Trish was nursing a glass of red wine and sitting on her couch. The TV was on, though what it was playing she couldn't say. Her mind wandered this way and that, to Jessica, to work, to her next interview, to what she would eat for dinner, to Jessica. To Jessica. To Jessica. Jessica who she hadn't heard from in months. Jessica who had practically dropped off the face of the Earth. Jessica who had up and left her. She squeezed hard at the durable glass in her hand, and took a sip of her drink. If it had been Jessica's hand, the glass would have shattered. But it wasn't Jessica's hand, it was Trish's. It always would be. And while Trish would like to dream of Jessica's hand removing the wine glass from her fingers, setting it onto the coffee table and looking into her eyes with those deep, sad greens, kissing her with those chapped lips, that too was something that would never happen. Not with Trish. Not with Jessica.
The knock at her door startled her out of her reverie. She set down the glass and rubbed at her brow. She had been scowling, and she could practically hear her mother's voice scolding her for it. The knock came again, and it hit Trish with force who was at the door. She knew that knock. And she knew why the doorman had let the person up to her loft. It was Jessica. It had to be because no one else knocks like they're going to break your door down at ten at night. Not even the police knock with such verve. Or, Trish didn't think they would. She wouldn't rightly know. The pounding came again, and Trish stood quick to answer the door, and frowned.
The door. Jessica was at the door. She paused, looked towards the glass doors of the balcony, then back to the sturdy wood of the door, not that either could serve as a barrier to Jessica. The only thing was, Jessica hated the doorman. Jessica never came through the lobby, had excused it once with the doorman being a creep. Trish thought Jessica just liked to fly. But now Jessica was at the door, which meant she had come up through the lobby. Which was something very un-Jessica-like. She pounded again, and Trish decided it didn't matter how Jessica came to her, not after all this time. She rushed to the door and pulled it open to see Jessica's back. She had been leaving.
"Jess," Trish breathed. There was no denying the girl. For a moment, Trish thought she might have been dreaming, or assuming too much from the simple knock on the door. She had longed for a while to open the door to find Jessica on the other side, and now that she was here, it was almost too good to be true. She turned around slowly, and there was something haunted in her. Something wrong. Trish could see it.
"Trish…" She muttered, and she was crying. Jessica Jones didn't cry. Not ever. Trish grabbed her by the wrist and she let out a sob. "Trish…" She said again, and it was the warmth of Jessica in Trish's hand that grounded the blonde.
"It doesn't matter, Jess. None of it matters," She said. Something had happened, was happening to Jessica, but as long as she had come home, Trish didn't see the problem. They could talk later. Or not. Jessica wasn't much one for talking either.
"Trish," Jessica said again, stronger through her tears.
"Is that all you can say after all this time," Trish teased, "My name?"
She led Jessica to the couch, sat her down, and walked to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. She figured the best thing that she could do was act like everything was normal, she could handle whatever else later. Whatever else when Jessica felt like it. For now, normal. Although things with Jessica Jones were never normal to begin with. Things with Jessica Jones could never be normal, but whatever had happened, she was back. Back with Trish. Back for Trish to support and care for and love. And love. Love so much.
She exhaled, the anxiety and nervousness about Jessica's situation falling away. So she had disappeared for a few months. So she hadn't called. Or texted. Or talked. It didn't matter right now. All that mattered right now was that Jessica was back. The rest would be dealt with at a later time. For now, Trish wanted to enjoy the company of her sister, of her best friend, of her everything.
She turned around to bring Jessica her water, and almost spilled the glass. "Jesus, Jess," She said. The woman had snuck up behind her while she had been filling the glass. She chuckled. Jessica didn't. Jessica didn't make a snarky remark. Jessica didn't smile. Jessica didn't apologize. Jessica took the glass from her hand, their fingers grazing. Trish watched as she placed the glass on the counter behind her. She looked up at her, looking into those sad, deep green eyes and Trish was struck with déjà vu. Hadn't she just had this day dream?
