Well, I didn't expect this. Or, rather, I've been planning to do this story for a little while – a relatively short solo adventure with Carol, guest-starring a certain Peter Parker, picking up on plot threads that I need to tie off with both of them, and a couple of others. In general, the story's title is indicative of its themes: there's a lot of Unfinished Business going around. Call it this book's equivalent of Chaos Reigns. It might not be quite as tight as that one, but on the other hand, it might be a little shorter. Might. It's a bit more experimental.

What I wasn't expecting was to have the first chapter ready for Christmas. And yet, after writing about 4000 words in two days, I realised that I had enough to give you all a little gift, one that I hope will give a bit of cheer. Not precisely festive (I couldn't exactly make it Christmas themed, unfortunately), but hopefully light enough to brighten up the lives of those who this pandemic has separated from loved ones. So here it is, people. Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Timeline Clarification:this is happening at the same time as Harry, Ron, and Hermione's Fallen Fortress experience.

"Hey, Peter!"

Peter blinked, looking up from his reflection in his water glass, to see his best friend, Ned Leeds – though not before taking an extra glance at it to make super-duper sure that it was still there.

The Avengers had assured him that he was fine and totally cured, which had been incredibly cool, and he had only freaked out a little bit, and that was mostly because Doctor Banner and Mister Stark had taken his blood, which had hurt, and Loki, who used to be evil and still kinda looked it, had got up really close when examining him. And then there'd been that Ms Maximoff, who was pretty hot, and pretty friendly, but also a little bit scary at the same time.

But at the same time, the way he didn't get all wheezy and tired as easily as he used to, how he didn't need glasses and could see really well in the dark, and how he'd had to explain to Aunt May and Uncle Ben that he liked his meat really red now, like, bleeding (which had been awkward)... that suggested stuff had changed. He wasn't super strong, or anything. No, he knew what that felt like

But he did feel sort of strong, like, normal strong - maybe a little more than normal for his size, but not more than human normal. Definitely stronger than before. So, something had changed, and it was pretty clear the Avengers weren't totally sure what had happened to him.

Apparently, something like this had only happened twice before, with a guy called Blade - and wasn't that a weird name - and a lady codenamed Spitfire, who he'd given a blood transfusion, and that their case had been like they'd been only a teeny bit changed, while his case had been more of a cure when he'd been a lot changed, and some things had stuck.

"Pete?"

Peter realised that he'd been staring at Ned (or rather, through him), and had missed what he'd said. "Uh, sorry, what?"

Ned rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. "I said, 'did you hear?'"

"Did I hear what?"

"Carol Danvers is supposed to be dating Thor's son," Ned said, in hushed excitement. "Isn't that crazy? I mean, I thought that maybe she didn't like guys... or, you know, anyone, but she seems kind of cool these days."

Peter eyed him. While it was true that Carol had rather mellowed out in the last couple of months (and the cause was not hard to guess), Ned's motivation was pretty transparent. "You wanted to ask her out."

"Oh, come on, who doesn't?" Ned retorted. "She's gorgeous."

Peter shrugged acknowledgement. He had to admit that this was true: Carol was definitely gorgeous. And it was true that she was indeed kind of cool underneath the intensity and occasional grumpiness. However, he also had to admit that he'd been scared of her long before he'd found out that she had superpowers. Now that he knew that she could casually decapitate vampires with a magic shield, that fear was better grounded. While he was pretty sure she wouldn't do that to him, 'pretty sure' was not 'certain'.

"You remember what she did to Flash last time he tried it?" he said instead. "I'm not sure if he can still use all his fingers properly."

"He was a douche about it," Ned pointed out, something else that Peter couldn't deny. Flash was a douche about everything. "As were most of the other guys who tried. But she could still be cool - I heard she likes Star Wars, and she's been pretty nice recently. Enough that, I dunno, even if she wasn't interested, we could still be friends. I mean, you two are friends, and how did you manage that, by the way?"

"Uh... we take the same train home?" Peter offered weakly. It was technically true. "We sort of ran into each other on the way back last semester and, you know, got to know each other a bit."

This was also technically true, but it overlooked the fact that at the time, he'd been a half-turned vampire thrall and spy, part of a strike team to grab her and her brother for Dracula's evil plan. It also overlooked the fact that in attempting escape, she'd thrown her magic shield into him so hard that he'd been sent flying backwards to dent the subway wall and been left with a scar that was still (slowly) healing.

Considering what she'd done to the guy leading that strike team, after Harry had fried his brain – and, with Harry's connivance, what she'd done to the rest of the strike team – he counted himself lucky to still be alive.

"Right," Ned said, apparently completely missing Peter's bad lying. "I'm guessing she told you, because you don't look that surprised."

"Well," Peter began, hedging a little. He hadn't exactly known, and Carol certainly hadn't told him, but it wasn't exactly a surprise, either. The trail of destruction Harry had left across Manhattan and New York state to get her back from Dracula, and how he'd donated what seemed like every drop of blood left in his body to save her, had kind of spoken for itself.

This time, Ned's perception was rather better, and he made an entirely accurate guess, eyes widening comically in excitement and awe. "Omigod, you know him!"

"Keep it down!" Peter hissed.

"But you do," Ned hissed back.

"I've met him a couple of times," Peter admitted. "Look -"

"When? How? What's he like? He's our age, right? What powers has he got? Is he super strong, like his dad, I bet he is, can he control lightning too? Did you meet the other Avengers too? What are they mmph!"

