He was restless. He usually was, at night. Truthfully, Clint wasn’t sure he remembered the last time he’d really slept soundly. Before Loki, definitely. Maybe before SHIELD altogether, when he’d been with the Circus. During those years when he hadn’t thought of the Circus as bad but as family. Sleeping had been a lot easier then.
Lately, though, he’d been better. When he was sharing a bed with Natasha, it was easier to relax, easier to settle down and shut his eyes. Even if he never managed it for long, it was still something.
But tonight, he was restless.
She was sleeping, at least, which was less common than he’d like. They both had demons that chased them into their dreams, both had ghosts they couldn’t quite outrun. It was rare for both of them to have peaceful nights at the same time. Given the choice, Clint would always rather Natasha be the one to get rest. She deserved it.
Suddenly, she gasped, thrashing and fighting against the sheets tangled around her ankles. There was a quiet whimper, a groan, some murmured words in Russian too low for Clint to make out. Sweat beaded her forehead, and Clint tensed beside her.
“Ангел, я здесь,” he muttered, gently pressing a hand to her shoulder. When she woke up, he knew her mind might not be able to grasp English. It depended on the nightmare, on how far back her dreams took her tonight. Her eyes opened, caught sight of him, and for a terrifying moment, there was no recognition there. She’d feel guilty later, he knew, if she lashed out against him in her confusion.
“Natasha,” he said quietly. “Это я. Я здесь.” Something sparked in her eyes. Not quite recognition, not yet, but something close.
“ястреб?” She asked before her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “Clint.” He nodded, watching the recognition seep into her features. “I’m sorry. Did I...?”
“No. I’m okay. You?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” He nodded, pulling her close to him.
He waited until she relaxed and her breathing slowed to speak again. “Wanna watch Leverage?”
“Sounds good.”
Neither of them was going to get any sleep that night, it seemed. With Nat curled against him and the television playing in the background, Clint decided that maybe that wasn’t so bad.
™ - for my muse to become jealous of the attention your muse is giving someone else (How dare you? He has never been jealous a day in his life?)
Pietro watched across the table, arms crossed over his chest, as Wanda leaned in to Steve and whispered in his ear. He chuckled and murmured something back, too low for Pietro to hear.
Abruptly, Pietro stood, knocking his chair back as he did so. “I’m going on a run,” he said, turning away and ignoring the protests. He made it halfway down the hall, away from the other Avengers before running into a wall.
Perhaps wall wasn’t quite the right word; Pietro wasn’t sure how to describe his sister’s telekinectic abilities and even if he could find the words, they certainly wouldn’t be in English. He sighed, turning around to face her.
“I said I was going for a run,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“And I said wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You didn’t have to. Everyone in that room could tell how angry you were, telepathy or no!”
“Steve didn’t seem very bothered by --”
“Stop it.” His mouth snapped shut at her tone. “Why are you so hard on him?”
That gave him pause. Pietro, of course, knew what he felt. He was always pretty sure of that. Explaining why he felt the way he did was always far more difficult. He’d always been better at acting on his feelings than explaining them, always found it easier to lash out than discuss his problems. But this was Wanda. This was the only person he’d ever been able to speak to without issue, without fear or worry of being judged.
Lately, though, he wasn’t so sure about that anymore.
The anger dissolved from his shoulders and he sighed.
“Some days, I feel like you don’t need me anymore,” he admitted quietly. Before she could protest -- and he saw the intention to on her face -- he went on. “All we’ll ever need is each other, that’s what we used to say, no? But that’s not --- it isn’t true anymore. You have him now. You have Steve. And he’s...” he trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. “He’s a hero. Not like me.”
Any remaining frustration in her expression faded, and without warning, she pulled him into a fierce hug. “Stop it,” she said quietly. “Don’t say that. I will always need you, okay? Always. You’re my hero.”
He nodded hesitantly. Part of him wasn’t sure he believed her, wasn’t sure she meant it, but a much larger part knew that his sister would never lie to him.
“Are you ready to come back?” she asked quietly. Pietro nodded again. She released him from the hug, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Together, they walked back to the common room.
“You know,” Pietro said as they approached the door, “if you’d let me punch him one time --”
She can’t do this alone. If she’s going to do it at all – Snart’s stupid goddamn book keeps harping on about a support system.
