#captcincmerica

[cosmicjive]

aka; yes, i was there too

For once in his life, Peter was doing it all right. Things were going pretty smoothly. He even remembered the milk. Well. Noticed the milk when he was trying to make hot chocolate.  “’Mora! Dani! Milk’s empty, message me if you want anythin’ from the store!’ 

Looking back, he’d say he’d gone too soft. Went round the block unarmed. Sneakers instead of jet boots. Keys, phone and cash, not a lot else. The rest of that was a gap in time, kinda. It was just an overwhelming urge to go to a park he didn’t even know existed. The last thing he remembered doing was telling the urge to fuck off. It worked for all of 30 seconds or so. Next thing, he was in that park. No clue how he got there. Left his travel pass at home. His phone was going off in his pocket, and as much as he wanted to answer it, it was like a command in his head: don’t move an inch. He was an outlaw, a pirate captain, he didn’t do shit for crazy guys. Problem was - he couldn’t move. His lifeline just buzzed uselessly against his hipbone. Just like - the Walkman, at his waist, there for the taking -  Peter Quill screamed. His body did not.  He had to focus on something, something that wasn’t...this. He couldn’t even do that - couldn’t shift his goddamn gaze more than a vague awareness of a man and a woman around him. Until a familiar face came out of nowhere. Like some kinda guardian angel in leather. Jessica goddamn Jones. She was hardcore. It was like Aleta Ogord showing up in the middle of a space fight. She’d take this guy out. No problem. Right? Except, the way she looked at him with such fear - sent a chill down his spine.  We’re all gonna die and y’ain’t never gonna see any of your family again and the last shit you said was about milk. Y’didn’t tell her you loved her ‘cause you were talkin’ to Dani as well.  There was no point. He couldn’t do anything except sit here and wait for it to happen. No Yondu to come to the rescue this time. Sorry, Dad. Mom - He couldn’t even close his eyes and think of her.  He had to watch Jessica, and another woman, and the asshole. He was too far back to hear the discussion. Peter knew, he sure as hell knew it was difficult. If she was the only one who he couldn’t hurt, she was gonna have to kill him. In front of the civilians. Peter could take it. Had seen the Yaka Arrow do its worst a million times. Would sit through it a million more to be free.  Then he was walking. He could hold it off in the store, for a few seconds, but he couldn’t stop it now. Panic rose up like icy water in his chest again. He wasn’t gonna hurt Jessica. He wasn’t. Oh, shit, he was and he wasn’t ever gonna forgive himself for it - but they just stopped.  And then - then he was dead. He was dead. Peter wanted to scream, to thank her, or run away, or something, but he still felt frozen.  It was only when the police arrived that his brain kicked in. He mindlessly reached into a pocket of a jacket he wasn’t wearing. No SHIELD ID. No way to help the woman who saved his life.  There were so many people, and suddenly so many uniforms and it was as if his legs just gave way beneath him. A woman was making sounds at him, but he couldn’t make sense of them. She took off her jacket - AMERICAN RED CROSS - and put it over his shoulders. That was a safe thing. Mom said that. If you got lost at the fair you went to find the people with the red crosses on.  He tugged the material closer around him, and looked up at her. “Can y - ya need to take care of my milk.” The shopping bag had still been around his wrist this whole time. Hadn’t even felt it. The phone vibrated in his pocket. “An’ my Gamora - my girlfriend. She’ll come get me - I can’t - can y’tell her?” @lastzenwhoberian

[akaherosandwich]

aka; taking shots

@captcincmerica

If Luke could see her now, Jessica wasn’t really sure if he would have freaked out or laughed.  Sitting hunched over the sticky bar top at a dimly lit place, bathed by the neon glow of the buttery yellow lights, with one hand over her stomach, the other wrapped around a glass with nothing but seltzer water in it.

Jess hated seltzer water.

But it was a free country, and women, pregnant or not, could sit at a bar if they damn well wanted.  Jessica found that she liked the din and the smell of spilled booze.  It she wasn’t allowed to drink any, the least she could do was sit near it and maybe imagine what it’d be like to take a quick hit.  Besides, was the smell of alcohol any worse for her than the smell of the paints Luke was using to finish the nursery?

She smiled despite herself, thinking about the little puffy clouds and big fat flowers he’d been painting on the walls.  It wouldn’t have been her first choice of decor, but then again she didn’t really know how to prep a nursery.  They still had time to make it look nice for the baby, but would the baby even care?

Jessica liked that Luke was doing it for the baby, but he was also doing it for them.  She liked the idea that they could just... do things for themselves.  Selfish, silly little things that couples in love did.

God, she was going soft.

The bar was noisy from a modest crowd, and the sound was just enough to keep Jess distracted from the things she knew she’d rather think about- like the fact that somewhere in the city, Kilgrave still had a dozen mutants, maybe more, under his control.  And Typhoid Mary had been locked up last they heard, but her shadow ninjas were still out in the wind.  And there was no way for Jessica to draw her enemies out without putting the baby at risk.  Even if Jean promised protection.  Those Phoenix fires still singed hot in her memory, and she wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to get through what she had to do next.

The investigator began to draw circles on the counter top with the perspiration from her glass.  How was it that even in this big city, in this crowded bar, while she was literally growing another person inside of her, Jessica Jones still felt lonely?