goddammit

It was late, but Jessica had always felt more at home in the night. Dani already shared that predilection, which made Jessica worry about exactly how much was passed through DNA. And when she worried, she thought. And usually she drank, but since that wasn’t an option, she walked. Tonight she was in Gotham, had stopped by for a case. When it wrapped up, she just stayed, deciding to catch the morning ferry instead. 

Fall was here, and there weren’t many trees in the city, but the few that were had already started dropping their leaves. The crisp ones crunched underneath her boots. Gotham was loud, like New York, distant sirens and bangs and cars and yells. But it was all pretty far from her. She focused on the crunching leaves, eyes down on the ground. That’s why she heard it before she saw it. She paused and looked down the alleyway. 

It was her. That girl in the domino mask who had been on her rooftop. She was gasping for breath, her eyes wide and unfocused. She looked terrified — but not of anything happening now. Jessica bit her lip hard, and stepped forward. 

The Rider studied her, watching as she shifted. He could feel her anxiety in the air between them, could practically taste it. She thought she deserved Hell. It was a commonality around the company Robbie kept, a strange string that tied them all together. He remembered observing it in Daisy Johnson, when she knew she was in a vulnerable position, when she understood he could end her without trying, when she’d begged him to do it. And this woman had that same look in her eye, that same fear that wasn’t quite a fear, that same dread that was so intertwined with hope that the two couldn’t be separated.

She was looking at him, and Robbie was more vocal than usual in the back of his mind, in the small space that he was confined to when he wasn’t the one in control. His words were a strange mixture of two languages that the Rider had learned upon their conception, two languages that were not more ancient than he was, and the message was one of desperation. The Rider didn’t know if the boy was genuinely afraid for his friend’s life or if he was simply worried she’d look at him differently when the flames died down. He suspected the latter. The Rider never hid his judgement from Robbie when they came across someone in need of vengeance. 

The woman was sharp, and the Rider nodded slowly at her question. He wasn’t much of a talker. Most people failed to come to that realization in any kind of timely manner, wasted so much time speaking to him in a way that was irritating and never as amusing as they thought it was. He liked this one, he decided. Robbie, for all of his faults, had a decent taste in friends. 

See? Robbie’s consciousness cut through his thoughts when the woman spoke again. She doesn’t wanna talk to you, anyways. And we’re finished here. He’s dead, asshole, and that means it’s my turn. The words were brash and full of false confidence and the Rider might have rolled his eyes if it were possible in any kind of way. Largely ignoring Robbie’s yammering, he chose to respond to Jessica instead, giving her another nod. No sooner had the motion ended than the flames began to die down, bone giving way to flesh as the Rider retreated and gave Robbie control again.

The transformation from Devil to man wasn’t quite as painful as the one in the opposite direction, but it still wasn’t pleasant. Robbie was accustomed to it enough to only wince a little as the flames died down, scrunching up his nose in an attempt to chase the familiar smell of burning flesh from his nostrils. “Sorry,” he said, a little hoarse. “He, uh… He’s a lot. Gone for the night now, I think.” 

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

Okay. This was definitely one of the weirder things that had ever happened to her. Jessica could now add ‘great communication skills with hell demons’ to her resume. At least, it seemed to be working out pretty well. He didn’t smite her out of annoyance, and he was responding to what she asked.

And then the flames were dying down, fading into smoke. Flesh grew over the bones and sewed itself together over his face, going through every scar and stage of burning before Robbie’s features shone out. Jessica’s stomach flipped twice, worse than any hangover or any morning sickness, but she managed to keep it together. 

“He was not as bad as watching him leave,” Jessica said, deadpan. She shook her head and let out a breathe. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m guessing you don’t usually have an audience when that’s going down.” No one who lived anyway. No one except Robbie. Did he see everything? Experience it all? Was coming back like prying fungus from a window, could he think? Now her stomach was definitely tying itself in knots. 

Day 3: The Queen of Wands 

Jessica’s strengths, beyond her physical super-strength, lie largely in her intuition. She can read people pretty well, and has the determination to find out what she can’t guess. She searches for answers voraciously, and knows how to get them, even through unconventional means. It makes her very good at her job. 

