Hello hello, girls and boys!

OH

MY

GOD

SHE

IS

ALIVE.

(yeah right, sorry about that! Explanations at the end, I know all you want to do is read! Shut up Me, thank you!)

Meet Spider-man

"Emma! Oh my God, Emma!"

I open one eye and close it asap. I have a concussion, that's for sure. I don't even need to think deep about that. I'm dizzy. There's a constant ringing in my ear that threatens to make me throw up. I'm exhausted, my head is floating in a dense fog. I'm not an expert in concussions. I've never ever had one before. But I know enough things about them to be sure that I've got one. Damn. That's no good news. How am I supposed to take pictures of Mister Spandex if I've got a concussion?

Focus!

Oh, Little Voice. I'm so happy to hear her, and it feels quite inappropriate for a second, but I don't care. Or do I? I don't know. Focus on what? Where am I? Hm, soft thing under me, must be a mattress. And over me, what? A cover just as soft. Sweet, I'm in my bed. Why is my aunt crying? Wow, wait, since when my bed moves? Sweet, my bed has wheels! I don't have the opportunity to think deep about how awesome it is that my bed has wheels though. Someone is forcing me to open my eyes. Now they're pointing... ouch!

Go away!

I wish I could scream that to them, but they don't seem to hear me since they carry on pointing their blinding flashlight in my eyes. Oh it hurts, it hurts so bad... I feel tears rolling down from my eyes and directly into my ears. Erh, what a nasty thing, tears in ears! Ah, I don't like that, I don't, definitely I don't like, flashlight ouch, go away you freaking people, leave me alone, I just want to sleep okay, that's no big deal right, let me sleep for like, ten years, and then I swear you can do whatever you want with your flashlights, I promise.

"It's alright Emma, you're safe now, don't worry."

Hey, who's that? Peter? Peter would definitely say that, yes. But... No... This is not Peter. His voice isn't like that. His voice is sweet, so sweet, and funny and sad at the same time, and mischievous, and, so many things, so many things I want to tell him, I wish I could, where is he, my spandex boy? He isn't here... I don't feel him anywhere. I am so sad he's not at my side, and there are even more tears rolling down in my ears now.

But hey, wait, the flashlight is gone. Nice people, maybe they'll let me sleep now. Will they? Let's hope so! Hm. Rolling bed. That's so cool. Red and blue lights, above me. Bip, bip, bip. What's that noise? Oh yeah I know, must be my heart. Or is it? I don't know. What? Wait, what am I thinking about? Oh yeah. Rolling bed. Geez, I wish everyone had rolling bed. We could all live in our beds. Go to work with them. Oh yeah, that would be awesome! I should tell Peter about it. We could invent the Rolling Beds Society and become rich. Oh but wait. Something's not great in here. What is? What is what? Erh. My bed isn't rolling anymore now. Something else is, what is it? A big car? Wait, what do you call these things? Oh yeah, isn't that truck? Yeah I think so... Hm, what was I saying? Oh yeah, I remember. We'd be too fat. If we'd bed in roll. If we'd roll in bed. Droll... What a funny word. What does it mean anyway? No idea. I should ask Santa.

Bip, bip, bip.

Open your eyes. Rise up on one elbow. Look around you. Where are you? Seems like a hospital room. What's that smell? Food. What does your stomach say? Food. Sit straight up in the middle of your bed. Someone's sleeping next to you. In a chair. That's stupid. Sleep in a chair. You should make some place to them in your bed. Good idea. But first, food. Go away, covers. Feet above the ground. Wow, that's a hell of a bed. So high. Brace yourself. Jump. Applesauce. Yum. Spoon. What? What's that noise? Bip, bip, bip. Go back to your applesauce. You know it's your heart. Sweet. You're cold now. You should go and ask for more covers. You could take one for the someone in the chair. Walking is hard. You keep going though. Eyes look at you in daze. Why? No idea. Keep going, you're almost there. Where? No idea. Covers. That's all you want. And maybe more applesauce.

Open your eyes. Where are you? Your barefoot are cold as hell. Why are you in the middle of a sidewalk? What the hell? Dazed eyes again. Sit on the ground. Head in hands to escape the eyes. Yellow eyes... No! You tremble in fear. No! He's not here. You cry, you shiver, nobody helps you. Really?

"Emma."

You raise your head. Lovely heart. You smile, it hurts. Ouch, stitches. You're happy. You don't know why. You think about how much you love spandex. Or do you? You don't remember.

"Come on Stevens, let's go back to your room."

Gentle hands. You fly now. Brown eyes. Brown, awesome eyes. You dive in them and hope to never go away from them. Never ever.

