THE GREAT DESTROYER.

   “am i right in assuming that us meeting here isn’t a coincidence,  ms. page?”  misty believes--knows--that journalists are freedom fighters.  she knows it,  but her own experience with reporters,  especially after midland circle,  has not been entirely pleasant.   now that she’s a sergeant,  she sees the ugliness of a sensationalist press more.  but,  from her own minimal knowledge of karen page -- she doesn’t forget her,  or anything for that matter -- she wants to trust her.  she wants to believe she can trust her,  that she isn’t hungry simply for a good story. 

wanting isn’t the same thing as doing,  and she’s rightfully wary.  they both stand waiting for their coffees at a bodega converted to a starbucks in washington heights,  misty off-duty for the first time in what feels like an eternity.  she supposes this is what she gets for venturing out of the 29th precinct. 

“afraid i’m not on the job,”  misty remarks dryly,  retrieving her coffee.  “but you certainly look like you’re on duty.”

it doesn’t take long to reach trish’s place.  thinks of finding her overdosed,  passed out on the floor  --  dead  --  and as much as she vehemently hates her right now,  or so she thinks  --  as much as the idea of her is poisoned,  jessica knows she couldn’t bare the thought.  the door is kicked open with her foot when it doesn’t budge,  and alarms from the armed security system ring loud as she searches for trish wildly. 

“trish!”  she searches,  searches,  until she finds her on the floor behind the kitchen counter.  her heart catches at the sight of her  --  the first time seeing her,  for all these months since--since then.  she can feel the ghost of alisa’s blood on her cheeks, all over her hands,  the cold of gunmetal between her all too steady fingers--

jessica bends.  doesn’t touch. 

“trish,”  she says again.  gets a look at her,  inhales sharply because she knows she has a fever, has that glass-eyed look to her and doesn't know if she's using, and hates the idea of all of it.   “jesus  --  you need to go to a hospital.”

       the batman?   guy with a – fetish he doesn’t have the sense to keep behind closed doors?  doesn’t sound like someone i’d want to meet.

   ‘ luke told me you went to cuba. ’   she’s busy, these days.  when she’s not behind her desk as a sergeant, she’s on the field  --  when she’s not on the field,  she’s frequenting harlem’s paradise or she’s training.  she doesn’t know what she’s training for  --  there’s the possibility of luke doing something stupid (likely) and there’s the possibility of harlem crumbling to the ground (more likely), and in either case, the borough needs a hero.  the people need a hero.  misty doesn’t know if that’s her, but she’s willing to do anything to protect the safety and integrity of those around her.  

she bounces the ball between her hand of flesh and of metal,  the bionic whirring softly with the fluid motion.  claire’s return,  while sudden,  seems like too perfect a coincidence.  misty knight may be good,  maybe,  but it doesn’t make her warm in any form  --  still,  though,  she offers  smile at claire’s presence (it’s the warmest as she can get,  claire,  really) and sets the ball under her arm as she approaches her.  

‘ you’re back from vacation pretty early. ’  a beat,  as her gaze meets claire’s.  ‘ it’s good to see you, claire.  i mean that.  the world went crazy without you here,  i swear. ’