Peter had firmly jammed a hand over Ned's mouth. "Keep. Quiet," he said.

Ned's eyes stayed wide, but he nodded, and Peter removed the hand. "Seriously, dude, I have so many questions," he said. "Like, why did you never tell me? He has to be super cool!"

Peter thought about Harry for a few moments. "Harry's cool," he said. "I didn't tell you because the first time I met him, I hadn't even met you. I didn't even know who he was, anyway, not at first - hardly anyone knew what he looked like. Back then, he had glasses and he was way smaller than he is now. And his dad was in disguise."

"You've met Thor?!" Ned squeaked.

"I didn't even know it was him," Peter said defensively. "He was in some really good disguise and said he was a SHIELD Agent. It was the Christmas before last, and Flash and his friends had been hassling me and Gwen. I... got hurt, and Harry chatted to us while his dad went to scare Flash, then fixed my ankle with magic." He smiled slightly. "Harry said I should get back at Flash by pranking him."

"So, he was cool."

"Definitely," Peter said, then added, with a touch of jealousy, "Gwen kissed him."

Ned gaped. "No. Way."

"Uh-huh," Peter said, now feeling a little guilty. He did, after all, owe Harry his life, and Harry was a pretty cool guy when he wasn't being Tall, Dark, and Homicidal. Or, you know, in a coma. "On the cheek," he elaborated. "You know, as a thank you."

"Gwen is seriously cute," Ned said, and shook his head. "Some guys have all the luck," he said ruefully.

This, Peter felt, was true. But in the spirit of fairness, he was pretty sure that most of Harry's luck - or at least a lot of it - was bad.

"Maybe. He's a nice guy," he added. "And he's got crazy superpowers, but they're more like fire and stuff. He's pretty strong, but mostly, he's really fast."

"Awesome," Ned breathed. "You must be close to him."

"What?" Peter asked, bemused.

"Well, you knew about them before me, and if Carol didn't tell you, he must have," Ned said logically.

"No," Peter said, shaking his head, unsure of how to explain it without also getting into the whole vampire thing. "I just... last time I met him, it was when she was around, and they seemed crazy about each other, so it was makes sense that, you know, they're a thing."

"Oh," Ned said, a little disappointed at this prosaic explanation, before he shrugged and grinned. "That makes sense." He sighed wistfully. "I'm really jealous," he admitted. "I mean, meeting Thor's son, and Thor himself... I wish I'd been there."

Peter eyed him, visions of vampires - of him as a vampire - descending on his chubby, innocent friend, and shuddered. "Probably best you weren't."

Ned frowned, puzzled and a little offended. "Why?"

"Last time we met was Halloween," Peter explained. "A lot of bad stuff was happening on the streets, you know? We ran into, uh, a few bad guys. That's how I know about his superpowers. So, you know, probably best you weren't there."

Ned seemed to accept this explanation. "Yeah, but what about the time before… oh." Peter had shot him a sour look, one which Ned, as someone else who had been bullied, was well placed to interpret. "Yeah, I can guess why you wouldn't want me around."

Peter grunted, then changed the subject. "So, we're going to New Orleans," he said.

"Yeah, isn't it amazing?!" Ned said, clearly excited.

"It is," Peter agreed. "But, I mean, why are we going. What's special about New Orleans?" When he got a baffled look from Ned, he explained. "I mean, what's special about it for class?"

"I heard something about history and science," Ned said vaguely. "I mean, New Orleans has been around for ages, and then there's the new storm defences that it's been getting ever since Thor stopped Katrina – because, you know, there isn't always going to be a friendly thunder god around." He paused. "I can't actually believe I just said that actual sentence."

"I guess the world's changed," Peter said, shrugging.

"I know, right?" Ned said, grinning. "We're going to New Orleans, Peter – two good-looking single guys, to the party capital of the US."

"It's January, Ned. It's going to be at least three weeks before Mardi Gras."

"Then we'll get there before everyone's got bored of all the tourists," Ned said easily.

Peter shot him a sceptical look, which rolled straight off of Ned's eternal sunny optimism.

"Come on, Peter," he urged. "It's going to be fun!"

Peter had had more experience of the world of weirdness than most. This experience, however, was limited. Therefore, he was rather new to the concept of tempting fate. Or to put it in another way; "Famous last words."

So instead, he smiled and said, "When you put it like that…" before trailing off. Then, at Ned's non-verbal urging, he added five words that he would later reflect weren't so much tempting fate, but dangling a delicious treat of irony right under its nose and making patronising noises at it.

"What could possibly go wrong?"

OoOoO

"Do I need to make a list?"

"Something tells me that you have already," Marie Danvers said mildly, getting a roll of the eyes from her daughter, who was now sitting on a suitcase that had been packed by the time-honoured method of stuffing everything in and sitting on it. "Carol, it's a school trip to New Orleans, not a deployment to Afghanistan. You aren't going to need your shield."

"You were always the one saying that it was better to have something and not need it, than need it and not have it, mom," Carol retorted.

"That was about spare underwear," Marie said evenly. "Though I don't think I have to worry about reminding you about that, since you've apparently taken to stealing your boyfriend's boxer shorts."

Carol let out a strange squeaking sound. "How –"

"Carol, I am your mother. I do your laundry. I noticed, and it wasn't that hard to figure out where they came from. If it wasn't for the fact that I know you two are kept under close watch when you're staying with him, then we would be having a very different conversation."

