cared for houses I had seen before. "It's not something I want you to understand."

Her words were cryptic and vague, and almost unsettling; she had so much more to say, so much I wanted her to say, yet she just said the bare minimum and expected that to satisfy me. I didn't push, not wanting her to be upset, but I still sat in uncomfortable silence, unsure what to do with my hands or feel in my heart.

We slowly turned into one of the driveways, a stone-paved trip to sit feet away from a dark garage, where dim lights could be made out from inside. I didn't move or look at her, but I heard her sigh - what felt like her tenth that drive - and relax in her seat. 

"What now?"

Finally, Inga turned to me, and even in the dim lighting provided by the moon and the street lamps far down the street, I saw tears clouding the harsh anger that usually polluted her eyes. For once, she was vulnerable - nay, more than that. Inga was a human being, not just a person of power or my enemy or the woman who would be my doom - she was just Inga, and I was just Freya, and we were both crying.

None of it made sense.

"I wanted to do better, I swear," she whispered, "but I wasn't strong enough. I tried - I did try - but I do not have a good heart like you do. And I had to watch as they broke you, time and time again, and then I had to watch you cry after I was the one to hurt you, and I can never forgive myself for that. You can never forgive me for that, and I don't want you to. You're too smart and honest with yourself for that."

When no words came from my mouth, she plunged forward, twisting so she faced me and her entire face was in view. "I...here, you can be Emily, like you wanted. You can live a good life with a good family who will take care of you-you can be happy here, Freya. You can go to Midtown, and be with your friends, and be with Peter like you wanted. You didn't deserve all I did to you, and now, you finally get the reward for your pain; you're going to be Emily and you're going to happy."

"What...what about you?"

Inga faltered but raised her chin and the tears, though they struck and crowded and begged to fall, remained behind the walls she was placing higher and higher, leaving her to be almost devoid of any other emotion outwards. "I go back, and I face the punishment that I deserve. I stop running from the truth and I realise that everything I've blamed on others - I need to take that pain now, it's the only way to truly apologize for all I've done. Simple as that."

"But-"

"-do not say you are sorry for me," she hissed. Her words twisted into a malicious whisper, one I was more accustomed to, and even as she fell back again the anger still remained. "You wanted this. You can't lie and say you didn't, for I know you, Freya - I've known you all your life. I know you well enough to know that you hate me with a burning passion, and I can not say that it is without a damn right. I would hate myself too."

"But-"

"-you need to go now," she interrupted, glancing towards the house. "It'll be getting light soon, and I need to be gone before the sunrise. Your things are in the back, and just knock on the door, they'll take care of you. I can't, I can't go to the door, but you can and will."

"But-"

"Go!"

"No." Finally, my words were spat out, though it was but a single word of indignation. A hint of irony bit on my tongue as I realised that those were the same words shouted at me from Peter not minutes before; strange, how this came full circle. "No!"

Inga stared, lips slightly parted, unsure what to do. "What?"

"I...I just don't know what now. It just doesn't feel right. I...didn't think it would end this way."

She nodded, a tiny hint of a sad smile flickering at her lips, "neither did I, Freya. But this is better, in the end. And I just hope that one day you can forgive me. Now, go."

With a slow, dreary walk, I plodded to the back and grabbed the three suitcases full of my things, hesitating for a long moment before slamming the trunk closed. However, instead of heading straight up to the house, I once again paused in the window of the car, staring at the woman who had been my biggest enemy for so long. "This is it?"

"This is it."

I stared at her one last time, engraving the worn, weary face one last time in my memory. The sloped nose, the scar that raced across one cheek and ended just below her piercing gaze, the way she held herself like she was a noble, not a broken woman heading to her doom. And, surprisingly, the number of things I couldn't read in her eyes; the anger had vanished and all there was left was a deep sadness within and something unrecognizable, something I had never seen before from her. Inga was far from a pretty woman, but in the pale moonlight, tears held back by trembling dams, she was a beacon of beauty.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say that." She looked down, reaching to pull out a single paper from the underside of her seat. "I am the one who should be sorry; I let you down, and I hurt the one thing I loved the most in the world. I am sorry, Freya Kuznetsova. Будь счастлив."

Be happy. While she pulled out of the driveway and away, leaving me alone with my new home, I stared in shock, holding the paper without even acknowledging it. For my mind was not on the house behind me, or the last gift, or even anything remotely related; all I could think about was the last thing she said to me; Freya Kuznetsova. Be happy. I had never heard that last name before in my life, nor did the cryptic words clear up anything. I was in the dark, and there would be no answer to my questions, not anymore.

