(A/N): So, after many months, the long-awaited sequel to Spidey Meets the Black Widow is finally here. In addition to this special treatment, I've kicked if off with two chapters instead of usually one. Just a quick review, this story takes place after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier and The Amazing Spider-Man 2. So if you haven't seen either one of those films yet, I would recommend doing so because spoilers are ahead throughout the entire story following the events of both of those films. Enjoy!

Alias

Her

It was a sunny Thursday outside, and the day was still alive and well in New York, waiting for more to be planned and spent doing something fun for the evening, otherwise it would be such a waste of nice weather. Peter Parker on the other hand, had nothing better to do this afternoon, except, perhaps, doing what he does best in the form of his red and blue vigilant alter ego. Other than that, what more was there to look forward to?

Sure, he applied to five different colleges, three of them being Ivy League schools (Harvard and Princeton to name a few, despite settling for a college in New York), and this was supposed to feel like a big turning point in his life, yet, that's not at all what it felt like. To him, it wasn't that sunny outside, only a slight overcast. It didn't feel like Thursday at all, but rather Monday. The streets were covered with hundreds of pedestrians 24/7, but to him it seemed like he was walking alone, and that the pedestrians were just pieces of miscellaneous objects on the ground, sort of like trash being blown through the wind, waiting for someone to pick them up, and bring them back to where they belong, setting them on the right track again.

He thought he could shake it off, the feeling and all, but no matter what he tried, or what he did as some way of sublimation to deal with his trauma, the reality of not having his high school sweetheart by his side any longer remains forever ingrained in his subconscious, and leaves a huge scar across his heart. The scene plays in his mind over and over again, sometimes spontaneously. For the first few weeks after swinging back into action, things sort of felt better. But eventually, as time went on, there was no fighting it. It was obvious, the pain, the grieving. It was still there. The idea of knowing that it was his fault for what happened to her, and that he could no longer make up for it just couldn't be erased.

Peter Parker walked alone on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking downwards instead of forward, just to count the number of squares he stepped past. He had on his olive green t-shirt with a v-neck, some Levis and a pair of Nikes. Some headphones connected from his phone in his pocket played in his ears. A slight breeze blew across his face and around his cheeks, which would otherwise soothe his nerves.

He opened the door leading into his house, pulled out his headphones and just looked around the house for a moment. He then closed the door back, and slowly made his way towards the steps, and was just about to continue making his way up until a voice caught his attention. It was just like that. The voice was strikingly familiar, though, he didn't understand how it could be. Aunt May wasn't supposed to be home, was she, Peter thought to himself. She was supposed to still be at the hospital, doing her usual training from eight to six . . .

The young adult at this point stopped dead in his tracks as if all the neural impulses in his body suddenly came to a halt, like the chain reaction of an entire line of cars on the road abruptly caught in traffic due to merely one accident. This nearly caused him to trip, as if he felt the impact of the crash. Rather than immediately turn his head to the source of the voice, he kept his head to the ground, more intrigued by the sound of the voice rather than the voice itself. Or rather, who it was that spoke.

"Long day?" the soothing voice said.

Peter finally turned his head, and then stepped back down the steps to further approach the so-called 'intruder' in his home. His face was more perplexed than anything. He stepped closer, and closer, needing to get a better view from where he was over at the stairs. Then his eyes met with the other. For a split second, all time and reality seemed to stop and not even exist. It's that kind of feeling one gets when they see something with such astonishment that nothing else around them seems to matter at the very moment; their brain just shuts it all out. For Peter, this phenomenon was apparent.

It was 'her'. She was standing in his living room. Her blonde hair tied up in a pony tail that hung over her back, wearing her favorite gray sweater with her pink shirt under, and her skirt to match with it. It was Peter's own stereotypical image of her set in his mind. When he thought of her, he thought of her wearing that outfit all the time. And perhaps the most intriguing factor about 'her' at this moment was that she was smiling. That same big happy smile that made him once feel much intimidated by her beauty before he got to talk to her. The same smile that made him smile as well. The same smile that made him feel warm inside. The same smile that reassured him that life can go on, no matter what happened. Why was she smiling, he thought to himself. Why, after he allowed her to just fall to her death, would she be smiling like she is now? As if none of it ever happened? It began to mock Peter. Everything about her suddenly began to start mocking him and tooling with his emotions. Even her smell, too. That sweet smell of perfume that seemed to spread from hundreds of feet away, that could track him down wherever he is at any given moment–

Peter jerked his head away and covered his face with his arm. He kept telling himself in his mind that it wasn't real, that she was still gone. He told himself for the sake of his own sanity and so that he wouldn't torture himself any longer, but at the same time he still wished for her to be a part of his daily life.

He then looked back up, in fear, to see if she was still there. And she wasn't, only the furniture in the living room. He didn't notice at first, but he was panting; panting really hard, as if he had just been faced with a life or death situation. And he was sweating, too, intensely. For all he knew, it was a life and death situation.

He managed to get up to his room and throw all of his stuff on the floor and lied on his bed, covering his face with his hands, wanting to scream, even if it would only be muffled.