"MOM!"

Marie smirked, and for a moment, it was clear to see just how much mother and daughter were alike. "What?" she said. "I was a teenager once too, you know. Mothers don't just pop into existence, newly married and nine months pregnant."

"Don't remind me," Carol groaned.

"In any case," Marie continued, still amused. "When I made that comment, I was not referring to an indestructible magic shield with properties that you haven't even begun to explore."

Carol's embarrassment and mortification faded into puzzlement. "What makes you say that?"

Marie sighed. "I avoided the family career path, Carol. That doesn't mean I turned my ears off," she said. "And even if I had, by the time I'd decided I wanted no part of it, I had heard plenty. Magic is very powerful and not necessarily very predictable. Whenever my mother discussed it, she was very clear about one thing: there is always – always – more to it than there seems."

The subtext spoke very clearly: and you know that better than most.

Carol was silent for a long moment. "I can't say you're wrong," she said. "Magic… from what I understand, it's the massive background cosmic force, like gravity. About 80% of how it actually works is manipulating matter and energy. Weird, insane by the standards of a few years ago, but not much weirder than anything else – I mean, in Asgard, it's like electricity, they run everything on it. But the other 20%... that's another matter."

"How so?" Marie asked. Carol shot a suspicious look at her mother, and saw nothing but honest curiosity. Seeing her daughter's suspicion, Marie smiled wryly. "Most of what I heard was generalities, and that was spooky enough," she said. "You're the one dating a wizard, Carol, not me."

Carol flushed slightly, then picked up the shield and flipped it over in her hands, staring at how her face was reflected in the tri-coloured surface. It would have seemed entirely like a distraction from embarrassment if her expression hadn't steadily shaded into something more pensive.

"It goes deep," she said eventually. "Telepaths can manipulate minds, but a wizard who's good enough and crazy enough? They can manipulate souls. It's a fundamental part of the universe, mom, and far as I understand it, it's woven into everything."

She paused for a moment, thinking hard.

"Last summer, I got given a ring, by Doctor Strange," she said. "It was meant to protect me at the Battle of London. Which it did, and then some. See, it's this kind of uber-powerful artefact that lets the person using it cast pretty much any spell they like, even if they don't have any magic to begin with. The Ring provides all the power – the only things you need is the idea of what you want done, and the strength of will to do it. It doesn't even need to be really conscious."

She shivered. "Do you have any idea what that's like? To have the world just open up around you, to a whole new bunch of senses? To suddenly have the power to do practically anything? That thing may have limits, but I sure as hell didn't reach them." She shook her head. "Mom, all I used it for was a few shields, energy blasts, and throwing a few things around, and I'm pretty sure that I still ended up trashing half of central London. It was meant to protect the world, looking back, I think that whoever designed it went with the idea that to save a world, you needed the power to break one. And that's not the only thing."

Marie listened, stifling her mounting horror, and desire to strangle the man who'd given her daughter something like that to handle. While she trusted Carol's judgement implicitly, that sort of burden wasn't something you just dropped on someone without them knowing. Of course, she mused as she listened, from what she knew of Doctor Strange, if she tried to act on her more homicidal desires she would be at the back of a very long queue.

"It was alive," Carol continued. "It let me use it. The ring, I mean. It was thinking, enough that it could actually decide it liked me. That applies to magic as a whole: on some level, it's aware. I'm not sure if it thinks, but it's definitely aware enough not to like being twisted into dark magic. I'm not sure that I'd believe it if I hadn't felt it myself, but…"

She shrugged, returning an unreadable expression to the shield. "I'm not an idiot, mom. When I got this, I thought it was just some magical Asgardian replica of Steve's, Captain America's, shield, and that it did the same things. Which it does. It just also burns vampires on contact, comes to my hand when I think it, and absorbs and releases entire lightning bolts worth of energy when I want it to. It's not the same as the Ring, but it was made by the same people who made Mjolnir, which is meant to be just as powerful. It does a lot, it can probably do a lot more, and as time goes by, I'm wondering more and more just why the hell Thor's dad decided to give it to me."

"Perhaps because he knew you could handle it," her mother said quietly. "Because even if it actually was every bit as powerful as that ring or that hammer, you'd shown that, even under incredible stress, you could handle that power – you respected it."

Carol frowned. "Maybe," she said dubiously. "But even still: why me?"

"That, I'm afraid, I don't know," Marie admitted. "But I think we can both agree that there's more to this shield than meets the eye, and probably more than it's revealed so far."

Carol nodded. "That's why I need to take it," she said seriously. "Call it a feeling, but… I think it's better to keep it where I can see it."

Marie eyed the shield, considering her daughter's argument. The content was much the same, but emphasis was very different. "Maybe it is," she said eventually. "Though that still doesn't answer how you're going to hide it."

Carol grinned. "Way ahead of you, mom." She pulled out a small drawstring bag, which at a quick tug opened wide enough to swallow the shield without it touching the sides. Carol neatly dropped it in and pocketed it. "Like you said: I'm the one dating a wizard."

"Clearly it comes with bonuses," Marie said wryly.

Carol went pink.

Marie snickered. "I won't ask," she said, voice thick with amusement, then leaned over and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Have fun, and stay safe."

"Aren't those two mutually exclusive?" Carol asked mischievously.

Marie rolled her eyes. "Go on with you," she said.

And she did.