This time when I wake up, I take my time before opening my eyes. I feel better. I feel good, actually. Like the song. My heart feels light, so does my head. My body is operational, I think I could easily walk. I still don't open my eyes, though. Why? Maybe because I'm scared. My souvenirs are fuzzy. I remember some things, but I'm not quite sure if they happened or not. Or when they happened. Everything is fuzzy in here. I don't like that at all.

I'm in a bed. This bed feels familiar, and so I decide after a moment of reflexion that I am in my bed, in my room, in my Uncle and Aunt's house. There's a stuff rabbit under my pillow usually. I just have to move my hand to check if he's there. I do so. Yes, he's here. Sweet. I'm home. Wow, it feels so awesome to finally be home. I am truly happy to be there. Oh yeah.

Now can I open my eyes? Maybe if I do, souvenirs will come back. Do I want them to come back? Not really. I'm sure it would hurt if they come back. But in the same time, I want to know. I want to know what happened. What happened to Peter? Where is he? Is he okay? Those questions needs answers. I can't let them like that. I have to know. Plus, I'm hungry, I really have to eat, and I can't do so without opening my eyes.

And so I do open my eyes. Nothing happens though. I'm both disappointed and relieved. I am in my room, just as I have guessed. The alarm clock says it's 5:30pm. Damn, that's not eating time at all. I hope my aunt will let me eat. Fingers crossed.

It's not as easy to move as I thought. It takes me almost five minutes to put on a sweater over my pajamas. It takes me even more time to go down the stairs. Luckily, my brother is in the kitchen and when he hears me, he immediately comes and helps me. Nice Jack. He doesn't say a thing. I wonder why. He just helps me down the stairs and bring me in the kitchen where I sit with a sigh of relief. He puts a plate of I-don't-know-what in front of me and then sits next to me and watches me eat in silence. This is weird, but I'm too hungry to acknowledge it at the time.

Only when my plate is cleaned of any food, I rise my head and smile to him. "So, what's up bro?"

He can't help the smile on his lips, I can see it. He shakes his head with a light laugh and then sighs. For some strange reasons, as I look at him doing so, I feel as if he was way older than me. Which is stupid since he's my twin. Right? "What's up yourself!" he retorts after a moment. "How do you feel?"

"Good." I answer without hesitation. "I don't really remember what happened though."

"You were kidnapped, you were saved, and then you were in a coma for like, two and a half days."

"Oh." I wink, stunned. "Nice summary, thanks."

"You're welcome." he says, shrugging.

I stay quiet for a minute, my brain empty of any thoughts or feelings. I know Jack is watching me closely. Something's really wrong with his behavior. "Are you okay? You seem... weird."

"Weird? Nah, I wouldn't say that." He shrugs again and for some reason I jump in my chair as he does. Wow, what's wrong with me? "Let's just say I was dead worry before you wake up. But now it's okay, you seem alright now, that's cool. Nice."

Another shrug. Jack, worry? Wow, that's a first. "Yeah, I'm alright, don't worry for me, little brother!"

"You're the little one, stupid!"

"Am I?" I smile in delight.

"Yeah, ask mom, she'll tell you!"

"Liar, I am the first one! How would you explain my superior intelligence otherwise?"

"Hm, I guess it's just an excuse you invented in your head because you were so disappointed I am the first one!"

"What?! How dare you, macaque!"

That's when we both burst out laughing. And it feels so great that my heart seems about to explode with joy. Sweet. We keep squabbling for a moment, then I wonder out loud if there's anything else to eat in this house and with a laugh Jack stands up and gives me a bowl full of delicious made-by-Aunt-Julia cookies. I'm in the middle of my fourth cookies when I remember an important question. "Where's Peter?"

Jack smiles for a second then answers : "He came here this morning to see how you where, then he went back at his place, to work on some stuff he said."

"Oh. Do you think I could go out and visit him?"

"As if I would let you!" My brother and I turn and I happily meet the gaze of my smiling uncle. He gives me a strong hug and it feels just as great as laughing with Jack. The three of us talk about stuff for a while, and then my aunt arrives and she hugs me, and then we all eat the awesome mashed potatoes she'd made and spend a great, quiet evening together. I don't stay up as late as they do, though. At something like 9 pm, I am so exhausted that Jack has to help me go back in my room. I lay in my bed with a smile on my face even though I feel quite dizzy again, and I fall asleep as fast as one can.

I wish I could say I spent a quiet night, but it's not true. I woke up with a start more than once. Because of nightmares I can't remember, or because of my dry throat. Those are the "nice" things that woke me up. Because the last thing that wake me up, around 5 in the morning, is me remembering everything.

And it hurts, just as I had foreseen.