But then Jessica was kissing her, and Trish was struck with the sudden realization that this wasn't Jessica. It wasn't Jessica because Jessica would never kiss her. Never kiss her. As much as Trish wanted her to, Jessica was too afraid and too this and too that and all the excuses she had given herself and given Trish were running through her head while those soft, soft lips were kissing her own and she was kissing back and it was everything. It was everything.
And it wasn't Jessica.
Trish pulled away and looked at her. Something was wrong, because Jessica was wearing clothes she couldn't afford, wearing makeup she'd never wear. Her lips were too soft, not at all the bitten and chapped things Trish knew them to be. Even her touches lacked the weight that usually came with them. She was soft, and Jessica Jones was never soft. She took a step back, and her breathing came faster when Jessica followed her.
"Trish," Jessica said, and there was a fight happening that Trish couldn't see. What she could see were Jessica's clenched fists, her painfully furrowed brow, the coiling of muscles that could do so much. "Trish, please."
The sudden realization that Jessica could hurt her washed over Trish like an ice bath. The fear followed soon after. But Jessica would never hurt her. Never. She took another step back. Jessica followed, and she was scared. She was so scared because there was something going on that she didn't understand and what she knew and what she was seeing were two different things. What she wanted and what she knew to be right were two different things as well. It wasn't Jessica, but it was. She could see the want etched over every inch of Jessica's face. Jessica's face, and unless there were shapeshifters running amok in New York, this was Jessica Jones wanting her. But the way she moved, the way she was, that wasn't Jessica. Not any Jessica that Trish had ever known.
And what Trish wanted was Jessica. Wanted what Jessica-Not-Jessica was offering. Or…demanding. What Jessica-Not-Jessica was going to take. And the fear washed over her again. But Trish knew it wasn't right. Knew something wasn't right. So she turned from her friend and walked away, only to be stopped short by a strong grip on her forearm. A little too strong. It was Jessica, and it would bruise.
"Jess," Trish said, level. Panicking would get her nowhere. "Jess, don't."
That should have been enough. Trish was the only thing in the world that Jessica truly cared about, and she knew it. But the grip on her arm tightened, and she had to swallow down the whimper from the pain. Jessica tugged at her, and she turned to face the girl again.
"Trish…" Jessica said, and it sounded so much like it hurt her. Like her very name was killing her. Was hurting her as much as the grip on Trish's arm was hurting her. "Trish…I love you."
And Jessica let go. And now, now there was no doubt at all. It wasn't Jessica.
But that human inside of Trish, it wanted to bask in those words. Because it hadn't been meant in a friendly way. Jessica was in love with her. And she was in love with Jessica. And Jessica had finally kissed her. The fight happening in her was too great. Something was so, so beyond wrong and something else felt so, so beyond right.
Jessica stepped closer, and the idea that Jessica would never hurt her fled from Trish's mind. Jessica could. Jessica could break her like a twig. And this Jessica, whatever this Jessica was, would, if Trish didn't give in to what was happening. What she wanted to happen. What she had wanted to happen for ages only not like this. Not whatever was happening here.
"Tell me," Trish said, and even she wasn't sure what she expected to hear.
"I have to have you," Jessica whispered, "I have to. Don't…I don't want to hurt you."
And it made no sense, but this time when Jessica kissed her, she didn't pull away. She could taste the salt of her tears against her lips, and Jessica was apologizing. She was apologizing as she looped her hands under Trish's thighs and lifted her like she was nothing. As she kissed the breath and the gasps from Trish's lips, moving to the bedroom. And soon, it was all Trish was hearing. It was sick. Wrong. Something twisted that Trish couldn't understand and she wanted to vomit because Jessica's hands were soft on her abdomen, lifting her blouse up and over her head, not bothering with the buttons. And the way Jessica looked at her was with reverence, but it was like she was fighting herself. She kept apologizing.
Trish was lost in sensation. Those strong, strong, too strong hands moving so gently across her skin were setting her on fire. She had wanted, had waited, but hearing the murmured apologies and feeling Jessica's tears fall to her exposed skin was so many things and she couldn't think because this Jessica, this body of Jessica was touching her. Was slowly unclasping the bra from her body and slipping it down her arms. The lips of Jessica had moved from her lips, descending down to her neck. Trish gasped as she felt her teeth, felt her suck, felt the mark that was going to be visible for a long time forming and her hips canted with and against her will.
