Who Did That To You?

March 14, 2018:

After catching the news, Bucky Barnes and Jane Foster race to check on Jessica Jones. They come bearing gifts and much-needed aid.

Trish Walker's Apartment, Manhattan

It's a good thing Trish kept it…


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Frenzy, Matt Murdock, Zatanna Zatara, Luke Cage

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

As it happens, there are a short list of people who Jessica Jones wants to see when she's just suffered a painful and humiliating beat-down. But despite all manner of evil bear shanking, Bucky and Jane are still on that list. People off that list would have gotten an 'I'm fine, resting,' upon contacting the surly detective. But the Foster-Barnes contingent gets 'I'm fine, I'm at Trish's place.' A tacit invitation to swing by. With a key code if they said they would, because she's not really up to leaving the bed to go take care of that. Not the evening of the attack.

And, after a moment's thought, a warning:

I probably don't look so good.

That's where they'll find her, in bed and still in her filthy clothes. At this point she doesn't even feel well enough to go scouting for icy things to stick on her face.

She looks like crap.

There's really no two ways to put it. Both eyes damn near swollen shut, hair matted on places on her skull where blood has dried, bruises all over her face, split lip…all of this is just the start. The march of bruises continues down her collar bone and arms and shoudlers and neck. Everything else is covered carelessly by Trish's relentlessly silky violet sheets, and she looks out of place there. Her jacket and boots are just kind of on the floor, and it looks like her entire strategy was to forgo any attempts at doing anything but falling into bed and staying really still.


James Barnes is a habitual watcher of the news, as one might expect given his profession, and so when the story about a brawl between one Jessica Jones and a powerful assailant hit the airwaves, he was one of the first to know — and afterwards, immediately tried to make contact. He barely even spared time to listen to the rest of the news story.

Her reply comes promptly enough. By now, Bucky knows Jessica more than well enough to know the distinction between 'I'm fine,' and 'I'm fine, here's where I am.' Thus it was that when the reply came from her, he and Jane immediately bundled out of the house to head on down to Trish's. As for Jessica's warning? I've looked worse. Guaranteed.

Soon enough after that message, the sound of the key code echoes through the apartment, followed shortly by rustling and murmurs as Bucky lets himself and Jane in. He doesn't waste too much time looking around; he makes an immediate beeline for the bedroom, where he expects Jessica to be. And for all his flippant reply earlier, what he sees thins his mouth and narrows his eyes.

"Who did this?" No greeting, no preamble — just a question, gritted out, tone one of suppressed anger. "Why?"


In a matter of coincidence, Jessica Jones has been on the forefront of Jane Foster's multi-routed, circular thoughts.

The next on her long, sprawling list due for an upgrade: equally for the engineer to express her apology as she is to want to adapt her front-line, vigilante friends to this shaping world. She had her own brush with darkness, which was no farther a journey than the boundaries of her own mind — what better way to utilize it than to buffer the people in her lives against same, future threats?

Par for the course when it comes to Dr. Foster, she doesn't catch the news. Eyedeep in unit testing her latest creation, it's Bucky who calls her attention to Jessica's condition, and sees to them both taking a quick, brisk commute to Trish's place. No time even to make some food to bring it over — all Jane remembers to take on the way is a small box she slides into her pocket.

As Bucky is the first one in, nothing to stop his furious beeline — Jane lingers one moment to shut and bolt the door, paranoid. A few moments later, she arrives hot on Barnes's heels, dressed to the cold outside, a little flushed in the face — they were walking quickly. It's hard to keep up with a super soldier's endurance, though she's better at it now than a year ago.

Her expression falls the instant she sees Jessica, a flinch all through Jane's face that none of her pathological honesty can hide. She looks like shit. "Oh my god," she says, horror her first reaction as much as anger is for Bucky. He asks the most important questions first.

As for Jane: "Has someone seen you?" Here comes the ex-med student. "Your injuries?"


"Don't know," Jessica mumbles, in response to Bucky's infuriated query. "I'd never seen her before in my life. She said she was fucking Brotherhood of all things. Like I told Matt— he got me here— as far as I know nothing I'm working on or even did work on for more than 5 minutes ever touched the Brotherhood. She wanted to make sure my friends didn't interfere with their shit…" She shrugs her shoulder. "But damned if I know which ones are kicking Brotherhood people in the nuts right now."

A truncated version of the intensive speculation she and Matt engaged in, but while he had theories, and thoughts about turf wars, Jessica got back to 'we don't know crap yet.'

And frankly didn't care enough to go further, because she's in way too much pain.

Jane's question provokes a shake of her head. "No. Nobody's looked yet. Hurt too much for even me to look."