It all comes back, the explosion, Miles Warren, the clone thing and Peter. Peter.

Peter who came to save me. Peter who fought against my "uncle". Peter who got badly hurt but still managed to stop the green guy before he could make the whole building explode. Peter who couldn't stop the fire, though. Peter who hardly managed to get me out of this. He'd got burned, and so had I. We had crashed on the sidewalk, BAM, double concussion for me, tons of bruises for him. I didn't even got the strength to see where we were. I just remember him holding me tight for a good minute, and then he had left. Before that, he had muttered in my ear "They're on their way, just stay here, don't worry, everything's gonna be fine. Don't you dare dying, Stevens, understood?" I had laughed – I think – and he had flown away. One minute later, the police, firefighters and doctors were at my side.

All these are quite "great" souvenirs. There are darker ones. Miles Warren's story for example. Is all this true, or not? How can I even think about asking Peter? Part of me wants to, part of me doesn't. I stay still in my bed, eyes wide open in the dark, and I don't know what to do. I want to know. I don't want to know. I'm scared. My head hurts now. I have to sleep. I'll think about this tomorrow. Yes. That's a good idea. Very good idea, indeed.

Sleep, little girl, sleep.

I sure can do that. Yes.

I find myself the next morning walking hesitantly towards Peter's flat. It takes me twice the time it would normally take to go there, and it is both because I am not completely recovered and because I am quite unsure whether or not I want to ask Peter if what Miles Warren told me is true. Yeap so, when I finally arrive in front of his building, I'm certain that he won't be there. And I'm right, so I just sit on a bench on the other sidewalk and wait. I watch people walking as I wait. I like watching people walking. It's quite hypnotic, somehow. I don't really know why. All I know is that it makes me calm down. I don't especially make a decision over whether or not I'll ask Peter about all the bad stuff in my mind but still, I definitely feel better.

I don't know exactly how much time I stay on that bench. Two hours, maybe. Or thirty seconds, who knows. Anyway, all that matters is that at one point, my phone starts ringing. And I don't know why, if it's because of my head injury or because I watched people walking for too long or just because I'm stupid but as I pick it up, the only thing that I find to say is :

"Yellow!"

For half a second, silence, and then I hear : "Emma?"

Noob.

Shut up, Little Voice. I don't know why I'm cheerful like that but let's not waste this cheerfulness. Too late for that, now. "Hi, Peter!"

"Um, hi?"

That's when I realize how weird I must sound. I've been kidnapped what, three days ago? And now I play the happy girl without even knowing why. Great job, Stevens. How is it that I manage to make a fool of myself all the time? This is probably inevitable now, I guess. I can't prevent it anymore. Or can I? "Sorry I, uh, well, how, how are you?"

"Um, great, um, I... Am I bothering you?" His voice is cautious, low, uncertain. Just as if he wasn't sure whether or not I'm okay to speak with him. This is weird.

"No, no not at all, actually I, um..."

"You?"

Oh well, great. Well done, really. Why on earth am I that stupid? "Um..." What can I say? 'Oh, actually, I'm in front of your building, what about we meet there in, say, half an hour? I want to talk to you about some weird stuff, ya know, the stuff Miles Warren told me about when he kidnapped me.' Nah, that's not really... cool. Nice? Great? Oh well, damn, seems as if my concussion isn't quite healed yet. I'm still rambling. Or am I?

"Emma?" Oh heck, I may possibly have stayed a little too long without speaking. Yeap, certainly. Peter sounds a bit worried now. Damn, I'm really stupid. "Are you okay?"

"Yes!" At least I thing. "Yes I am, don't worry for me Pete, I'm okay."

"You don't really sound okay, are you–"

"Hey, are you home?" Oh god, why? Why do I speak without thinking? Maybe Peter's right. Maybe I'm not okay at all. "I mean, um, no, not home, I mean, um, your flat? No, not your flat uh, erh, I, um, you–"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Affirmative, my colonel, Soldier Parker is completely worrying about you right now. "Where are you?"

"Um, on a bench?"

"On a bench?! Where?" I don't have the time to answer him, though. He understands the thing himself. "Jeez, don't move."

"Can I breathe?" Oh my, do concussions affect one's mental capacities? Seems like they do, to me. How lucky I am.

"God dammit, Emma."

"What? What have I done?" Why is he suddenly sounding like he was mad? What have I done? Oh no, I don't want Peter to be mad with me. Never ever. What if Spider-man breaks me in two if Peter gets mad at me? Wait, I'm stupid, Peter is Spider-man.

"Do you need me to come down to pick you or can you come up on your own? You know the way, don't you?"

"The stairway?"

"What?"