Day 2: The Ten of Cups

When was the last time he’d been okay? Miguel was struggling to remember, struggling to recall a time where the world didn’t feel as if it was falling down around him. Maybe before Tyler slipped that Rapture in his drink, when things sucked but he’d at least been able to pretend they didn’t. Maybe before they had to check his mom into the hospital, when they’d been quietly telling themselves she was fine, she was sane. Maybe before Tyler knew he existed, when he was allowed to just be Miguel O’Hara and not Alchemax’s wunderkind. And maybe never. Maybe he’d been a bundle of not okay from the moment he was born into a home that never really wanted him to people who’d known from the start they’d be better off without him.

Her voice drew him back into the present, into this moment of ‘not okay’ which was awful and heavy and still better than a multitude of others that he’d suffered. She was moving, was walking, and on some level, Miguel understood that he was expected to follow. His legs moving wasn’t entirely a conscious decision, but they propelled him forward all the same, and he fell into step beside her.

She was speaking, and he looked down at the swell of her stomach, understood that there was a reason she’d spent so long denying herself something she very clearly wanted. “Almost two years,” he replied. “It’s been almost two years. I thought — I always figured it’d get easier. That I’d stop wanting it, after a while. But I don’t —” He broke off, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn’t stop walking. The quiet sound of his feet hitting the pavement was the closest thing to comfort he could think of. “It wasn’t alcohol for me, you know? It was… I was a drug addict. I am a drug addict. But I’d kill for a glass of scotch anyway, because I’m — Everything is so much, and anything that could get me away from that would be better. Anything that could get me away from that is something I know I’d fall into just as much as I did with that needle.” He wasn’t sure why he was pouring his damn heart out to her. Because she understood, maybe. Or because she didn’t know him. Because when this conversation was over, they could pretend they were still strangers.

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

They lived in a world that was messed up in a thousand different ways. A world that could take and take from you, that could weigh you down until you barely had your head above the water — and you’d still have somebody telling you to put on a goddamn smile. To just get over it, when it was a goddamn mountain covered in broken glass, and you were just a freaking person. One person who was already bleeding and bruised and tired.

She knew what it was like to be so goddamn tired and still push your eyes open. To go through another goddamn day. Another goddamn day that added more glass to the mountain, and more weight to your shoulders, and Christ, sometimes she just wanted a break. Liquor had even let her sleep sometimes. Blackouts or not, she didn’t care because then at least she wouldn’t remember the nightmares. 

Was it so wrong to want a break? 

She guessed that depended on who was paying the price. “Jeez, you’re giving me so much hope for the future here,” she muttered in a low voice, smirking lightly. “I get it,” she added, nodding. “I get it. And actually... I’m kind of glad it doesn’t get easier,” she murmured. “Because then it means I really am giving it my goddamn all right now. Just like you are,” she said, turning to look at him. “Everything is ten kinds of twisted. Even the good shit, it’s just — it’s a lot to carry. But you are. You’ve been carrying it for two years. That’s some serious willpower right there.”

Trish wouldn’t lie and say that she wasn’t worried about Jess. She was always worried about her sister, as if it was her fulltime job. Ever since she’d pulled her life together in her 20s and gotten through rehab – with Jessica as her only support – she’d felt that she owed Jessica a debt. Jess had saved her so many times and Trish wanted to be there to do the same. The years had proven that she would never be able to make up for all that Jess had done for her. How did you say ‘thanks for dragging me out of Hell’ anyways?

She sighed and slid into the chair, head tilting while she watched her sister sit down, belly constantly in the way of every task now. “Today was just training,” Trish sighed. “Which meant getting my ass handed to me by Wonder Chick.” She laughed a bit at the nickname, wondering what Carol would think about it. “I’m sure your day was more interesting anyways. How’s my favorite niece doing today?” Trish couldn’t help but grin, letting herself dream of the future for the first time since Dorothy died.

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

There was a lot of unspoken things between them. A lot of understanding they’d grown into, apart from one another. Coming back together, sometimes it felt like any other day before everything had happened. Sometimes Jessica could even forget the chasm that had broken between them, the one with the rickety bridge across it now. She could forget how she thought it was ever ‘too much’ to get back here. 

“My day was staking out a serial cheater for the third time. You’d think his boyfriend would just give up the ghost already,” she muttered. The case might not have been so irritating if she didn’t watch the mark and his boy toy chug shots all night. “She’s being a real pain,” Jessica said, leaning back so Trish could see her stomach. The t-shirt stretched over it, and as she watched, there was a little kick. “I think she’s trying to rearrange my insides.” 

