Snippet #2762120

xxxxxP E T R A x M A X I M O F F x • x h e x x // x b22222 x •

---

Petra felt like calling after Riley's retreating back. Not really, he's your friend. Get back here and help me. At the very least, What am I supposed to do with a drunk person? But she kept her mouth shut, watched the lift doors slide closed.

"Yer so beautiful... Even when yer angry... Soooo angry."

There it was. The lack of inhibition she hated so much. Petra closed her eyes, exhaling a slow breath through her nose. "...Thanks. I think." But he wasn't done - a moment passed, then he started tugging at her hair. Frowning, she let him, then patted his fingers, trying to quiet him. "Alright, that's -" "Shite." "Hey. Don't do that. Come on." She turned to see him reaching for his face, and, reacting on instinct, she grabbed his hand to stop him from touching his face again, her hold lingering for a moment.

"Why are you always hurting yourself? First getting your face beat in, then drinking yourself stupid when you're in this state? Do you not think before you act? What did you say - even if it meant your life for mine? Do you really think you're worth that little?" She couldn't help the frustration colouring her tone, and as she spoke she shook his hand a little, still grasped firmly in hers. Her grip grew warm, magic rising to bubble beneath her skin with this display of emotion.

She paused, rethinking what she'd just said, and dropped his hand. "I'm not angry. At you." Her voice was lower, tired, the accent she'd picked up from her mother stronger when she wasn't suppressing it. "I just don't agree with what you think, about either of us." The lift doors slid open at Ross's floor, and she helped him out without another word.

Once Petra managed to wrangle Ross inside and - after taking a moment to goggle at the interior and mumble "why don't you have a proper couch like normal people" - find an empty seat to deposit him in, she went hunting for a kitchen. It was a fairly small room, almost hidden from sight, and it didn't take long digging before she found a mug, some hot chocolate, and a small carton of milk in the fridge.

No hot water kettle though. Unwilling to leave Ross unattended for much longer (worried as she was about spending too much time around him with no filter), she filled the mug and rolled it between her palms, channelling heat energy through her hands until the mug's contents were steaming, then went back out to Ross. "Take this. It's hot," she warned, bending down beside him. She guided his hands around the mug, her hands pressed over his to ensure he wouldn't drop it. Once she was satisfied, she let go and stood up, leaning against whatever game machine he was sitting at. "Are you going to throw up, should I get a bucket?"





xxxxxR I L E Y x B A R T O N x • x h e x x // x 7a378b x •

---

"Aye luv ya mate... Don' ferget it!" Riley saluted Ross's passing shout over his shoulder. "Love you too, you mess of a human being."

He pushed open the door to his penthouse. "Hello, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he said automatically, without really thinking. The moment the words left his lips, he stopped dead, one foot in the threshold. Would he get a response? It seemed silly to get attached to the an AI, but if J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn't functional because of the attack... well, everything would be different.

"Hello, Mr. Barton." Riley sighed, relieved. Was it his imagination, or did the response sound tired? Low and drawn out - Riley felt like he was stepping into someone else's room. Stupid, since it was the room he'd spent so many of his nights arranging and rearranging, cleaning, trying to make his own. But it didn't seem the same anymore.

Stopping only to kick his shoes off, he collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. He didn't feel like sleeping, not when he felt this unsafe, but he was too exhausted to do anything else. Maybe he could spend the rest of the day like this, just thinking about nothing.




xW Y N N E x W O R T H I N G T O N x • x h e x x // x 6e6e6e x •

---

"...I can leave. Didn't mean to interrupt." Was it her imagination, or did he seem amused? Wynne, silent, remained where she stood, the concrete roof burning the soft soles of her feet. "You should get that cleaned up before you're infected. I can do it if you don't want to go back to the hovering nurses."

He turned to leave, and she found her tongue. "Stay," she blurted. When he turned back she cleared her throat, trying to look warm instead of coldly neutral. "Please, don't go on my account. There's enough space for both of us. And I... might need an extra pair of eyes." Tilting her head towards her wings to illustrate her point. "I mean - if you want to go, you know... I just meant you don't have to mind my presence..." She turned away, giving him the space to go if he wanted to. Maybe he really didn't want to be there with her, but was too polite to say so.

By the pool stood a lone showerhead, higher than Wynne would perhaps have liked, but good enough for her purpose. She moved to stand under it, her wings stretched out as far as she could, and cupped her hands to direct the water over the pulled stitches. The flow of blood thinned, red-tinged water splattering the floor until the worst of it had gone down the drain. After trying to shake some of the water off, she lowered herself into a chair, trying not to ruffle the feathers too much as she arranged them over the back so they would dry off in the sun. She'd deal with the stitches themselves later.

"Sorry you had to see that," she began, "I don't get much chance to stretch these and practice, and keeping them folded up all the time, uh... It gets tiring, you know? Like if your hands were constantly bound behind your back." Maybe it was the sense of freedom she'd gained from her short flight, but it suddenly seemed easier to talk to him, now that she knew he wasn't going to go. Or maybe it was because she'd thanked him and gotten that load off her chest. "This is a very peaceful spot. Do you come up here often?"




xxxxxxxxxJ E N S E N x J O N E S x • x h e x x // x 2b4f81 x •

---

Jensen couldn't count how many shots she'd had. Did it matter? Not unless she was thinking about the resulting hangover, and that had never really been one of her concerns. She slammed another one back, and the bartender winced at Gwen as he refilled it, no doubt thinking of how she was probably going to be saddled with a very drunk Jensen very soon. "An alert? What, we've got Mycroft sending out newsletters to old students now?" She laughed loudly, obnoxiously, clearly amused by her own joke. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're back. Glad you're back... Good to have you back. One just wishes it wasn't under these circumstances, y'know."

She turned her head, just in time to see Gwen check her phone. "Somewhere important you have to be?" A thought struck her. "Shit!" If an alert had been sent to Gwen, then her mother would definitely have gotten wind of what had happened. Jessica Jones was an alert mother, if not a very loving one.

Sure enough, when Jensen checked her phone, there were a handful of new messages and missed calls.

From: Mom
I heard about the gala. Call me back.

From: Mom
You're tough. I know you're ok. Call me back.

From: Mom
JJ. Please just let me know if you're fine. If anyone's reading this, please call me.

It was almost enough to make Jensen sober up immediately. She hit the dial button, and her mother picked up immediately. "It's me. Don't cry." Her voice was still slurred, and she laughed a little at Jessica's reply. "Didn't drink that much. 'm still in the Tower, I'll be fine. Could probably drink my weight right now. You know me." It continued that way for a while, back and forth until Jensen eventually hung up with a final loud "You love me!" and slammed the phone down on the bar.

She waved a hand at Gwen. "If you have to go, go. Don't let ol' Smashed Jen here keep you down."