Chapter Text
Flipping her pillow for the millionth time, Jess pulls her crumpled topsheet into some semblance of flat; the thinner edge is showing, which means it’s probably sideways. It kind of smells.
She hasn’t had the time and energy to make a special run to the laundromat in the last few weeks, and she only owns one set of sheets. Buying two was hard to justify with her bare bank account, especially since this was only meant to be temporary. But “temporary” has stretched into “indefinite”, with months passed and still no sign of her son.
Clutching her too-soft, single pillow to her face, Jess counts slowly, trying to push all thoughts from her mind. They’re still running in the background, like a TV turned down to three, the ghost of sounds too quiet to pick out, but still distracting.
It takes her until the third set of knocks to realize the sounds she’s hearing outside her bedroom aren’t the common rattlings of her upstairs neighbors. Throwing off her awful blanket, Jess heads to answer the front door in her sleep shorts and tank, glad for the opportunity to not sleep for a reason, and hopes that whoever is behind it doesn’t wreck too much of her bare, cheap furniture.
“I quit,” Carol greets.
Dressed in a pair of nicely fitted jeans, a brown flight jacket over a tight black shirt, hair pulled into the thick braid she’s been sporting lately, Carol looks good. She has for a while now, seeming to have fully taken the reigns of her life around the time Jess’ really fell apart. Busy leading the Avengers, running the Academy, Carol has still spent as much time with Jess as she could manage... which hasn’t been a whole lot.
“I saw,” Jess says, pushing her messy black hair out of her eyes, leaning against the frame. “I got an alert asking me to vote for the next Avengers ‘chair’, to succeed you.”
“Who’d you vote for?”
“Spider-Man. I want to see him attempt a press conference.”
Carol laughs. Truth is, Jess hadn’t voted for anyone. It’s been hard to focus on much, lately. She’d dimly registered that they were replacing Carol, but she’d figure out why, eventually. Now, she supposes. Stepping aside, she waves her friend in, lightly tossing the door shut behind her.
“Something happen?”
“Nothing new,” Carol says, tossing her jacket on Jess’ worn coffee table. She feels the flyaways coming off her braid, ruffled from the flight over, and pulls her hair-tie out, snagging it around her wrist and shaking her blonde hair loose. Her biceps stretch the fabric of her tee. “It was just... the first opportunity I got.”
“Really? Seemed like being leader of the Avengers was, like, everything you were working towards, since you picked up the ‘Captain’ title. Not what you were hoping for?”
Dropping her boots heavily on the floor, Carol tucks her knees to her chest, leaning her chin against them. “It was,” she says, then, “Jess.”
“Mm?” Jess hums, tiredly, sitting beside her; she leans her head on Carol’s shoulder, finally feeling like she might be able to get some sleep. But not yet. Once she’s helped Carol with whatever this is. Maybe she’ll even stay the night, on her second-hand couch, or in her dank sheets.
“So many people relied on me,” she says, quietly. “After the vampires... thousands of people died. Those people were my responsibility.”
“But you saved way more.”
“Yes...” Carol agrees, more easily than Jess was expecting. “And we saved more in the Tribulation Events, Kang’s bullshit...” She shoots her an odd look, continuing, “At Avengers Academy, a lot of those kids had no-one looking out for them. I wanted to give them that, at least. Give them a shot. And there was... this reaper... I thought— I thought some of them might not make it. I— Let’s not get into all that.”
Oh great, Carol’s here to not get into it.
“...Have you and Tony checked out that new group you were—”
“I’m sober,” she snaps.
“Not accusing you of anything, Kirk. Just think it would be a good idea, with all this pressure.”
“Yes, we went.... I think we’ll need to find another new AA group next time, but... that’s not what this is about!” Carol sighs. “What I’m trying to tell you, Jess, is that what I’ve been doing was really, really important. Some of the most important work I’ve done in my life.”
“Yeah,” Jess says, sourly, annoyance turning in her gut that she’s not proud of.
“If it was anything less important, I would not have left you to look for Gerry alone,” she says, adjusting her arm as Jess turns in surprise, to wrap around her, “but I quit. And now all of my time is yours, if you want it.”
Jess doesn’t reply. Carol’s gentle grip tightens, pushing her slowly into her chest. Having said her piece, she does not interrupt the silence; the way Jess melts into the embrace is answer enough.
✵🕸✵🕸✵🕸✵🕸✵🕸✵🕸✵
Sunlight bleeding through the uneven slats of her blinds, Jess wakes in her bed. The sheet has been laid over her, in the correct direction, with the duvet gently placed on top. In the first month after she lost Gerry, the instinct to find and feed him suckerpunched her first thing each morning. Now it’s a habit not to care for her son, but to bitterly remember she can’t; a habit to mourn, like picking at an ugly wound so that it never heals.
She does so now, shuffling from her room miserably, to find Carol spilling off her couch. Carol sleeps even less than Jess does on a normal night, so it’s best to let her sleep. Her steps lighten, and Jess moves noiselessly to the kitchen, setting up a pot of coffee. They’re both hopelessly dependent on the stuff.
When Gerry went missing, after Jess learned the identity of “Green Mamba”, before Carol got busy-busy, they’d been testing the limits on how many espresso shots New York City baristas would agree to put into one cup. The desperation Jess felt at that time was torture, but she’d gladly take it in place of the hopelessness she feels now. At least then she thought she thought she’d still be able to raise her son.
“Fuck, is that coffee?” Carol asks, from behind her. Jessica does not jump.
“Of course.”
“Jess, can I be honest with you?” she stretches, planting a thick arm on the counter beside her, peering over her shoulder at the gurgling machine, “It’s depressing in here.”
Jess shrugs.
“Maybe this morning you can fill me in on where you’re at in the search, and while you do, we can shop and we’ll get you some more stuff. My treat.”
“Carol, you’re not buying me furniture.”
“What about a second towel? For me, when I visit,” she suggests, “or a cool movie poster. Maybe a lamp?”
“Uh huh.”
“Or... you move back to New York, pull your stuff out of storage; I can even stay in Maine, and you can have my apartment until you get a new one. Sounds like things hit a dead end here?”
“You just don’t want me to ever be on a team with two of your exes again.” Other exes.
“Two?”
“Wonderman joined, to kick the new Wonderman’s ass.”
“Great, Simon,” Carol groans. “Never call him my ex again, please; that implies something at all interesting was happening between us.”
“Thanks for breaking up with Rhodey while he was on the West Coast Avengers with me, by the way,” Jess says, pouring two cups of coffee, “he kept trying to ask me about you.”
“Oops.”
“Look, Carol, you’re sweet,” Jess finds herself whispering by the third word, staring down her dirty tiles so she doesn’t have to look at her friend, “but I already failed. I found Ger. He’s just. He’s not my—” baby anymore.
“We’ll find him again.”
“And then what?”
“Tie him to a chair, try to get through to him,” Carol suggests, “maybe in a less depressing apartment.”
Caught between wanting to laugh and cry, Jess opts for shoving Carol instead. She stumbles back, instead of letting Jess bounce off of her, and catches herself on the fridge.
“I think he’s in Madripoor,” Jess says.
“I’ll find us a plane.”