And it's a sure bet if they hadn't gotten in touch with her not even Jane's pre-med would have looked, Jess would have just…sat in bed to see what her healing factor could make of it. 'And here's where I am' is as much round-about request for some additional help as it was an extension of trust and an expression of their rare positions as someone she could be around in this state.


"Brotherhood," Bucky repeats, momentarily thrown. He's been aware of the rising tensions related to metahuman registration, certainly, and aware that that age-old terrorist group had made a resurgence in response — how could he not, when Steve was one of the people put in danger at that gala attack? — but there's a disconnect between that organization and 'Jessica Jones' that has him momentarily and visibly thrown.

It doesn't last long. The fury tides back in. He relents slightly as Jane brings up important things — seeing to her injuries — but he doesn't spend his silence standing still. He's moving around the room, through the apartment, in an obvious sweep for any signs of trouble.

"They didn't bother to say what 'their shit' was?" Bucky asks, hesitating in the kitchen. "No demands? No unusual activity around Hell's Kitchen lately?"

There's a faint scuffling indicative of him searching for a first aid kit of some kind. "Need anything in particular, Jane?"


Barnes says it aloud; Jane furrows her eyebrows silently, her expression rhyming with the sound of his voice. Seriously? Them?

But she says nothing, taking in Jessica's explanation as she shoulders out of her coat, thoughtlessly tossing it aside to an empty chair, then pulls an elastic — half-forgotten on her wrist — to tie back her dark hair. Sleeves pushed up, little by little, Jane begins to transform into familiar Work Mode.

"Yeah," she adds, sour, "terrorists usually like to announce those kind've things, right? Isn't that part of the whole gig?"

But Bucky asks if Jane needs anything in particular; she considers him a moment, then looks back on Jessica, contemplating the broken state of the woman like she's not sure where to start first. Her eyes are unadulterated empathy. "It'd help to have an entire emergency ward — we should really take you there, Jess, unless — wait." She pauses. "I have something."

And out from her pocket, she pulls out something dark and no bigger than a jewellery box. "Um. This is actually for you, Jess. I've been building it for a while. I guess I can show you one of the things it can do."

Opening it, inside is no more than a pair of earrings, unremarkable metallic studs. Taking them in hand, Jane wanders close to the bed, taps one stud, and out projects a swath of light: Tony's holo-tech combined with Jane's engineering, and illuminated down on Jessica, gives an X-ray's insight into all her bones and organs.


"No. But…I haven't been in Hell's Kitchen lately," Jessica admits, not trying to track Bucky around the apartment at all, with her eyes. "So I wouldn't know. I've been staying at Shadowcrest 9 nights out of 10. I just happened to roll home tonight. Three of my big cases are in Gotham right now, and everything that isn't I've been forwarding on to my two little junior PIs, because they're big enough to keep me busy. Bottom line, word on the street hasn't reached me at all."

Sweeping the apartment will tell Bucky one thing…Trish Walker has great security. The balcony could represent a point of problem if it weren't the highest balcony on the building. It's locked up tight right now. It's also bulletproof glass with a shatterproof film. The intercom, alarm, and keycode system, coupled with the doorman and the need to be buzzed through downstairs, all provide pretty good security in their own right. The door is reinforced, as is the frame. The positioning of things is good too…the double sliding doors are right behind the granite block kitchen counter, which means one could easily duck behind said kitchen counter. The bedroom window represents the only other window, but of course it's hanging out over thin air. It's not a total defense against everything by a long shot, but it's a step up from Alias Investigations, that's for damn sure.

Meanwhile, Jane suggests an emergency ward, and she flinches. "No thanks," she whispers. "I've been experimented on in hospitals enough."

But her eyes widen as Jane takes out the box. "Damn, that is cool as Hell." Her tone is all whispered approval, and she grins. She reaches out to briefly touch Jane's wrist. "You know I love your superhero gear."

And in this case also very useful.

Jessica has about five concussions. Three of them are on the left side of her head. A lot of the damage seems to be on the left side, but it's a whole lot of everywhere. She has three broken ribs and a fractured hip. Her shoulder is dislocated on the right side. Dark spots on the X-ray indicate some internal bleeding.

Jessica provides insight on what the X-rays can't show: "I'm a little cut up on the left." This is probably understatement.

"Turns out stacks of cars have just a ton of sharp edges."


"Probably time to start fishing for word on the street again," Bucky says absently, as he has himself a look around. "They targeted you guys in specific so as not to 'interfere' with them… whatever they're doing probably has to do with Hell's Kitchen in some way." He glances over his shoulders. "You kids do seem to be the headliners in the area now."