Jessica dragged her lips and her nose in feather-light touches down her neck, tickling her collarbone. And as her lips descended a little further to the place above Trish's pounding heart, her hands were working on the button of her slacks. Trish's hands tangled in that black, black hair as those too-soft-to-be-Jessica's lips encased her nipple and sucked. She let out a moan. Jessica apologized, but didn't stop. She kissed and teased at Trish, her tongue and teeth stimulating her and setting her nerves on edge because it felt so good and so bad all at once. But this was Jessica and not Jessica and Trish was crying because it was beyond wonderful.
Teeth nibbled at her chest. "Jess…" she groaned. And all at once her pants and underwear were off at the fast and strong hands of Jessica and a palm was touching her where she had always wanted it to. And God, it felt amazing. Jessica's lips on her body, Jessica's hand on her heat, it was all too much and whatever thing in Trish that had realized this wasn't right, that this was wrong, that this wasn't Jessica fled her because this was so right and this was Jessica worshiping her body and it was amazing.
She canted her hips up into Jessica's hand and groaned at the not-enough friction. Jessica's kisses to her chest got harsher, sloppier, more sure to leave bruises and Trish felt like Jessica was losing control and it made her soar. Jessica was losing control over Trish. Over Trish's body and Trish's desire which she had no doubt Jessica was more than aware of with her hand where it was.
"Trish…" she said again, pained. "Trish I'm sorry.
"Jess…Jessica, please," Trish said, delirious on the sensation of finally, finally being touched by the woman she loved so much. Even if it wasn't the woman at all. With the plea fallen from her lips, Jessica was in her and Trish let out a high-pitched gasp. She stilled her fingers, and Trish felt the tears again on her stomach, where Jessica's head was shaking a constant 'no' into her sternum. But she didn't have to tell Jessica it was okay, or to keep going, because in the next moment Jessica was pistoning into her hard and fast and it was more than Trish had ever had. More than Trish had ever dreamed.
Her breathing was coming fast, little gasps and groans falling from her lips as Jessica curled her fingers, finding the spot inside her that made her back arch. A thumb found her clit and all of a sudden it wasn't gasps and groans, but swears and proclamations. Because God, and Jessica, and Fuck it was So Good and Yes and More and Don't Stop.
And Jessica didn't. Jessica pushed hard and fast and almost before Trish had time to relish it, she could feel the buildup in the base of her stomach, branching out to her legs, her back, arching and blinding her with pleasure and Jessica, noticing, just pushed harder. It would bruise.
Trish came with Jessica's name on her lips, her back high off the bed and the delirium of it washing over her hard and fast. She collapsed a few moments later, smiling, basking in the pleasure, in the feel of Jessica still in her, but then she wasn't. Then she was gone, gone from within her and gone from her body and Trish blinked her eyes open and Jessica was just standing there. Standing there and looking disgusted and riddled with remorse and fear and Trish remembered then. It was sobering, and she sat up, pulled her knees to her chest, and pulled the blankets over her exposed body. Because no matter how much she had wanted this, had always wanted this, this wasn't Jessica.
Tears sprang to her eyes and fell quickly, and the flood of emotions from the orgasm and from Jessica and now from this was overwhelming.
Suddenly, Trish felt like she hadn't had a choice in the matter at all.
"I'm sorry," Jessica said, "I'm so sorry." And she fled.
Trish was left naked, alone in bed, with the taste of Jessica on her lips and the smell of them littering the sheets. Jessica was gone, and Trish was alone once more. Alone with the feeling like had she said no, Jessica would have taken her against her will. She didn't know if her consent made it better or worse. She didn't know if she had been raped. She didn't know how Jessica felt. She didn't even know if that was Jessica. She rubbed at the bruise quickly forming on her wrist, felt the ache in her bones, in her muscles. She knew she loved her, knew she would never stop loving her, but whatever had just happened was twisted them together with something black and not right. The feeling of it all confusing everything. Still, one thing hadn't changed through the whole ordeal.
She was in love with Jessica Jones.
