Welcome one and all to my first Spiderman story, I'm Rae B-) If you're joining us after reading my current story in the Young Justice universe, let me clarify that this is what happened before that story; the prologue/introduction/beginning if you will ;) ^_^

If this is your first time here, then let me fill you in. The following story is my take on how Spiderman's daughter came to be a great hero. This is all my own crazy world, nothing other than the essentials is based on cannon, and you'll notice that most facts about this story will have roots in the movie series with Toby McGuire and Kirsten Dunst. Also to note is this story will tie-in later with the DC universes, including Batman and Young Justice, so there will be elements of both Marvel and DC (any diehard, flame-prone fans of either Marvel or DC should leave now).

I think that pretty much does it for what you need to know. Reviews are appreciated, even more than faves and alerts ;) Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride B-)

The Legacy of a Hero

Chapter One

"Mom? I'm home!" Heather May Parker called, dropping her book bag onto the dining room table. She absently brushed a lock of auburn hair out of her vision, tucking it behind her ear as her intense blue eyes scanned her notes from class that day.

Heather looked towards the living room with a pensive frown,
"Mom? Are you here?" The sixteen year old asked loudly, but the apartment remained silent. On a hunch, she toward the fridge in the kitchen and found a note. It was written in blue ink in her mother's swirly cursive.

'Got called into work, couldn't get out of it. Harry is sleeping over with a friend tonight and Audrey's with Aunt May. I'll be back by nine at the latest – dad's working late tonight. There's money for pizza on the counter. If you need anything, call me. Love you, mom.'

Heather sighed, "of course dad's working late. When is he not?" She muttered, rolling her eyes.

Spying the twenty dollars on the counter, she glanced at her watch. Four-thirty – too early to get dinner, she'd wait until closer to six. That decided, she grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, returned to the table and started her homework.

Later that night, after completing her chores and homework, Heather sat watching TV and munching a slice of pizza. She flipped channels aimlessly before settling on a news cast. Not two minutes in, the anchors seemed to get excited as a news bulletin came into the studio.

"We have breaking news tonight – an apartment building at the corner of south 57th and north 100th is on fire, with ten people trapped inside. We've just received word that Spiderman is on the scene to lend a hand. We go now live to our correspondent, Aimee Trekker, who is on location to cover this story. Aimee?"

Heather sat up, tuning out the blonde reporter out, as her eyes focused on the red and blue suited hero who had just swung into the burning building through a window. A few minutes later, Spiderman jumped back out carrying three people, before returning inside the blazing apartments. The procedure was repeated several times, until it seemed all the people had been safely rescued from the fire.

After conversing with the fire chief for a moment, Spiderman spotted the enthusiastic reporter headed his way, and quickly swung off before he could be questioned about tonight – or more accurately, accused of starting the fire.

Aimee looked frustrated before turning back to the camera, a fake smile plastered over her face, "well, as you can see, Spiderman continues to be a mystery to the people of New York. After twenty-five years of swinging above the city streets, we still wonder: Who is Spiderman? What does he have to hide behind that mask? Is he a hero, or a menace? For channel twelve, I'm Aimee Trekker, back to you in the studio."

Heather rolled her eyes at the overdramatic reporter and switched off the TV. "Wouldn't you like to know Miss Trekker? Wouldn't we all like to know?" She murmured as she left the living room to get ready for bed.

It was ten o'clock and her mother still wasn't home, but that didn't really surprise Heather. These days it was a rare occurrence for the Parker family to all be gathered in the same place for longer than a few hours.

Her father, Peter, was always at work. Her mother Mary Jane – or MJ – was often out doing this or that with her work at the theater, or with her baby sister, Audrey, and great Aunt May. Her twelve year old brother Harry was often too caught up in his own circle of friends to pay much attention to anything else.

The perfect American family, Heather thought with a snort. She grabbed her night ware to change in her room, pausing after pulling off her long-sleeved shirt to look at her wrists, as was her habit of late.