Finally shaking off my reverie, I looked down at the paper, only to finally realise my desire for tears, falling to my knees in shock and fear and grief and everything in between. I would stay like that for minutes, even close to an hour before someone would find me and firm, unknown arms would lift me up into the warmth of a home. Still, I barely even felt any of it, and my tears would not dry until late into the early morning when the rivers flowed to a rolling stop and the waterfalls would dry up and stain pale skin, leaving my eyes red and puffy and body curled into a fetal position. The people who lived there, who were still unknown to me, didn't bother me but watched from afar - yet I didn't care what they thought of me, not anymore.

All of the years I could recall, I had been Freya Knight, orphan and lost soul sent to a hell that would rival no others. Yet now, when it was all too late, I was Freya Kuznetsova, daughter of Inga Kuznetsova, who was driving to her doom even as I cried. There was nothing but hatred between her and I, seemingly a mutual bond, yet she was my flesh and blood hidden right under my nose. Had I realised her or even just her attempt to help me at any point, perhaps I wouldn't have sent my own mother to her death in place of me.

Like always, I was too late.

||

T H R E E   M O N T H S   L A T E R

The only question lingering my thoughts had kept me awake for many hours into the night - all of them, actually, stopping me from getting a wink of sleep.

What would Peter think of me?

There was no way of knowing, and the only facts there were to work with was that he did not remember what had happened on that infamous night. To him, I was still Emily Newman, the exchange student with a shady past and cold heart, and the girl who had played with his heart without mercy. I had disappeared in a night and never spoke to him again, leaving him to have second-hand information to fill in the blanks. If he hated me, it would not be without reason.

I had missed the last week of school - apparently not a smart choice, for most students, but since it had already been decided that I had 'done my work earlier' and was leaving for a family emergency anyways, there was no need. It gave me the chance to recover from the losses suffered and spend the summer growing stronger, working up the courage to meet up with Peter once more.

Only, the confrontation part didn't seem so wise anymore.

I squared my shoulders and hurried into the school, weaving through chatting throngs of rancid students and avoiding the gaze of everyone around. No one really knew me, but that didn't stop idle curiosity from possessing their eyes and forcing them to watch me race down the hallway. Such was life, I supposed, but it didn't stop how uncomfortable it made me.

Peter was somewhere, I was sure of it - though I had no idea exactly where that could be. Such was the consequence of losing her help, for everything had to be a guess and check strategy, with no gadgets or gizmos to help me along the way. I knew him to be gone from his apartment, but that was the extent of my knowledge.

However, the ear-piercing sound of a certain Star Wars fanatic's voice acted as a clue; wherever Ned Leeds was, there usually was a Peter Parker close behind. It only made sense.

"Okay, Em," I mumbled, avoiding the strange looks received for speaking aloud to myself. "You can do this. Just...go in, and introduce yourself again, ask if you can explain in private, then do what you have to and make things right. Don't mention any of that shit from before."

It was the moment I had been anticipating all summer, and there I was, watching the duo argue about something trivial while sweat dripped down my back and my hands became a clammy mess of nerves and panic.

It's Peter, I reasoned, sucking in a deep breath. Peter was not my enemy, he was just...well, Peter. Sweet, lovable vigilante with a strong desire to do the stupidest solutions to problems and the ability to destroy me without even doing a thing. Peter Parker, though undoubtedly the only person who could break me anymore, was not my enemy.

Hopefully.

The door swung open and I shyly grinned at the pair, moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Hello."

Only one of the two in the pair reacted.

One looked as though they were in shock, gushing 'holy shit' under his breath over and over again until I could swear that madness had possessed me.

The other, however, simply stared and did not say a word allowed; really, if I couldn't read emotions so well, I'd assume he hadn't recognised me at all. I could see the panicked misery lurking behind his glass walls, however, and knew he knew who I was.

"Hi, Peter," I mumbled, suddenly much more self-conscious than I would have been in the shoes of Freya Knight. "Sorry, it's been a while. Did I miss anything terribly exciting?"

Ugh, of all the endings, the writing for this one is my least favourite. It wasn't going to be published, but since it's an alternate this will work - it's not at all super accurate or realistic, but I dunno, y'all wanted a happier ending and I'm going with this - not much happier but with the storyline, it's pretty hard to do otherwise. Originally there was going to be another chapter on them meeting again, but the little snippet is good enough for me, and it'll have an okay transition for the Christmas one-shot, of course.

My question is, should I publish the final chapter [Christmas oneshot] on December 25? It aligns with my schedule date but I don't want to post it when you all are having your fun and all that, so I'd be fine with doing it on the 26th. Just let me know if you'd read it on Christmas Day or not haha.

Thank you for reading!