The Fall of Jinx
Author's Note: It's definitely been a while. For those who are wondering, I will update "Resolute Softness"; I'm not quite sure when, but I can promise you it will be before the end of March.
On this particular story: I was watching the first Teen Titans episode, "Final Exam", when my mind decided to wonder how Jinx used her powers, and what would happen if she used them wrong. In the episode, Jinx was defeated when Beast Boy lands on her head and she attempted to hit him with her magic. She kept missing, and the building fell down around her. So- if she used her powers in full anger and hit a person with them- what could potentially happen?
Note: I own an angel cat who is half-mountain goat. I do not own Teen Titans (cue defeated sigh).
It's all about intent...
I began exhibiting powers at the age of 5. It was simple then- a nasty word to a nasty classmate, and suddenly she was falling off the spider. She swore I pushed her, and the teacher sent a note home for my parents. I never gave it to them- there were ten of us, all foster, each older child worse than the one before.
I learned to control my powers- learned how to play tricks and get back at people- the prima donnas in my ballet class who sneered at my talent- the bullies who tormented me and the kids who just didn't like me. By the age of ten, I had a basic mastering of my powers. I never did anything involving long-term damage- though I must wonder when my ten-year old self decided that broken limbs were okay.
I wonder now, in the silence of my dark room, what would have happened if I had brought the note home- if I had told them, someone, anyone what I could do- if I had been punished, been shown what good I could do. I wonder if I would be here now- the perpetrator of a "freak accident" on a routine mission, the girl whose anger caused the death of someone who, while not good, could never deserve death as punishment.
No one deserves to die that way... Not anyone...
A knock rings out- chokes the silence with its normality, strangles my self-absorbed thoughts. I compose myself; insert iron into my spine and dams into my eyes. "Come in."
It's Wally, of course. He wasn't there, but he must have heard- must have heard what I did.
The thought of his reaction squeezes my heart, closes with a vice grip that make me smother a gasp and hold back tears.
He walks forward, not fast and not slow, just normal, regular; he kneels down in front of me, lifts my chin up until my eyes would be level with his if I looked up.
"Jinx- Jinx, look at me."
I shake my head, freeing my chin to turn it to the side. But Wally is firm and grabs it right back, forcing me to look at him without hurting me.
"Jinx- I heard what happened. I heard it from Leo- he says it was a freak accident."
My eyes fall to the floor, and I force myself to take a deep breath. I knew he would take it this way- I knew he wouldn't, couldn't believe me to be evil- he never had, not from the moment we met. But sometimes anger gets in the way, and sometimes accidents happen to people who never deserved it.
"Jinx- you didn't kill Gizmo."
I'm looking down- I know he's right in front of me, I know he's wanting to hug me, to convince me that it wasn't me, that it was anything but me.
But I know the truth- and once I have the truth, I never let it go.
"Jinx!"
I look up at him- let my spine compress and bend into curved line, let my eyes show some of my sorrow.
"I know- it's- it's just, I knew him- for a long time."
He nods, grateful that I don't believe it, grateful that there is a reason for all of this.
I swallow something thick and force it down- probably my last chance at happiness- and tell the truth.
"I- I just need time to absorb it all."
Wally nods- I continue. "I know that Gwyn needs dinner- could, could you get that for her, please?"
He smiles, nodding again. He turns- stops, turns around again to cup my face and kiss me. I let him, sinking into the kiss with a gratefulness that can not be described.
He leaves- and I am glad.
He loves me. I love him too- but he loves me. He believes in good- believes in the good in me, refuses to let me be anything but. I'm glad for that- glad for his implicit trust, glad that I never have to worry about him straying or any of the other dozens of things that most women worry about.
He will never leave me- will never let his eye wander, will never have a "mid-life crisis," will fight for me until the end. He will do anything in his power to make me happy- to protect me, even from myself.
He will follow me anywhere. If I decided that I needed to go find the last witch in Mumbai and use her powers to resurrect Gizmo, then he will follow me. He wouldn't necessarily believe it could be done- wouldn't necessarily believe that it would be right. And if I endangered myself or others, he would probably drag me back home, dodging my kicks and muffling my magic.
But he would follow me- he will follow me, even unto the end.
I am alone- alone with my sorrow, alone with my guilt. Alone with the faint metallic taste of my anger, the remnants of that unspeakable deed- the thing that should never have been but yet still was.
I am alone, a state that will never be again- not in all the years that will be sure to come, not in all the hours that I will spend on the various missions tracking down the various villains. No, I am alone for the last time- and even now, Gizmo's ghost floats in the back of my mind, taunting me with his high voice that never quite matured.
I did not mean for it to happen-never would I have meant for such a death. It was in the heat of battle, Red Star and me against Gizmo and Mammoth. Easy, routine- the usual take-'em down mission that always resulted in jail time and a prison break, the kind of mission that was almost boring in its familiarity. Still, I went, ready to take them down.