Oddly enough, she'd found that a small patch of white raised skin on the underside of either wrist had developed in the last year. It reminded her of skin that had scared over from a burn, but appeared more translucent than that – like silk. She couldn't begin to imagine what it was from, but since it didn't itch or look like any form of skin cancer she'd seen, she hadn't mentioned it to anyone. It was most likely some kind of allergic reaction to the new fabric softener her mom used, nothing serious.

Heather pulled her tank top on, and let her long hair down from its ponytail. She shook out her hair, fluffing it with her fingers as she bent down to pull out a box from under her bed. She flipped the unassuming black lid off the box and pulled out a large scrapbook, blue orbs skimming the block letter stickers she'd put on the front which said, 'With great power, comes great responsibility'.

It was something her father had always said, and she could remember now the first time she'd asked what it meant. She was six, and she remembered the look that flashed through his eyes. She hadn't known then that it was pain and regret, but she knew that now.

Peter had explained that when you had a special ability or talent that could help people, you should never hold it back from the world and use it for your own selfish gains. If you have the power to help someone, then you should. "Maybe if everyone did that, the world would be a better place," he had concluded, a faraway look in his blue eyes.

Under the quote from her father were three others, each one under the next, all in block stickers. 'Life is just a mirror – what you see out there, you must first see inside of you', 'Life is simple: You make a choice and don't look back' and 'Life is like a novel with the ending ripped out. You have to write your own ending.'

Heather flipped open the scrapbook, revealing hundreds of clips and photos from newspapers and other sources, all revolving around the masked vigilante Spiderman. The collage started out twenty-five years before when the web-slinger had first appeared, and highlighted his greatest achievements as a hero up until the present day.

At a blank page, Heather used a pen from her desk to scrawl the date and a message across the paper: 'Thirty-two saved from apartment fire. He hasn't lost his touch a bit.'

At times Heather wondered if this habit she had of tracking Spiderman's exploits could be considered stalking or just plain creepy. It probably was in reality, but Spiderman inspired her in ways no one else ever could. There were so many times when she longed to meet the hero, talk with him maybe, to let him know that at least one person in New York still thought he was a hero. She knew most children thought of their parents as their heroes, but that had never been the case for Heather. Now at nearly seventeen, it most certainly wasn't the situation.

Heather put the pen and scrapbook away, replacing the box beneath the bed. She picked up a photo frame from her bedside table and studied it for a moment. The picture was with her dad at the zoo, their last daddy-daughter outing together before work became more important than family. She'd been five; the picture showed that she had lost her two front teeth and she clutched a toy white tiger Peter had bought her just that morning.

Heather shook her head and put the frame down, scrubbing a hand over her face. It's pointless to think about it. He's got more important things to do than worry about his daughters, son and wife. And I've got better things to do than think about a dad whose only permanent presence in the house stems from photos. Despite her angry thoughts, she couldn't stop her eyes from stinging.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she went and turned out all the lights around the apartment, and was about to go to sleep when her cell phone beeped.

It was a text from Rhianna, or Rhi, her best friend. 'Come out 2night? Gona be fun! ;D'

Heather glanced at the clock. It was eleven. A slow grin spread itself over her face, as she texted back, 'Hell ya. Cya there!'

Heather changed into faded jeans, black boots and a low cut dark blue shirt. She fluffed her hair up with a brush and grabbed her jacket from the closet. She lined her eyes thickly with makeup and put on her darkest shade of lipstick. The look had the effect of making her appear older. With a mother in show business, she'd learned to wield makeup to her advantage from an early age.

Quickly she closed her door to a crack, then stuffed clothes and old toys beneath her sheets to make it look like she was sleeping, before grabbing her wallet and cell.

The red head climbed out the window to the fire escape, closing it to just a crack so she could open it later without setting off the alarm. As she walked out of an alley and into the night, one thought ran through her mind. Hope dad works extra late tonight…Preferably on the other side of the city.