And Trish, Christ, Trish can’t do it alone. Bruce was right, Jessica’s been taking her shit out on her and her alone for far too long.
So, despite the fact that things are shakier between them than ever, Jessica sends Natasha a text message.
(✉ → nat): actully, i do ened soemthing(✉ → nat): meet me uptwon? say 3?
She sends the address to one of Trish’s favorite coffee spots. Natasha replies simply. ‘I’ll be there.’
Jessica’s stomach is in knots before they even walk inside. She hasn’t told Trish why they’re there either, and her sister keeps trying to guess.
“Are you pregnant?” she asks, tone cool. (She’s still not happy about the Registration.)
“Christ, no,” Jessica says, as the barista slides them their drinks. “I just – there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Trish’s eyebrows shoot up. “A guy?”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“A girl then?”
“Trish…” Jessica sighs, sipping her scalding coffee. Trish tuts in disapproval when she winces at the burn, but says nothing. They take a seat at a corner table, and Jessica spends the next few minutes pretending she’s deaf.
The door chimes as Natasha walks in, and the whole cafe turns their head. Probably would, even if she wasn’t one of the only Avengers to sign the thing. The redhead’s eyes narrow as she spots Jessica and Trish. She walks over with a pensive expression, but doesn’t sit.
“Jessica,” she says flatly, her tone no warmer than it has been the last few days. Her eyes slide over to Trish. There’s a flicker of recognition between both of them.
Jessica nods. Takes a sip of coffee to steel herself, almost out of habit. It doesn’t work as well as whiskey. (Christ, that’s why they’re here, she remembers painfully.)
“Trish, Natasha. Black Widow, Avenger, and the one I punched in the face,” she says, flippantly. Both of them give her a look, but it just spurs her on. “Natasha, this is Trish. Former pre-teen popstar, current #1 radio talk show host. My sister,” she adds, a tiny smile flickering across her face.
“TV star,” Trish corrects. She holds out a hand, and Natasha takes it. They’re both careful, cool, collected. Essentially everything Jessica isn’t.
“I heard your interview with Steve,” Natasha says. “It was good. Fair.”
Trish nods “Thank you. He told his story, I was just there to make sure it was heard. Please, sit.” She pushes out a chair. “I’d love to hear yours sometime, if you’d be willing.”
Natasha hesitates, but only a second. “Maybe someday,” she replies simply. Her gaze turns to Jessica. “I assume you didn’t bring us here to set up an interview”
Jessica shakes her head. “Not exactly. Good for the ratings though,” she adds with a look at Trish. Her sister isn’t having it. The look on her face clearly screams get on with it, Jess.
She sighs. Toys with her cup. Looks everywhere but at the two of them. She feels so small in comparison to the two of them, wilting under their increasingly impatient gazes, and Christ she just wants one goddamn drink to make this easier, maybe two, or three, or a bottle –
“I’m an alcoholic,” she says finally. No matter how many times she says it, it’s always a struggle. Always feels like a dam is bursting in her chest. “Natasha made that pretty clear the other night,” she says, glancing up at her. Natasha’s face is stoney, but softer around the edges than usual. Even with the fading bruise on her jaw. Trish’s face is crestfallen.
Both look a little disappointed. A little hesitant. A little proud.
“You’re both pissed at me, I know that,” Jessica says, the word tumbling out of her mouth now. Her grip on the coffee cup is reaching dangerous levels. “And yeah, you have every right to be. I don’t – I shouldn’t ask for it, but I can’t – I can’t do it alone,” she says finally.
Trish places a hand over hers. Maybe the only person in the world who can make that gesture seem comforting.
Natasha is studying her intently. “You’re serious about this?” she asks.
Jessica shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says, because there’s no point in not being honest. Not with these two. “That’s… That’s why I wanted you two to meet,” she says, biting her lip. She sighs, then barrels on. “Trish, you know me best. And Natasha, you don’t let me get away with my shit. So I thought, I don’t know, between the goddamn two of you, maybe – maybe we can figure something out.”
She doesn’t know what else to say, so she just raises the coffee to her lips again. It still doesn’t help the way whiskey would.
They’re both staring at her. Looking for something. But she has nothing left to give.