He finishes his inspection, unable to find a single thing amiss with the place. Probably why Jessica retreated to it to begin with. He pulls the kit out from its place in a cabinet, returning to place it on a table by the bedside so he can open it up.

Jessica's refusal of hospitals turns his head. He is quiet, but the look on his face bespeaks a muted understanding — and sympathy.

Jane pulls out her little gadget a moment later. Bucky cocks an eye at it, seems to recognize it instantly — he's probably watched ninety-nine percent of its construction, against his will — and he leans forward to examine Jessica as the item provides an X-ray of her and her injuries.

"Bad," he assesses. "I know you hate hospitals, but…" He shakes his head. "Well, if you're bound and determined, that shoulder is going to have to pop back in. Not gonna heal right until it does."


In a moment's detachment, exclusive to all else going on — Jane gentles to Jessica's quiet wonder and praise. That touch to her wrist unknots another in a series, twisting up her heart with perpetual guilt. Her eyes look down, soft.

But, here and now, the moment does not last long. Not when Jessica deflects going to a hospital.

While sympathy flickers on Jane's face, everything else about her rankles against this rejection of reason. Thankfully, Bucky speaks — ever the bearer of reason — and Jane fiercely agrees. "Jess. If we ignore how your fractures could make you septic, you have brain injuries. We don't fuck with brain injuries. If you've got swelling — most people wouldn't even be having a conversation right now. Is this part of your powers package? Do you heal clean? How fast? I need to know these things. Stacks of cars? You need medical attention!"

Pawing a hand through her hair, Jane shoots a glance towards Bucky: a silent, expressive convince her, James imbued in her expression. Thankfully, his medical eye — honed by decades of war, self-treatment, and STEVE ROGERS — catches something even she misses.

"Tell me where you need me, James," she offers her help.


"If you are willing to pop it back in for me let's do it. I'm not sure how. I figured running around the room slamming myself into the wall repeatedly while I tried to emulate what I saw on television would just make it worse." Jessica walks this fine line between absolute truth and somewhat wry self-deprication on that count.

'Imma lay here and let my healing factor take over' is probably a vast overestimation of what her healing factor can actually do without some popping of things back into place. And tape. And certainly she's basically courting all kinds of uphill battles.

And then, "I did remember what you said. About strength not mattering. I almost choked her out. She just…ripped me right off her like I weighed about 2 pounds and…yeah."

Jane is suddenly peppering her with questions.

"Um. Any one of these things would take me a week. I'm not sure how multiples would. The worst I ever took before this and left to my healing factor was the stab wound from that bitch, that was okay in a week. I poured a bunch of alcohol over it, cauterized it, and stayed real still. Usually I just grab some saran wrap and duct tape for breaks…"

She is suddenly aware of how that must sound, and finishes lamely, "It seems to do okay…"

Seeing Jane try to have Bucky convince her, she says softly, "Jane, some psycho doctor seriously hit me with a four-pack of sedatives, nearly OD'd me and tried to take off with me from freaking Metro General not four months ago. I know you guys broke up that ring— thanks for that, by the way—" Soulless or not, they did it, and got Kilgrave out of play as well, "But…well. I'd rather you guys just do the best you can. If a little TLC and rest doesn't cut it I could call a couple of people with heal-others-powers to help."


A flicker of approval does appear in James' blue eyes when Jessica tells him she remembered his lessons. "Strength does count for a lot," he has to admit. "Strength and resilience. But you can get around that shit, with the right technique."

His demeanor stays generally troubled, however. There's no getting around how bad the injuries are. The fractured hip alone is deadly serious, even before adding the multiple concussions on top of it. Jessica's description of her usual 'self-care' regimen just narrows Bucky's eyes even more. "A week still isn't much of a 'healing factor, especially for just a flesh wound," he starts to object. Jane gives Bucky the 'convince her!' look, and he draws breath as if he's about to do just that —

Only to let it out as Jessica lowers her voice to describe what happened to her the last time she was in a hospital. His quiet agreement with Jane that she should really be convinced to seek medical attention, wars with his understanding for Jessica's fear of what might happen if she's put on an operating table.

Ultimately, he just shakes his head and tries to strike a compromise. "All right, Jess. A few days, and we'll see," he allows, with a sidelong glance at Jane. "But if you don't improve, and don't find some bullshit healing powers way to deal with it, I'm just gonna have to carry you to a hospital."

That said, he pushes up his sleeves in earnest. She isn't sure how, she says. "Oh, I know how," Bucky says grimly. "And I didn't have to go to war to figure it out. Figured it out much earlier than that." Just guess who was constantly getting their shoulders popped out of sockets. One guess. "You're right though, banging against a wall over and over isn't gonna do it. Lie flat and stick your arm out. Jane — " this, to her question where she's needed, " — brace her for me?"