OoOoO

Looking back, Carol would reflect that the most remarkable thing about the first part of the trip was how utterly unremarkable it was. They all boarded a flight at Newark Liberty with minimal trouble, and while flying economy was never what you'd call fun when you weren't exactly economy sized (two words: leg room), it wasn't exactly the worst experience she'd undergone. Though it had to be said, considering some of those experiences, that wasn't saying much.

In any case, she'd resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't going to get any sleep and instead had settled into the three-course snack her mother had packed. Marie Danvers had been a registered nurse and was training to update her license. When she'd officially realised that Carol was a super soldier, she'd immediately started consulting on the dietary requirements, and scaling Carol's calorie intake appropriately.

This, apparently, meant doubling it. On reflection, Carol realised that her mother's unofficial notice of her super soldier abilities could be traced back to when she'd started all but enforcing seconds and healthy snacks on her daughter. Thus armed with a nurse's concern for nutrition, a parent's firm belief that children should be properly fed, and a conviction shared by both that airline food was the devil, she had made damn sure that if her daughter was going to get anything out of this trip, it was going to be at least one healthy meal.

A suitably sized allowance was also added, because what consumption the school was willing to fund and what Carol was technically required to eat were two very different things. While Marie expected that her daughter would get the requisite calories on pain of maternal nagging, New Orleans being New Orleans and teenagers being teenagers, there wasn't much faith involved that Carol would actually eat healthily. However, one advantage of a super soldier's constitution was that they could eat more or less anything and be fine (Steve, Bucky, and Alison all had stories to confirm this), so she was willing to cut her losses.

Afterwards, the luggage collection and trip to the hotel had similarly gone as normal. That is to say, with the traditional bickering, whining about how someone's luggage was taking forever, and restlessness at the almost aggressively slow hotel check-in, which was further complicated by arguments over who got to room with whom. Carol, having got exactly the roommate she wanted – Monica – had elbowed her way to the front, grabbed their room keys and headed upstairs.

Now, both having unpacked in true teenage fashion (i.e. suitcase open on the floor and backpack slung into a convenient corner), Monica flopped onto her bed and let out an exaggerated huff.

"Finally," she said.

Carol snorted. "Come on, you can't be that tired," she said.

"Some of us do actually get tired, Carol, believe it or not," Monica said. "You may have crazy stamina, which, if I didn't know you'd always had it, I might say had something to do with your boyfriend –"

"Monica!"

Monica smirked. "You are so easy, Danvers," she drawled. "It's adorable, it really is."

Carol rolled her eyes. "Why are we friends?" she asked.

"Don't ask me," Monica said, shrugging. "It's like the universe said, 'here's this girl with more prickles than a cactus. Go and give her a hug'."

"I do not have that many prickles."

"You used to," Monica said dryly. "You know, Parker still sometimes twitches if you pop up around him without warning."

Carol grimaced. That habit had begun long before Peter Parker had ever had any encounters with vampires – or either of them had any encounters with Harry, come to that. He'd caught her on a particularly bad day and she'd taken it out on him, something which as class kickball he most certainly hadn't deserved.

"Don't beat yourself up about it," Monica said, recognising her trail of thought. "You had a lot of reasons to be angry – that's part of why I put up with you."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Carol muttered.

Monica shrugged. "What can I say?" she said. "I'm honest."

"That's one way to put it," Carol grumbled.

Monica smirked. "Anyway, like I said, you had reasons to be angry. I mean…" She hesitated. "No offence, but I met your dad once. Yeah, it was just once, but… honestly, he explains so much about you. Stevie too, now that I think about it."

"He's my father," Carol said flatly. "Not my dad."

Monica tilted her head at her friend in silent question, and Carol sighed, elaborating.

"I can't get away from the fact that he's part of why I exist," she said. "I'd love to, but I can't. But that's it. That's all the room I'm giving him in my life. Being a dad… being a dad is more. A dad… a dad is there for you. They back you up. They support you. They l –"

She stopped abruptly, and after a moment, Monica filled in the last words.

"They love you," she said quietly. "Oh hell, Carol, what happened there? I mean, I never got the impression that you liked him very much, and he seemed like an asshole, but this? This sounds different."

Carol sighed tiredly. "That's a mess I don't want to get into," she said. "All I'll say is that he made it pretty clear that he wanted me to be someone else. He wanted to make me someone else. And…" She trailed off and shook her head, hiding a dampness in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Monica said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's okay," Carol said, brushing away half-formed tears. "It's better that I get used to it. It's not gonna change. I'm not gonna change. He couldn't accept that, and now he's gone, which has done wonders for Stevie's mental health – mostly – and the exact opposite for Joe junior."

"Okay, that sounds like an absolute mess," Monica said.

"You have no idea."

"And I am glad of that fact," Monica said. "Okay, let's change the conversation, because this is depressing. What do you think our chances are of having some actual fun? Because New Orleans, city of the greatest party on Earth, I'd say they're pretty good." She smiled nostalgically. "Mom talks about some of the parties she went to when she was posted down here, especially around Mardi Gras. She didn't give too many details, obviously – and I am very glad about that – but it sounded like we could find some real fun if we went looking for it."

"You might find something else, though," Carol warned.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "You're giving me the 'stranger danger' talk?" she asked. "Because my mom gave me the puberty version when I was 11. Then the updated superhero version when I was 12."

"No," Carol said, shaking her head. "It's just that there's this guy I know, called Remy. Usually, he goes by Gambit. He's from New Orleans. He's smart, funny, and kind. Decent, if you ignore the fact that he's a professional thief. And, yeah, before you ask, he's hot. He's also got superpowers – like 'turn playing cards into grenades' superpowers."