"To Heaven?"

"No, stupid, to my flat. Okay, nevermind, I'm here in about thirty seconds, don't move."

"Okay! See you!"

"No, don't hang–"

What? What did he say? I didn't, oh, well, maybe it's because I hung up the phone. Oh well. Thirty seconds aren't long. Or are they? I don't remember. And where's the Little Voice, uh? Nowhere to be heard! That's weird? Actually, the pink butterflies around me are, too, but well, no one else seems to notice them so I assume they are normal in this part of New York City. Or are they? I don't know. Damn it concussion.

"Emma..."

He's sighing. My lovely Peter is sighing. Because of me I guess? No? Yes? Who knows.

"...completely rambling yeah. Yeah I've called the doctor, he said it was not really a surprise, giving how bad her concussion is..."

"...Yeah okay, no problem. She's sleeping right now..."

"...some medicine..."

"...sure..."

"...okay, bye..."

"Oy!" I straighten up in my bed with a start. No, wait. I'm not in my bed. I'm somewhere else. Hm. Where? Let's see...

"Wow! Emma, you okay?" Peter. That's good news. I turn to face him and meet his awesome brown eyes. Oh how I've missed those eyes... This is definitely good news.

"What, how, when, where, hey, hi Peter, what–" I'm a bit confused, I must admit it. My mind is not entirely clear over what happened. When did I ever get in Peter's room? All I remember is me having a chat with him on a phone, on a bench, on the sidewalk in front of his flat.

"God dammit Emma you scared me to death!"

Well, he seems pretty scared, and worried, right now, that's for sure. I've never seen him with such concerned eyes. "Woups, sorry..." He's half siting at his desk, on the other side of the room. I'm on a bed – his bed – and at my right, there's a window. It looks like night has fallen a long time ago. "Wow, how did I end up here?" In Peter Parker's flat? With Peter Parker? In Peter Parker's bed?

"Oh well, you waited for me outside for I-don't-know-how-much-time, and when I called you to see if you were alright, since you've been kidnapped three days ago, you were completely rambling and unable to even walk. So I help you up here and you've been sleeping since then." There is a hint of anger in his voice, but not as much as irony. I guess he must have been pretty angry at me when he picked me outside, as he said. Lucky me time has passed since then.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that."

"Hmpf."

What can I say? Damn, he doesn't seem completely not-angry, even now. I'm so stupid. "Peter I'm sorry, really... I just wanted to... see you."

He raises his eyes and they meet mine. I can see he's trying to stay mad. He doesn't manage to, though. Well, that's a change! Usually I am the one who can't stay serious/mad because of his gaze. He stays quiet for a moment, and then suddenly he just unfolds his arms and the second later – my brain is still too slow to catch up his every moves – he's siting next to me on the bed, dragging me towards him with that mischievous smile of his. "I know, still, it doesn't make you less stupid."

I let out a little laugh as he holds me tight against his chest. It feels so nice, it feels so safe, I wonder with worry if I'm not about to cry or something. "Yeah, I guess it doesn't."

"You stupid, stupid thing..."

I don't know how much time we stay like that. I can hear his slow, steady heartbeat, and as usual, it comforts me well. We stay still, we stay quiet, and I almost hold my breathe, anxious for this moment to stop. But my fear is pointless, for it doesn't stop. Actually, it even improves.

Because at one point, and I don't know who starts the whole thing, I have no idea and I couldn't care less about it, at one point, our lips meet, and they don't stop for a long, long time. I have no idea how things carry on. I mean, yes, I know how they do, in a sense that I know – by heart almost – what happens. But I don't know why and how we let ourselves go that way. I don't know how, at one point, I end up lying half on him. How we end up holding tight on each other, with both of us bare chest. I don't know. I don't know how these things happen.

Nor that I regret them.

Not at all, not even a little.

I know one thing, though. I know I would give anything for this moment, with this spandex boy, in this room, to never stop.

Oh, how great things would be if that was possible...

Okay guys. Sorry about that long, long, looooooong delay. I've come up with an hypothesis though! What if, in a world, in a time... people could only write a certain quota of words/pages/chapters? And what if, as I just turned up 19, I could finally re-write because since last time I had used up my whole 18-year-old-writing-quota? Does it seem even slightly possible? Nah, you're right, it's a pathetic excuse, just as usual.

Sorry again, the chapter is here though, so, yeah, cool, I hope you liked it, I hope you forgive me, I hope you remember my story and uh... I hope you all review to say how much of an *ss I am for not having uploaded earlier, but also to say what you think of this chapter!

Anyway, see you next time! I promise I won't take another six months to update the next chapter!

Many kisses, my dear readers!