Finally, Trish turns to Natasha. “She trusts you, and that’s enough for me,” she says. “And she’s the most important person in the world to me, so I’m in this. With or without you. But it might be easier with.”
Natasha nods. “It won’t be easy,” she says, a hint of warning in her tone.
Trish laughs. “Never is, with her.”
Natasha actually smiles at that. “Good point.”
“I’m still here,” Jessica says, slumping in her chair.
“We know,” Trish says, teasing lightly. Jessica isn’t sure if she wants to hug her or kick her under the table. She turns to Natasha. “Welcome to Team Get Jessica Jones Sober,” she says warmly.
“I’ve joined worse teams,” Natasha muses. She stands, goes to order her own coffee. “We’ll talk options when I return,” she promises.
Jessica regrets this already.
She’s supposed to be hopeful, she knows that. But the idea of disappointing both of them simultaneously is already making her itch for a bottle. Might as well give in to the inevitable. She wants to run from the cafe, and down an entire bar’s worth.
“I’m proud of you,” Trish says, pulling her out of her fantasy. Jessica scoffs. “I mean it. That’s hard to do, I know,” she says pointedly.
Jessica just shrugs, picks at the cardboard sleeve on her cup.
“I was right, by the way,” Trish adds, sipping her own. “It was a girl.”
“You’re terrible.”
“And you love it,” Trish says. Her eyes flick to Natasha at the counter. “I like her,” she adds.
“Knew you would,” Jessica breathes. “Just had a feeling.”
send “beep” for a random text from my muse → comforting text
( ✉ → Trish: ) I get it, like, I REALLY do. Business like the kind we’re in is tough, especially for women.( ✉ → Trish: ) But you matter, your words matter. You’re important, and you’re brilliant. You inspire me, Trish. Keep on keeping on, gal pal. You and I?? We got this. Catch me at Josie’s tonight, drinks on me. 😘😘😘😘😘
( ✉ → Trish Walker [UNSENT] ): You know, you remind me of her. Of my wife. Same stubbornness, same insistence that you can do things yourself. Same capability to do just that.( ✉ → Trish Walker [UNSENT] ): Sometimes I worry yours is gonna get you killed.( ✉ → Trish Walker [UNSENT] ): Don’t get killed, Walker. Please. I can’t lose anybody else. I won’t.
I’ve been staring at this paper for a while now, trying to find the right words to put on it. None of them seem good enough. You know, better than most people, I think, that I’m not good with words. Still, they always seemed to come easy with you.
You made a lot of things easy.
So, here goes my best shot. It won’t be anything close to the goodbye you deserve. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give you that. But I’m gonna try. For you, I’d try anything.
A long time ago, I got a file with a redhead on the cover and orders to go to Russia and take her out. I got on that plane prepared to do what I had to do, prepared to do what I needed to do. And then, I got there. I saw you. You could’ve killed me with your pinky finger, had killed men with less, but that’s not what I saw.
I saw potential. I saw hope. I saw a hero.
It’s what I see every time I look at you.
I decided not to pull that trigger. I talked to you, I got you on that plane, and I brought you home. (You remember how pissed Fury was? I thought he was gonna kill me.)
I know you view that day as me saving you, but for me, it was the opposite. You saved me. And you’ve done it every day since.
So don’t feel bad that you couldn’t do it this time, Nat, I’m begging you. However I went out, if it was the Circus, or HYDRA, or some random super villain, or if I did something stupid like falling off a roof (which, hey, is probably just as likely as anything else on this list), you can’t blame yourself. I chose this life. I chose every second of it. I knew how it would end, and I chose it anyways. You’re not allowed to blame yourself, okay? This is me making it against the rules.
You made my life worthwhile, Natasha. You made every second of bullshit that I went through with my dad and the Circus worth it. If that was what I had to do to meet you, then it was easy. Baby stuff. The reward outweighed everything else. And I’d do it, all of it, again in a heartbeat. You were worth that.
I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I changed your contact name in my phone, after the Red Room. Angel. It probably sounds cliche, and maybe it is, but when I saw you come in, when you started saving me just like you always did, my mind kept going back to all the stories about angels. The real ones, the ones who were warriors. That’s what you were to me, Nat, what you’ll always be. You’re my guardian angel. I couldn’t have asked for a better one.