"Is this your way of fixing me up on a date?" Monica asked ironically, before recoiling at Carol's glare. "Geez, okay, no on the date thing."

"This is serious, Monica," Carol said, voice low.

"Okay," Monica said placatingly. "It's serious. Fine. Who is this guy? What's got you all wound up about him?"

"I'm not wound up," Carol snapped irritably.

"And there's the prickles again."

Carol's glare returned, considerably more intense than before. Monica winced.

"Sorry. Reflex. Though, you're just as bad, so you have no room to throw stones."

Carol closed her eyes and pinched her brow. "Monica," she said. "I'm wary. Not wound up. I just… if we do sneak out and find a party, as you were about to suggest –" Monica shrugged a 'well, yeah' shrug. "– then we should be careful. Gambit's a friend. He's arguably saved my life, and he's definitely helped save Stevie's."

"And yet I'm not feeling the trust."

"He's not called 'Gambit' just because he likes using cards," Carol said. "When I met him, he was on the books of the Russian equivalent of SHIELD. These are the people who created the fucking Winter Soldier, Monica. And the Black Widow. They took over Russia last Summer. The Twelve Day Empire? That was them. They didn't fuck around. And they were working with someone worse."

"And this decent guy was on their books?" Monica asked, eyebrow raised.

"That other guy was Gambit's real boss," Carol explained. "He was a powerful telepath, and, well, he had Gambit under his thumb. Or so he thought. Turns out that Gambit was manipulating his most powerful asset from under him and acting as a mole for the Black Widow at the same time. And he wasn't just someone the Widow found to keep tabs on her old bosses, either – he came to her. Let that sink in: he worked with the Widow to spy on one of the most dangerous bunch of spies the world has ever seen, who took over most of a continent in a week, when his boss and main handler was a fucking telepath. He pulled it off without them suspecting for even one moment. He's not even 20."

"That… is impressive," Monica said. "Also, kind of cool. Not seeing the point, though."

"It's cool and impressive, and also, a lot scary," Carol said. "He grew up here, on the streets. He was adopted by one of the big crime families, the LeBeau family. He was the fucking heir apparent, from what I've managed to get out of grandma. His scary skills? He might some kind of freaky prodigy, but facts are facts – he learned them here."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"I can see why you might be a bit wary, now."

"A little bit. Also, the whole reason he got mixed up with that guy and evil Russian SHIELD is because his powers were malfunctioning. Specifically, he accidentally killed the heir of another bunch of big-time local criminals, the Boudreaux family, who also happened to be his girlfriend's brother. Which probably means that there's some kind of gang war going on."

"Okay, that sounds like a bad soap opera," Monica said, after a moment. "Also, you think that we'll get mixed up in it if we go off the beaten track? Or that you'll get tagged as a known associate?"

Carol snorted. "If that was likely, I'd have never been allowed to go anywhere near here," she said. "Trust me. If Gambit knows I'm here – and it's possible – then he won't involve me. Plus, when we've met, it's been pretty off the radar." Her expression shifted to a pensive frown. "I'm just… I suppose I'm just saying that we should be careful. More than we would at home."

"Which is saying something, considering home is New York," Monica said. "I take your point." She looked out the window. "You know, you're not the first person to tell me something's weird about New Orleans."

"Your mom?" Carol guessed.

Monica nodded. "She was a military test pilot, you know?" she said. "A really, really good one. Good enough to get a crack at the space program if she'd wanted to. She didn't, though. She went into some top-secret stuff instead. And it was top-secret, because while she never said what it was, she's never hidden anything about her career from me. Except that."

"What kind of top-secret are we talking?" Carol asked.

"Super planes of some sort, I'm guessing," Monica said, shrugging. "All I know, it was down here."

Carol considered this for a second, then pointed at Monica. "If I end up getting attacked by super ghost planes…" she began.

"… then I'll be heading over the hills and far away."

"Seriously. Why are we friends?"

OoOoO

Down the hall, the situation wasn't all that much different, except that in Peter and Ned's room, one of the immediate concerns had been connecting to the hotel's Wi-Fi.

Ned had then immediately started looking up New Orleans' food and party spots and figuring out which ones were closest to the hotel and to sanctioned locations. Peter, meanwhile, had another concern, heading into the bathroom with a washbag.

"Hey, Pete!" Ned said excitedly, poking his head around the door. "I've figured out where we should – Pete?"

Peter froze in the midst of rubbing his eyes. The immediately obvious thing was that he was now wearing glasses again. The less immediately obvious thing was that he'd just removed a pair of contact lenses.

"You got contacts?" Ned said, surprised. "I thought you'd grown out of needing glasses."

"Uh, that wasn't totally true," Peter said, then froze again, about two seconds before someone knocked on the door.

Ned shot him a weird look then went to get the door.

"Ned, don't tell anyone that –" Peter began.

"Don't tell anyone what?" Gwen Stacy asked, folding her arms as she was framed in the newly opened doors. Then, she blinked, puzzled. "Pete? I thought you'd grown out of glasses."

"That's what I thought," Ned said. "Apparently he's – mmph!"

In little more than the blink of an eye, Peter had crossed the room, pulled Gwen inside, shut the door, and stuffed a hand over Ned's mouth. "Shh!" he hissed.

