I guess I'll give this thing a shot.
The boy looked down at his sister, his smirk growing as she shifted under his gaze.
"Leave me alone, Derek," she begged, stepping backwards.
"No way, Jackie. Not until you tell me his name."
She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, eyes narrowing.
"None of your business, stupid."
"Stupid?" he repeated, barking a laugh at her. "You're the stupid one if you think you're going to be able to keep your boyfriend secret from your older brother."
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Oh?" Derek raised his eyebrows. "So when I answered the phone and he asked to speak with you, he was just asking to borrow your biology notes, huh?"
"Yeah," Jackie nodded, sticking her chin out. "You might be three years older, Derek, but I'm not a baby. I'll be eighteen in three months."
"Still not old enough for a boyfriend, sis."
"Whatever," Jackie rolled her eyes and turned away, moving towards the stairs.
"Hey," protested Derek, clamping his hand down on her shoulder to stop her from walking away. "You still haven't told me who the dweeb is."
"Get you hand off me, Derek."
He refused to move, giving a yank to turn his sister around to face him. As she spun, her hand shot out in front of her.
"Stop, Derek!" she cried, the sound dying in her throat when she saw the fireball fly from her palm. The huge, orange thing flew straight in the direction her hand was in, catching the left side of Derek's face and shoulder. He screamed in pain as it hit, clutching at the wound.
Jackie could feel the heat radiating off of her brother and gazed down at her hand in shock. It looked the same as it had moments before. No heat, no burn and no markings. Nothing to indicate that she had just accidentally used it as a flamethrower. Raising her eyes back to the boy in front of her, she watched in horror as his skin began to peel and turn all shades of red and white.
"Derek?" called her mother's voice from the main floor as she moved to come upstairs. "Jacqueline? What happened?"
"I-I-" Jackie spluttered, stepping away from her brother in shock as he began to writhe, still pawing at his face.
"Oh my God," her mother cried, dashing to kneel beside the whimpering boy. "Tom! Tom, call an ambulance."
"Mom-" Derek croaked, grasping for her hand.
"What happened?" sobbed the older woman, reaching for her son's unaffected cheek.
"I don't know," hiccoughed Jackie, bringing her hands up to tug at her hair. "I just tried to shove him off of me, I didn't mean to-"
"What?" her father cut her off. "You didn't mean to what?"
"I don't know! I don't know!"
"Her hands-" Derek tried to contribute, breaking into a coughing fit before he could manage anything coherent.
"Shh," comforted his mother, stand up to approach her daughter. "Jackie?"
"I don't know, Mom," she cried, bursting into stressed tears. "He..."
"Oh, honey, come here."
Desperate and upset, Jackie flung herself into her mother's waiting arms, relaxing into the hug. Her eyes flew back open a second later when her mother began to scream. Pulling back, she saw that her mother's shirt was burned through where her hands had been only moments before. The red welts matched the shape of Jackie's hands perfectly.
"What did you do, Jacqueline?" her father demanded, trying to get a good look at her mother's injury.
Unable to speak, Jackie gazed at her hands in horror, flexing and stretching them, looking for some explanation. She finally stopped when a strangled sob made its way up through her throat.
Her brother was passed out on the floor, overcome with pain. Her mother and father were falling into shock and watching her like she was a monster. She was beginning to believe it.
"Jacqueline," her father repeated, taking a frightened step towards his impossible daughter, "what have you done?"
With a squeak, she turned on her heel and ran down the stairs as fast as she could, her hands leaving trails of flame on the banister. Every glance she spared behind her removed more and more of her consciousness to the point where she was barely standing. Her feet brought her as far away from her home as they could manage before she collapsed, sobbing behind the subdivision.
Hidden by a cluster of trees, Jackie curled into a ball and whimpered, keeping her hands as far from her body as she could. Every leaf her fingers touched disintegrated into ash, blowing away as she continued to cry.
…
Gasping for air, Jackie bolting awake, clutching at her heart with her heavily gloved hands. After a minute of hyperventilation, she finally realised where she was and began to calm, gripping an old pipe tightly. Her breathing evened out and she stood, deftly avoiding the holes in the floor and broken pipes that littered the room.
"It's just a dream," she reassured herself, rubbing her hands together. "That was years ago."
Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked around at the crumbling room. She could almost feel the dust settling into her skin and just knew that she would wake up one morning with blood poisoning if she kept staying there. Keeping out of sight, Jackie stalked away from the abandoned warehouse she had been squatting in. She patted down the pockets of her old army jacket and found a crumpled fiver and a fistful of coins.
"Time for another job, I guess," she muttered under her breath, replacing the cash and running her fingers through her hair roughly. The remains of a French braid tore loose under her fingers. She deftly redid it with practised hands.
The wind whipped at her as soon as she was out into the street. Early on a Sunday, the area was only partially populated. Just how Jackie liked it.
Giving her leather, fingerless gloves a sturdy tug to make sure they were on properly, Jackie wrapped her scarf over her nose and mouth. Most of her face was obscured by the woollen thing, leaving just her eyes and forehead exposed. She could feel her old army dog tags pressing against her skin, freezing cold.
With a quick movement, she removed one of her gloves and wrapped her hand around the metal tag, heating it up. The new temperature was comforting against the autumn weather.
Jackie's stomach growled in protest of her lack of breakfast and her expression hardened. She was very aware of how empty her pockets had become. It had been at least a month since she had pulled a job and was well overdue for a payday.
The jewellery store across the street caught her eye right away. The advertisement in the window displayed a price that was completely outrageous for a stupid bracelet but would buy her more than one week in a hotel, away from the filthy warehouse.
The man working the door eyed her suspiciously as she walked in. She didn't blame him. He was wearing a pressed suit and tie and his hair was slicked back with some oily gel. Jackie aimed a glare at him that had him averting his eyes as quickly as he could manage. Good, Jackie thought. It would be better if he didn't remember her face.
There was a display case near the back that could obscure her from view if she stood the right way. Holding her breath, Jackie tugged the gloves free of her hands and stowed them away in her belt. Shoving away any remorse she almost felt in that moment, she pressed her palm flat to the wall behind her. It heated up quickly and finally caught aflame, burning lowly.
It wasn't enough, though.
Rubbing her hands together, Jackie blew across her palm to aim a stream of fire across the store. It caught the hem of the greeter's pants and left a trail of fire across the carpet.
One more.
Flinging her hand forward, she let loose a fireball that crashed into the counter. By some luck, it was made of wood that sprung alight as soon as the fire raced across it.
One of the employees let out a horrible scream. There was fire in every corner of the store. The flames heightened and heated up. The whole place was slowly coming ablaze. Dialling 9-1-1, everyone that had been in the store fled to the outside, never noticing Jackie.
It was perfect. The woman behind the counter had left out an entire display of necklaces. Jackie hastily shoved them into the pockets of her jacket.
Looking around quickly, Jackie debating what to else grab. She knew she only had a short time before she had to get out. The flames may have had no effect on her but the ceiling collapsing in on itself would have crushed her in an instant.
With a wince, Jackie shoved her hand through the glass wall separating her from what was clearly a cluster of the most expensive bracelets in the place. She slipped them onto her wrists quickly before bolting out of the door, cradling her injured knuckles. The street was in too much of a panic for anyone to notice the suspicious character exiting the burning store.
Except for maybe one.
Jackie had only managed to get fifty feet down the street when she heard footsteps.
"Hey!" a voice boomed at her, causing her to pause.
Intrigued, Jackie spun on her heel. Her eyes widened when she saw the man there, all done up in blue spandex and carrying a painted shield. Her lips curved up in a smirk underneath her scarf.
"Captain America," she responded, crossing her arms slowly. "What an honour."
"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, Miss Fissure."
"He knows my name," Jackie swooned, clasping a hand over her heart. The Captain's expression hardened as he took a step towards her.
"I would advise you not to try and do this the hard way, ma'am."
"Oh, man," Jackie rolled her eyes, positioning herself into a more defensive stance. "He's even polite when he's threatening me."
"Please, just cooperate and everything will-"
"No," she shook her head. Shoving her sleeves up her arms, she put the assortment of expensive bracelets on display for him to see. "What do you think these would go for? Under the table, I could probably get myself a few months in a hotel, room service included. And you want me to give that up for – what? The sake of integrity? A sense of honour?"