I’m sorry for checking out early. I know I promised you a future, and I wanted to give it to you. I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’m sorry I didn’t follow through. I hope you can forgive me for that, but I get it if you can’t.
And please, whatever you do, don’t let this break you. You’ve been through so much, Nat, and you’ve survived all of it. You’ve become stronger for it. Don’t let this be the thing that undoes all that. I’m not worth that, and I’d never be able to forgive myself for it. You’re the greatest hero on this Earth. You’re my hero. Keep fighting for me. Please. The world needs you to.
I love you. I’m sorry it took this for me to say it, but I do. I love you. I love you. And I’m sorry.
for a letter jessica left for trish in case she died:
trish,
i’ve always been shit at goodbyes. usually i just leave, but this time… i figured i owed you.
im sorry. im so goddamn sorry.
i don’t know how many times i’ve had to say that to you. too many to count, but every time, you found someway to forgive me. you’re not as stubborn as you goddamn think. still more stubborn than me, though. that wasn’t a compliment, but take it as one anyway, okay?
i don’t think i’ve ever thanked you, though. not enough anyway. trish, i never would’ve lasted as long as i did without you. and i’m not just talking about the times you scraped me off the floor, poured me into a cab, dragged me away from another bar fight. or what you did for me after that deranged prick took me. after he came back. you were the hero then, not me. you’ve always been the hero. you don’t need a costume or a name or goddamn powers. you’ve got the heart for this shit. the one thing i never had.
but i wanna thank you for all of it. for putting up with me. for believing in me, even when common freakin’ sense said that was stupid. for fixing my goddamn door over and over. for telling your goddamn mom about the girl at school who lost her whole family in a stupid accident. i know it was just a publicity stunt for her, but honestly? it changed my goddamn life. it brought you into it.
your mom is still a bitch though, and i swear to god, if she hurts you again, i’ll rise from the goddamn grave and tie her earlobes to her brain. don’t let her near you again, you hear me? not for anything.
thanks for being my sister. my best friend. the only person in the world i could say ‘i love you’ to and know that i actually meant it.
i love you. i never said that enough either. but i do, trish, i love you. i love everything you do, everything you stand for. i love every part of you. i love your bruises from your goddamn krav maga. i love your radio show. i love how goddamn brilliant you are. i love that you’re relentless. i love your voice, even when it’s judging my shitty little apartment or telling me off for another stupid thing i did. you’re probably cursing me out right now, or at least you should be. dying and leaving you behind is the stupidest thing i ever did.
im still sorry. especially if it was my fault.
i wish i could’ve been the hero you wanted me to be. i wish i could’ve been everything you wanted me to be. happy. i wish i could’ve listened to you, and allowed myself some goddamn happiness. take your own advice okay? don’t let this ruin that.
i love you more than anyone. more than anything in this goddamn world. i know it didn’t always seem that way. i know i pushed you away a lot, i know i turned to a goddamn bottle when i should’ve turned to you, but i mean it. you were the best thing in my sorry excuse for a life, and the only reason i even pretend there might be a god out there is because i swear, you’re a goddamn miracle, trish walker. the only time i ever felt like a hero was when you smiled at me.
don’t you dare have a stupid sappy funeral. cremate me, and take me up somewhere high and toss my ashes over the city. maybe it’ll feel like flying. actual flying. that’d be nice.
and if you even think about getting high, i’ll reform and kick your ass back to rehab. call me a hypocrite, i don’t care. you don’t get to self-destruct over me, that’s my goddamn job. you’re too important trish, not just to me, but to everyone who meets you. to the people who listen to your show, to those people you’re trying to save every night. so take care of yourself. i mean it.
i still don’t like the idea of you doing the hero thing. but you’re good at it. i couldn’t say it, but i’m saying it now. you’re good at this, and if you’re gonna do it, do it goddamn right. put on the cape. save the world. if anyone can do it, it’s you.
hellcat is a rad name. not stripper-y at all.
do me a favor, and go in my desk. there’s a bunch of letters i need you to deliver. and there’s files that oughta be kept somewhere with an actual lock.
sorry again.
i love you.
forget me.
or… don’t.
i hope there’s whiskey on the other side, because goddammit, i need a drink.
– jessica jones
p.s. patsy was my first ever girl crush. i thought that might make you laugh.