(✉ → jess): being a good mom requires some kind of superpowers, so that makes you super-mom automatically. (✉ → jess): you’re really insistent on calling her wonder chick aren’t you (✉ → jess): yeah, they’re on the team but they are also your friends so I don’t want to gossip about them to you! (✉ → jess): daisy usually is just making fun of me for looking at carol (✉ → jess): and robbie and I have a tentative truce where we don’t treat each other like shit. (✉ → jess): i promise i’m not trying anything stupid, jess. she can be kind of reckless sometimes, but i have a team that has my back now. i’m not alone. (✉ → jess): Jess!! why.

(✉️ ➡️ does not believe i can fly): yeah i’m converting you to our cult. you’re gonna end up with a picture of cyclops tattooed on your ass.  (✉️ ➡️ does not believe i can fly): they probably like you more than they like me. you slash a couple dozen of their tires and toss a few of them into a giant crater and suddenly you’re a bad guy. (✉️ ➡️ does not believe i can fly): sweet. i’m outside. was really banking on you saying yes here

Day 2: The Eight of Wands

Jessica is propelled forward by her own inner sense of right and wrong. By a desire to know. She craves answers because if she holds the answers, she feels like she is in control. Nothing and no one can make her move if she doesn’t want to, even if she should — for better or worse, only Jessica can make her decisions. 

Trish watched Jess quietly. Jessica didn’t talk about feelings and preferred to deny their very existence. “Yeah,” Trish said softly, slipping onto the couch next to her sister, waiting a second before leaning into Jessica’s shoulder, looking at the baby bottle in Jessica’s hand. “Yeah, you are, and she’s going to be your world, too.”

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

Jessica stared down at the stupid plastic bottle and she hated it. She loved it, and she hated it, and she wondered how that was possible at the same goddamn time. But then she felt Trish’s head on her shoulder, and she felt a little more anchored to the earth. Like the wave of emotion couldn’t pull her into the riptide. She bit her lip and looked over at her sister. “Look at the shit our moms did to  us,” she said, swallowing hard. “What if I screw her up?”

It was one of those nights where she decided she didn’t want to handle shit. She couldn’t handle shit. Dinah ended up hitting a bar and going past her limit and realized a bit too late that she wasn’t going to be getting home on her own, and the one person she wanted to call was one she wasn’t sure would answer. (Or maybe she was afraid that she would answer.) So she’d dialed up a friend without a second thought until an annoyed and pregnant Jessica showed up at the bar with an eyebrow asking questions that Dinah wasn’t ready to answer. “Don’t forget hot,” Dinah said with a shit-eating grin. “Two hot drunks.”

She tried not to think about how the drinking was becoming a more frequent thing, tried not to think about her father and the low point he’d hit. “And moms too!” she exclaimed as an afterthought. “Ya hear that? I’m a fuckin’ mother,” she mumbled as she leaned against Jess.

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

Christ. Jessica was glad that she never had anyone to call when she looked like this. (Or more exactly, that she never bothered calling anyone when she got like this, because nights like this were the nights she drank alone, in her apartment, and spent the next morning picking up broken glass around her trash can.) “I would never forget hot,” she said, smirking lightly. “But right now, I think we’re mostly passable.” 

She was just starting to think this was going to be okay — that she was going to get Dinah back to her place, get her set up on the couch with a glass of water and a bucket — when she said that word. Moms. Plural. Jessica blinked, slowing for a moment. She steadied Dinah against her. “What are you talking about, Lance?” she asked, brows furrowed. “You never told me that before.”

( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): are you truly all that surprised by her karate chopping your insides? ( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): if i recall correctly, you’ve a habit of doing the same things, especially to my poor arms ( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): i probably deserve it half the time but still… ( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): i’ve never tried that. the lullaby thing, but i could try ( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): american lullabies are lame though. how about something more traditional from my side of gene pool. that is, if you seriously wish for a song ( 📩  → pretty badass milf ): i’d do  it for you and my weakness for kids

“What? Not capable of both at the same time?” Colleen asked, a faint smile on her lips as she looked in Jessica’s direction, a brow raised. “Get on my level, Jessica.” But the smile quickly faded because the reality was… their usual methods of forgetting weren’t reliable anymore. Jessica couldn’t drink and Colleen — nothing was stopping her from punching things except her own regret. And the fear that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d keep going until she broke something — either her own bones or whatever she decided to take her frustration out on. “It’s not as much fun without someone to drink with.” 