Captain America watched her carefully as she zipped the bracelets into one of the pockets of her jacket. The scarf stayed securely in its place, hiding the majority of her face from him. But it was her. The whole situation fit her M.O. perfectly. The burning building. The haul of stolen goods. The army jacket. Even the scarf was the same as the last time she had been sighted. The woman standing in front of him was, without a doubt, Jacqueline Fissure. He felt his jaw clench automatically as she put her arms in front of her aggressively.
"Ma'am," he warned lowly.
"Captain," she threw back at him.
She's dangerous, Captain. Don't forget that.
Fury's words echoed in his head as he gauged the woman's reaction. It looked like she was playing a game. But Steve was done playing.
With a swift motion, the man hurled his shield at her. Jackie narrowed her eyes and threw herself onto he ground in a crouch. The shield whipped over her head and returned to its owner gracefully.
"Almost," she called tauntingly.
Despite her words, Jackie knew in the back of her mind that she was almost certainly done for. She had seen the news coverage of the invasion only months before. The man could fight. They didn't call him Captain for nothing.
He paced forward, shoulders tense. Jackie felt her pulse quicken and took several steps back, planning to retreat.
He wasn't having that, though. Again, he threw the shield. This time, however, it was not aimed at Jackie. It instead hit a fire escape ladder above her head. The thing fell on top of her and by the time she managed to worm her way out, he was there.
Once she was on her feet, Captain America grabbed her by the arm, twisting it behind her back. She could see in his face that he thought that would be it. Fire burned in Jackie, angry that he took her for some amateur.
But they didn't call her mutant for nothing.
Clamping her other hand on his forearm, Jackie focussed on burning through his suit. While she didn't quite manage it, she got him to pull back with a yelp. She smirked, knowing that he would be nursing a fairly severe welt the next day. She had scorched him pretty badly.
He threw a punch, which she blocked painfully. Her foot aimed for his abdomen but he spun out of the way, back in a ready stance.
Almost growling, Jackie hurled a fireball at him. He used the shield to redirect it away from him. Determined, she tried again. And again. Each time, he used that indestructible shield of his to save his skin.
He swept his legs under hers and she jumped with barely time to spare. His elbow collided with her shoulder and she cried out.
"Is that any way to treat a lady, Captain?"
He didn't respond other than to grab for her arms again.
This time she kicked for his knee. He groaned lowly as she made contact but recovered quickly. She could see in his eyes that whatever sort of gentleman he had been was completely blocked out. The Star-Spangled Man was in full-on soldier mode by now.
She remembered that. Being a soldier. She remembered hating it, at least.
He lunged for her but she ducked out of the way just in time. He managed to grab her, though, and yanked her scarf down.
Jackie felt exposed, standing on the street with her face on display. She almost never went out in public without her scarf. It was her rule; don't show your face, don't get captured. Don't get recognised. She had failed on all accounts.
"Now you see me, Captain," she said, gesturing to her face.
He nodded curtly and stepped forward again.
This time when she flung fire at him, she aimed lower. The left leg of his suit caught aflame and he stamped it out quickly.
She took her opportunity. With a grimace, she aimed streams of fire at the discarded ladder, managing, somehow, to levitate it within the flames. As Captain America began to jog towards her, she flung it in his direction. It caught him in the stomach and caused him to stumble back a few steps. By the time he was fully recovered, she had dashed into an alleyway, bringing down a hanging ladder with fire. It clattered to the ground, allowing her to climb it.
Rapidly, she made it onto the roof and hopped a few buildings over, pausing to regroup. The Captain was still on the ground, searching the streets. With a sigh, she looked over her injuries, suddenly very tired and sick of it all.
She got like this every once and a while. And she almost managed to wallow in self-pity until she saw the kid taking her photograph.
He looked like a teenager, though he must have been around her age. His scruffy brown hair peeked out from over the camera. The bulky, paparazzi kind. He lowered it, looking at her curiously.
She flicked her wrist, sending flames hurtling into the camera. The geeky-looking guy holding it looked down at it, less in surprise than in disbelief. His eyes met hers.
"I'm really not that photogenic," she called, pulling herself through a window and into an apartment. She replaced her gloves and stalked through the place, looking for the exit.
She ignored the screeches of the occupants.
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