The battle went the usual way- I dodged, I twisted, I landed some hits in the hand-to-hand and, after a throw from Mammoth, stepped to the side and let my powers work.
I was aiming for Mammoth. He's such a big guy, I just knew that I was going to need all the power I could get to take him down. But Gizmo got in the way- rammed me and then landed right into the grip of Red Star, who had just thrown Mammoth across the room and knocked him out.
Gizmo wiggled out and started to run. I, I was so angry- so angry at him for spoiling my chance to take down Mammoth, so angry that he was still the short, annoying, bratty kid that I had once known. I was so angry- so it was with this anger that I directed all of my magic into him.
The room in which the battle was taking place was large- huge, really, with skylights covering the ceiling and dotting the walls. Over the course of the fight, some of them had shattered, smothering the floor with their dust.
Gizmo was over one such scene when my magic hit him. He started sneezing, the act forcing him to stop dead in his tracks.
When someone sneezes, there is a quick, powerful gust of air being blown through their nose and mouth- this is the point where all of their automatic reactions pause for the smallest moment. Immediately following this, there is an inhale of air- the body's way of gaining back the oxygen lost.
He sneezed- he inhaled. The glass traveled up with his breath. The dust went through his nose, his throat- traveled all the way to his lungs. He fell to the ground, his insides already shredded and bleeding.
He died there, the ambulance only halfway there- the victim of internal bleeding caused by the inhalation of glass particles.
He died in pain, his body being torn from the inside out- his palms bleeding from the glass shards on the floor, his head curled to his stomach, his arms across his chest that must have felt like a living flame; his legs twitching, kicking back and forth with each pain-ridden breath.
He died alone- he could not hear us in those last moments, our frantic attempts to help him, somehow.
He died- he died, too young for a tombstone, too young for a funeral, too young for the light.
He died because of me- because I let my anger control me.
Many hours have passed, and still I have not moved, too bent on the images that play in my mind, a montage of stills depicting the final moments of Mikron O' Jeneus. My stomach growls and my eyelids grow heavy, the overload of emotions taking their toll on my already exhausted body.
I don't care- I don't, really. I have tomorrow to care- I have a thousand tomorrows. But Gizmo has none- and so this shall be his tomorrow, his forever- these final memories that will be played over and over during the course of my life but only together this once- the final monument to a person who was horrid but who was human- was alive, breathing, intelligent- who did not deserve such an end.
A door creaks, and my thoughts are interrupted as my daughter enters the room. Older than her brother by nine years, already in the double digits- my daughter, the only magical one of the pair, the only one not normal.
Her eyes are purple- her hair is brown and short, tossed in such a way as to appear longer than it really is. "Mom?"
I bottle my tears and pat the bed. She refuses, instead standing in front of me. "It's bedtime- I came in to say goodnight."
She toes the floor, embarrassed at the thought of a good-night kiss but still defiant enough to go seeking. I smile, and reach for her.
She hesitates as I hug her. "Mom? Are you okay?"
I tighten my grip. "I'm fine- just sad."
I release her, and she backs up, taking me in from bottom up. She smiles, her eyes lighting as she reaches for another hug. I comply, and as we hold each other, purple dances in the corner of my eye.
She leaves, her hands still glowing.
"For luck," she whispers.
Gwyn- coming from the Welsh word gwynaeth, meaning luck or happiness.
Luck-her specialty. Good luck- the light to my dark, the girl I never was.
She is told what she can do- what she will do, if she decides to continue down the path she currently treds. She accepts this- she looks forward to this, the girl who still must stand on tippy-toe to reach the top shelf in the cabinet.
She is everything I was not. Good, not bad- raised in a loving family with parents who would never give her up- parents who believe her to be important than any one substance, whether that substance be diamonds or life itself.
I love her- love her and her brother and Wally with all my heart.
And yet, my heart still holds sorrow for that which I will never have. It leaps for her- jumps up and down and beats all the harder, all the deeper for all that she can and cannot do. It sorrows for me- for that which I cannot have, that which was never meant for the likes of me, one of the lucky few who must carry their burdens both inside and out.
I am alone- I am crying, the tears slipping down my cheeks, the accompaniment to my quiet sobs as I curl up into myself, clutching my arms at the line that I can never uncross- the line that is now suddenly, startlingly, vibrantly there behind me.
He gasps- he clutches his chest, the blood pouring from his hands. He looks at me- not at Red Star but me, a broken insect peering at the Destroyer..
He gasps. "Jinx."
His eyes roll up and over- he shudders. "Gizmo!"
But it is too late and he is still, still with the utter silence that always accompanies the presence of those who are recently departed.
He is gone- but his gaze still lingers on me, a burning hand to my forearm as I fly away, ignoring Leo's shouts, determined to be anywhere but here, this place where I fell from the grace that had given me so many blessed years.