Rolling her head so that Colleen was staring straight at the TV and not at Jessica, she shrugged. “Tried talking once. Did a group thing and it…” Colleen huffed a laugh. “I got a lot more than i bargained for from it.” She had ended up at the Hand compound with Danny, scanning over documents looking for something to hint at her mattering more than what she had felt in those moments that led up to her leaving. “I got a kid hurt. Twice now. First time they —” were dead in the parking lot of the community center? Colleen cleared her throat again, shifting as she searched for the words that didn’t sting. “This second one, she got kidnapped because of me. Because I blindly trusted someone again and… You’d think I would wisen up at some point.” 

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

“You can’t wallow and repress at the same time without some serious mental gymnastics,” Jessica replied. “And even without pregnancy brain, I could never stick the landing.” That’s where booze came in handy. Booze simplified everything down, even shame. Made it something she could swallow and sweat and throw up. Colleen looked like she wanted to throw up, like she was choking on something. She was hurting in that deadly silent way, the way with heavy eyes and long pauses, the way that led to... To things Jessica didn’t want to think about right now. But when she blinked, in that split second her eyes were closed, she saw the train lights. 

Jean barely knew what the country looked like. She had barely set foot on another part of the island outside of the hospital in the weeks since initial building work commenced, courtesy of the realisation that she missed a vast wealth of post college experience in medicine by being six foot under for more years than she was breathing New York air. The constant influx of mutants coming to the emergency room with conditions they hadn’t investigated for decades had started to steady out, her residents were beginning to get to grips with the content that she helped project into their mind to deal with the surge, and she was allowed a chance to go and get a sandwich off site for the first time in months.

Of course, Jean didn’t take the opportunity for a break. Instead, she went to visit Emma, and then Erik, and then appear in the door of her husband’s office with a gentle smile and a cup of coffee. She was coming down the steps when she spotted a familiar face, and she couldn’t help but smile, even if it was a little tired. “I wouldn’t call them favors,” Jean said. “It’s what anyone would’ve done – except maybe Emma Frost. Ask her for help at your own peril.” (She wasn’t nearly as bad as she portrayed, but the day Jean said that out loud was the day hell froze over.) “I’ve been sleeping in the anaesthetics room for a long time. This is the first day I’ve actually … I don’t know. Felt like myself, I guess?” Whoever that was. “Want to grab some food? I haven’t tried anywhere yet, so we can explore together.”

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

“Yeah, no,” Jessica replied. “Not anyone would’ve done them — and even fewer would’ve done them for me. You looked past the asshole, and I appreciate that,” she said, smirking slightly. “Plenty of people would’ve walked the other way, especially if they had half as much shit to be concerned about as you,” she said pointedly. “People like Frost, apparently. I’ll file her under ‘do not call.’“

She nodded. “Food sounds fantastic,” she said. They started in a random direction. Jessica wondered if it was possible to get lost, what the actual size of this place was. It seemed enormous, a brand new sight in the bay she’d been looking at for decades — but maybe it was smaller than she thought. It was still just one island, a single place where Mutants could feel safe. But maybe it at least felt bigger than a school. “You do all this shit for other people,” she mused as they walked down brand new sidewalks, fresh earth pushing up around the edges. “Work in hospitals. Lead sieges of entire cities,” she teased lightly. “Anyone ever take a second and do something for you?” Her husband, presumably, they’d looked happy at the wedding. A happy that seemed more like a dream than something a person could really feel, but maybe that was just her. 

“You have a thoughtful look on your face.”

Rictor’s grandmother had been old long before he was born. He remembered her only with white hair and tired eyes, never knew her as anything but ancient. She hadn’t lived long after his entry into the world, but she’d left a faint impression all the same. What he remembered most about her were the ghosts. She’d believed in them wholeheartedly, claimed she could see them wandering around. His father told him once that she was only senile, but Rictor had never been so sure. After all, he’d seen far stranger things than ghosts. And maybe there was a part of him that had wanted her ghosts to be real. She’d told him once that his mother’s ghost followed him like a protector, trailed behind him to keep him safe. He wanted to believe her. Maybe that was why he was staring at the corner of the room now, trying to manifest a ghost. Trying to call to his mother for protection, to his father for advice, to Rusty for — for Rusty, for him to be there, for him to not be dead. 