"Shush about what?" Gwen demanded. "Also, what is going on with you, Peter? Something's been going on with you, ever since Halloween."

"He's got contacts," Ned said.

"So?" Gwen said, confused. "What's wrong with that? You didn't have to go claiming you've… oh." She sighed. "Peter."

"It's not what you think," Peter said.

"You mean it isn't you getting contacts because Flash and the guys were giving you a hard – sweet holy Jesus!"

Peter had taken off his glasses.

"Peter," Ned said slowly. "Are your eyes… kind of reddish?"

Peter sighed. "Yes," he said. "They are. Funny you should mention Halloween, because that's why."

"You did get caught up in what went on that night, I knew it!" Gwen said excitedly. "Dad wouldn't say."

"Remind me to thank him for that," Peter mumbled.

"Wait," Ned said. "You said that you met Harry Thorson that night, you got involved in some big mess, ran into some bad guys. Bad guys who… gave you kind of reddish eyes?"

"It's more obvious in the dark," Peter said. "I'm kind of photosensitive now. The contacts and the glasses help deal with that."

"Wait, whoa, you ran into him again?" Gwen asked. "And you didn't say?"

"A lot of stuff happened that night, Gwen," Peter said. "I… I just wanted to forget most of it."

Gwen looked thoughtful. "Dad didn't say much about what happened on Halloween, but he did say that he ran into Harry Thorson," she said. "And by 'ran into', I mean 'scraped him off the road'. Someone nearly killed him."

"They tried," Peter said. "Mostly, they just made him really, really mad."

"Dad said that too," Gwen commented. "He was in a bad mood, dad asked him a bunch of questions, he didn't give all that many answers, then he got bored and Jedi Mind Tricked his way out of the station."

"It was a bit more serious than that," Peter said. "Look, I… I can't tell you everything, because I'm not allowed to."

"Peter," Gwen said, folding her arms tighter and looking serious.

"I'm serious! Captain America asked me not to! You can't break a promise to Captain America!"

Ned's eyes widened like saucers. "You've met Captain America?!" he squeaked.

Peter sighed. "Yeah, I have," he said. "Look, what I can say is that I was infected with something bad and, well, magical. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"What, you got turned into a vampire or something?" Gwen asked sceptically.

Peter coughed. "Um. No?" he offered feebly.

"YOU GOT TURNED INTO A VAMPIRE?!"

Peter lowered his hands from his ears, wincing at the echoes of Gwen's piercing shriek, and sighed again. "Yes," he said. "Also, ow."

"You're a vampire," Ned whispered. "Are you going to eat us?"

Peter eyed him, a little hurt and a lot annoyed. "One, if I wanted to eat you, I'd have done it ages ago," he said.

"Fair point," Ned admitted.

"Two, I'm not a vampire."

"You said –"

"Harry helped fix it," Peter said.

"He can do that?" Gwen asked, eyes wide.

"I think he's just about the only one who could, it only worked because I wasn't all vampire yet, and it was kind of kill or cure," Peter said, grimacing. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What was it like?" Ned asked, morbidly fascinated. "I mean, the cure."

"What part of 'I don't want to talk about it' don't you get?"

"Sorry."

Peter closed his eyes. "Imagine drinking a frozen smoothie of every single one of the hottest chilies in the world, and getting a super-brain freeze, while your insides feel like they're catching on fire, which is probably because they're actually catching on fire, and it feels really painful, and I'm feeling a bit of it again just talking about it, so I think you can understand why I don't like talking about."

"… Was that all in one sentence?" Gwen asked.

"I think so," Ned said. "That sounds rough."

"You have no idea," Peter said. "It fixed me, but it didn't get rid of everything."

"Like the eyes," Gwen guessed. "And I'm guessing it's why you don't get wheezy at gym anymore. Also, that kind of explains why you now eat a lot of red meat. Rare."

Peter nodded reluctantly.

"Really?" Ned asked. "I thought you were just doing a protein thing. What? It's a valid assumption." He looked Peter up and down. "I mean, it sounds like it didn't turn out too bad. I mean, worth it?"

There was a dead silence.

"I got bitten by a vampire just because I was there and wasn't being careful. I spent nearly three days trying to ignore the fact that the people around me – you, Gwen, Aunt May, Uncle Ben – were starting to smell tastier and tastier," Peter said in a low, flat voice. "I could hear their heartbeat from across the hall, practically see the blood in their veins, and I knew that if I wanted to…" He shuddered. "Part of me wanted to throw up, but part of me just wanted to try it. And that's when I was still mostly human."

He glared up at Ned. "Then, I spent the single worst night of my life being controlled by vampires, used to capture someone by vampires, knocked out by an angry demigod while with vampires, holding a baby and trying to ignore the fact that she smelled better than Aunt May's favourite cherry pie, getting possessed by freaking Dracula, being beaten up by two angry demigods, being threatened with death by Victor von Doom, the freaking King of Latveria, who also happens to be an evil super-wizard with his own Iron Man suit, drinking that cure which turned out to be Harry's blood, then watching – watching someone I know nearly die. Two people. To help fix my mistake. It wasn't worth it, Ned!"

"Oh Peter," Gwen said, pulling her very surprised friend into a hug. He tensed for a moment, then sagged, resting his head against hers.

"This is nice," he mumbled into her warm shoulder.

"No problem," she said, patting him on the back. "Just don't leave me with a hickey, I'm not into that."