The corner remained empty. Rictor pretended to be surprised.

A voice behind him startled him from his thoughts, and he found he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Jessica walking towards his desk. She hung around sometimes. They were… friends, maybe. Rictor wasn’t sure. “It’s all for show,” he replied flatly, gesturing to his head. “All empty up here. No thoughts.” He paused, shifting in his seat. “You here for the file on that family you had me look into? Gotta warn you, gonna be a boring read. Those people don’t do shit. Which is probably what you were hoping for, huh?” Boring people who lead boring lives made safer homes for children than Mexican arms dealers, after all. There were far less ghosts following those kids around.

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

It was funny, how she was much more familiar with death than with life. How stopping at a cemetery had become part of her life. Boxes of ashes sat in her closet. Funeral after funeral played over in her head, each one more painful than the last. Death was demanding, it made you get used to it, there was no other choice. But life? Life could go right by if you weren’t careful. It could slip through your fingers before you even realized you had something to lose. She knew death. She knew what someone looked like when they were haunted. 

“Yeah, he’s out.” Colleen hadn’t mentioned that it was her birthday — it felt like a grab for attention and she had been perfectly fine with spending the day alone. It had never been much of a celebration in the Hand, there was so little personalization inside the compound that Colleen hadn’t considered that it was a big thing that people cared about. But on the other side of it, she had a few good reasons to celebrate. The year had been hard fought and so much had happened — and she had survived. All of it. Survived another trip to the hospital. Survived another stabbing. Survived a gunshot wound that came from trying to help some random kids — at each turn where she could have died, and maybe should have, she had survived. It was a celebration of survival. “He’s going to pout you know,” Colleen offered with a small smile.

“Don’t question it, trust me. It doesn’t taste terrible but it’s… not milk.” And Ward would just double down on it being good. Colleen didn’t understand the appeal but she frankly, didn’t understand much of what Ward did. “I am so ready for something that it’s fruit and veggies — I don’t think you understand,” Colleen said with a matching smile. “Sing?” Colleen smirked and hesitantly nodded her head. “I’ll try not to tell anyone. It really depends on if you blow me away or not.” The expression softened. “Thanks, though. For coming.”

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

Jessica tilted her head, just studying Colleen for a minute. “You didn’t tell him,” she said, shaking her head. She helped herself to the kitchen, figuring that after all the shit they’d been through, she was allowed. She found a couple of plates, a spatula, a knife. “If he knew, he would’ve gone overboard, right?” she asked, giving Colleen a look. “And you’re not used to that,” she said, looking down at the cake. Not used to it, and not wanting it, were two very different things. Where did Colleen land? Well, maybe she really was just excited to see something other than a vegetable, or... Jessica was starting to form suspicions. “I hope he does,” she said, smirking up at Colleen. “Nothing’s funnier than a billionaire pouting.”

She held up a hand to show she wouldn’t – but of course she was. Freaking almond milk. “Yeah,” she said, nodding to Colleen. Her suspicions were a little stronger now. “I don’t have a lot of friends. But the ones I do have? They’re family,” she said firmly. “You’re family,” she added, just to make it crystal clear. “Happy birthday to you...”

“You really thought this all out?” 

“Yeah… I did.” Colleen had been thinking a lot about how she had been registered and how her friends hadn’t and how the world had shifted and none of them had shifted with it. There was an open invitation from the government to be protected in a way, to allow for them to operate the way they had before (or not at all, in Jessica’s case — at least Colleen didn’t think that Jessica thumped around in the middle of the night fighting crime). “Danny has a family name — a legacy to protect and you —” Colleen gestured to Jessica’s stomach. “You have one on the way. If we register and we operate within the law and we make sure none of us are idiots… we can stay anonymous and you can both be protected. You don’t even have to put your real names down. They already know me, I can be the face they talk to.” 

/ .- / -.- / .- /  

Jessica bit her lip, her fingers tapping against her desk. It was strange how many times she’d had this conversation, how many different ways it came back into her life. Trish. Malcolm. Her mother. Tony. But Luke, Matt, and Danny and Colleen, they’d been the ones to actually stick it out, see it through, stand at her side when shit went down. Jessica thought of that electronic store with Danny, how screwed she would’ve been without him. And what if he’d been there alone?