Peter's eyes widened like tennis balls. "What? No, no, no, I wasn't, I wouldn't, definitely, I mean, that would be crossing so many boundaries, even if I hadn't just told that I used to be a semi-vampire, a half-vampire, something like that, or that I've now still sort of got a taste for blood, not human blood, definitely not human blood, but, you know, bloody meat and –"

"Peter. You're not one of the living dead anymore. You do need to breathe," Gwen said dryly.

Peter stopped his panicked babble, cheeks rosy as a sunrise. He had been beginning to feel a bit light-headed.

"And Ned is going to –"

"Apologise," Ned said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Peter. Really. I didn't know." He paused. "I do have questions, though."

"If it's what people taste like, I'm not answering that, because thankfully I can't," Peter said.

"No," Ned said. "Though… I am kind of curious as to what we smelled like. If it's okay to ask."

Peter and Gwen stared at him.

"What? I'm curious."

Peter and Gwen shared a look, then Gwen shrugged.

"Pork chops," Peter said.

"Cool."

Peter shot him a strange look.

"What about me?" Gwen asked, eyebrow raised. Peter looked at her and flushed bright red. The eyebrow climbed higher, joined by a smirk. "Peter, don't go holding out on me."

"Do you have any idea how weird this conversation is? What you're asking?"

"Peter, we went past weird when you said you'd turned into a vampire on Halloween," Gwen said. "Might as well go the whole way down."

Peter buried his face in his hands. "It's going to sound so creepy," he mumbled.

"Peter, we're talking about you as a vampire. You're not a vampire anymore."

"Vampire-me was still kind of me," Peter objected. "I was still partly human."

"Quit stalling, Parker, or I'll go find a cross."

"Hot cocoa," Peter sighed. "Homemade hot cocoa with little marshmallows."

"That's… actually kind of sweet," Gwen said, after a moment, and her eyes sparkled. "Why did I smell like that to you, Pete?"

Peter flushed, and counted it a mercy that his gaze wasn't drawn to her neck. That would be just too weird.

"You didn't mention Flash earlier," Ned said suddenly, completely and perhaps mercifully oblivious. "What did he smell like?"

"Is there any food that smells like arrogant douchebag?" Gwen wondered.

"Protein bars," Peter said. "The grainy kind with fake flavours."

"Yup, sounds like Flash."

"Great. Now can we please stop talking about this?" Peter pleaded.

To his relief, they did. What followed, however, was not a relief of any sort.

OoOoO

That evening, all the students were gathered in the restaurant, and one of the supervising teachers, Mr Harrington, handed out itineraries.

"Now, we're in one of the oldest and most famous cities in the United States," he said enthusiastically. "Everywhere we stand, we stand in history. There's the French Quarter, of course, but there's also all sorts of great historical sites: Canal Street, Storyville, Jackson Square, St Louis Cathedral, and of course…" He lowered his voice in an attempt to sound mysterious. "The Cities of the Dead!"

His audience, being teenagers, didn't look all that impressed. Nor, truthfully, did his colleague, Mr Dell, who was reading a book on witchcraft and quite obviously not paying the slightest bit of attention. This was, for him, fairly normal behaviour – despite being a science teacher, and a self-proclaimed "man of science", his response to the age of the superhero had been to start blaming more or less everything on witches. Most of his students regarded him with bafflement, which was still considered preferable to the bemused pity and apathy that Mr Harrington usually received. However, especially since after Red Sky Day, there was an increasing belief that he wasn't entirely wrong.

"Anyway," Harrington said, rallying. "There's lots to see and lots to learn, and therefore, plenty of opportunities to make notes of what you've seen, and what you've learned. You'll be expected to provide a report on what you've learned and what you thought. A thousand words, at least, and they have to be your own words." There was a loud groan, which was ignored. "Your grades are counting on it, so make sure you do it right – you'll probably have plenty to write about. And Flash, I meant what I said about your own words: if you try and copy and paste from Wikipedia again, I will notice."

Flash scowled.

"Anyway, with that done, a few people have asked if there will be any free time," the teacher continued in the determinedly cheerful voice of someone who's trying to convince a small child that yes, against all probability, they will absolutely like this new and healthy food. "While I'd personally say that this entire trip is free time, and it will include a trip to the Aquarium of the Americas…" He trailed off expectantly. Two dozen mostly unimpressed teenage faces resolutely failed to break out into cheers of delight and thankfulness. He sagged a little. "I can tell you that at each lunch-break, there will be a limited amount of time to browse any nearby shops and spend any allowance that you may have. Yes, Monica?"

"How limited is 'limited', Mr Harrington?" Monica asked, having raised her hand.

"That depends on the demands of our itinerary, Monica. Some days will have more spare time than others."

"I'll take that as a 'ten minutes, if you're lucky'," Monica grumbled in an undertone.

"And an 'at the tacky tourist shops, only'," Carol added.

"Right," Mr Harrington said bracingly. "Now that you're all clear on what's going to happen, let's break for dinner. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Man, I wish we were going to do something interesting," Monica complained, as they claimed a small table. "I like history and fish as much as the next person, but not, you know, in some boring old tour where someone's just ticking them off a list and telling me stuff that I could have read in a history book or online. What?"

Carol had winced.

"There's a funny thing I've found out," she said. "Side-benefit of having demigod wizard for a boyfriend."

"What's that?" Monica asked.

"Never, ever, give the universe a straight line that good."

Monica looked sceptical. "I'll tell you one other side-benefit of having that demigod wizard for a boyfriend," he said. "You've got paranoid."

"Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean that they aren't out to get you," Carol said, shrugging as she disappeared behind a menu.

Monica rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, before eyeing the menu. "Please just tell me they at least have something authentically local for dinner. I didn't come halfway across a continent for a burger and fries."

OoOoO

One hour, fifteen minutes, and one semi-authentically local dinner later…

"Uh, Carol?" Monica said, in the slow, careful voice of someone who doesn't want to spook a large animal, a large person of uncertain character, or accidentally set off a landmine.

They were back in their room, and nominally settling down for an early night, to get an early start on those itineraries. In actual fact, both had changed into pyjamas or a shirt and sleep shorts, and Monica was playing with her phone, while Carol was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Or rather, she had been playing with her phone. Now, she was staring.

"Yeff?" came the muffled reply.

"Can you come here a moment?"

"Ifitimportant?"

Monica paused and parsed the gargling. "Yeah, it kind of is," she said. "For one thing, I think you might need to slap me, because I think I'm hallucinating."

"Awuffinating?!"

"Yeah."

There was a moment of silence and stillness, then Carol burst through the door, dropping into a flawless combat roll and exploding to her feet, mouth frothing, toothbrush in one hand and hairbrush in the other, tips of both pointed at any potential threat. Which she stared at for a solid two minutes. Then, she let out a gurgling sigh.

"Oh, for fuckf fake."

"Wait, you know this thing?" Monica asked, eyeing said thing warily.

"A bit," Carol mumbled. "'angon." She returned to the bathroom somewhat more sedately than she'd left it. The sounds of a mouth being cleared of toothpaste and washed out followed, before her emergence once more, towelling off. "Now, you know what I said? About giving the universe straight lines?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're even tangentially involved in the world of the weird, then it doesn't end well," Carol said, eyeing the thing herself. "And this would be Exhibit A – both of that, and why I'm right to be paranoid."

"You know what, I won't argue with you," Monica said. "What is it, and why is it here?"

Carol glared at the thing, which floated right at eye level, glowing invitingly. It was perfectly placed for her to reach out and take it. Something, in fact, that she had no intention of doing.

"'It'," she said. "Is the Ring of the Green Lantern, and I have no idea why it's here." She folded her arms, expression grim. "Going by what I do know, though? If it's here, so's trouble."

Monica stared at the floating emerald green ring, then at Carol. "What kind of trouble?"

Carol, by now reaching into a small bag, shrugged. "Can't be sure," she said, pulling out a navy blue, dark red, and gold banded shield, surmounted with a five-pointed star. "How's the end of the world sound?"

"… like I should have been warned about this whole 'tempting fate' thing earlier."

"Probably wouldn't help," Carol said, absently batting the Ring away as it drifted closer. It tumbled across the room then, tracked by Monica's disbelieving gaze, drifted almost hopefully back towards Carol, who ignored it in favour of rummaging through her luggage for suitable clothing. "First, you wouldn't have believed me…"

"True."

"… and it probably wouldn't have helped even if you had, because I've met the next best thing to fate, and trust me – he's a jackass."

Monica stared at her. "Your life has gotten so weird, you know that?"

Carol sighed. "You have absolutely no idea," she said, grabbing shirt and jeans. "Look, whatever this is, don't worry. I'll sort it. Look, just cover for me, please?"

Monica opened her mouth to a) agree, b) ask what was going on, first.

Then, the Ring's soft glow burst into an actinic emerald flare, and a small figure dropped out of mid-air to land on the floor in an instinctive catlike crouch. Before he landed, Carol was already moving in a blur, edge of her shield coming down like an axe, before freezing on detection of a terrified face.

"Pleasedon'tkillme!" Peter Parker squeaked.

"And the weirdness continues," Monica said, utterly bemused.

"Peter?!" Carol demanded, easing back. "I could have killed you!"

"I am very aware of that," Peter mumbled as he stood up, both eyes on the shield. Then, he looked up and around, including most pertinently at the two pretty girls in sleepwear, before spinning on the spot, cheeks flaming. "Ohmygod, I shouldn't be here, I have no idea what happened, I mean, I'm so, so sorry, I swear, I didn't mean to, I have no idea what happened, one moment I was just sitting on my bed and –"

"Peter," Carol snapped, and instantly, the boy stiffened to an approximation of attention. "Focus. We get it. You didn't mean to come here, and it's not your fault." She glared at the Ring, identifying the culprit. "I know what did. What I don't know is why it did it…"

What went unspoken, however, was what she did know – whatever the reason, she was most certainly not going to like it.

Well, well, well. A few answers, and lots of questions.

To pre-empt one: why is Carol not pleased about the reappearance of the Green Lantern Ring now, when she was a little reluctant to give it up at the end of the Battle of London?

Answer: she's now got a much greater appreciation via her link to Harry of just how much power she had, how destructive it can be, and how hard it is to control all the time. She could do it, but quite reasonably, she doesn't necessarily want to. After all, Harry's power hike wasn't anywhere near so dramatic (Phoenix incidents aside), and he nearly killed several of his friends while getting his powers under control (in the Pensieve Incident). Plus, while she likes a good fight from time to time, the kind of trouble that the Green Lantern Ring presages is big, and she's understandably not thrilled about that, either, not in the middle of a big city.

And remember: this is Alan Scott's Ring. It's magical, and its sentient in a way most Lantern rings aren't. It has its own agenda, and Carol's wary of that, too.

Once again – Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you all.