He does not grab her with his metal hand, which is perhaps reassuring, but his right is still strong enough when it pulls, sliding her displaced bone back into its socket with a practiced, gentle tug and a rather disgusting 'clunk' that she can both feel and hear.

It will sure hurt a lot!! Though immediately afterwards, there is some relief.

"You still wanna do the TLC way after that?" Bucky asks wryly.


Little by little, Jane's lips purse tighter — not unlike that dangerous build of tension reminiscent of coiling springs. Displeasure sparks from all four corners of her expression.

Bucky Barnes knows this face well. Knows to fear it. Knows there is always, always, always a tirade to follow.

"A week?" she sputters back, opening both hands to beseech the God above who should be surely listening. She turns off the feed from the earring, and sets the box aside, all else forgotten in her temper. "Jess, from what I can see, there's at least five concussions. SIX after I hit you over the goddamn head with a medical textbook! This is dangerous. Serious, horrible, we can't leave you alone or let you go to sleep dangerous! You know what blood does to neural tissue?! It's bad! You won't be detectiving for long with cognitive impairments, or — or comatose, or dead. This is your life here!"

Rubbing a hand down her face, jaw set, she flicks an entreating look to Bucky; he backs her up in his severe, sargeant way. Jessica's own plea is for Jane to consider, though her expression is like a lock; there's sympathy there in her brown eyes, understanding — but not too much. Not for something like this. "Not a few days," she decides stonily. "Not that long. I'll call Zee and Matt. If we can't find something, you're coming with us. Your IQ will thank me later, Jessica."

As for right now? It's time for the Winter Soldier to reset a shoulder.

"Will do," she answers Bucky, exhaling out some of her worry. Crossing the bed to Jessica's other side, Jane carefully joins her, her small hands gentle on her other shoulder. But she plants one knee into the mattress, all her weight ready to bear down. "Jess. Look at me, OK? Deep breath in. Hold it —"

It'll sure hurt.


Jane dresses her down and threatens to bean her over the head with a medical textbook until she gets the point. She finds she doesn't have it in her to argue. They're telling her this out of concern, and maybe with them on high alert for shenanigans, unauthorized drugs and unwanted sample-taking it could be okay.

Jane's gentleness with her next instructions is, on its surface, all out of odds with her fury. And yet not really at odds at all. Bucky's instructions strike her as equally gentle, and for a moment she just feels crazy gratitude for both of them that she doesn't express.

Instead? She eases into the right position and sticks her arm out as best she can. She looks at Jane. Takes a deep breath and…

And then Bucky's resetting her arm.

There is a literal keen of agony, a general greying of her pale features, and this gasped out gem: "Ohhh son of a fucking bitch getting fucked in the eye by Hell's ugliest goddamn goat."

She's not calling anyone that. It's not said that way. It's just said in the way people say things when they need to let out the vilest series of words they can think of.

After that, one Jessica Jones sniffles back honest to god tears, turning her head away from both of them to try to hide them, and Bucky asks his question. Is she sure she wants to do it the TLC way?

She just nods a little bit, even as she bites back another soft sound of distress. There looks to be a slight chance she might puke. It is probably safe to say this is the most time she's ever been awake and in this much physical pain in her life. She's been this damaged, but she was either the beneficiary of very fast healing or various comas, and so she didn't have to experience it.

But the relief does hit her next, and there's another gasp for that one. "Thanks," she rasps.


Bucky does know this face well. Judging by the side-eyes he keeps giving it as it develops, he's waiting for the explosion. And it comes — with a vengeance.

Tolerantly, he weathers through Jane's outrage, saying absolutely nothing to spare Jessica from its wash of fury. Nope, Jessica deserves every bit of this lecture, in his view; in fact, she absolutely needs to hear it. If all of Jane's cautions won't change her mind, then so be it… but it's worth a shot.

Jessica does not change her mind. Jane is forced to concede, but with insistence on a modification: they won't even wait a few days. James purses his lips, but doesn't argue. He knows his own fears and biases when it comes to hospitals and sedation.

With a soldier's matter of factness, he simply arranges Jessica's arm, takes a firm grip, and relocates it with smooth ease. Jessica's reaction doesn't bring him to flick a lash. He's heard the things men say when their insides are falling out a hole in their middle.

"Creative," he does observe, because after that many years of war, you get a certain gallows humor about you.

Letting her go, his teasing gentles away into silence as Jessica makes a solitary miserable noise. "Don't thank me yet," he says gruffly, moving back to the kit and propping it open. "I want a look at the lacerations next. At least there's no damage to your internals from the cracked ribs, looks like, and thank God for that." He pauses. "The hip fracture is beyond me."

He moves closer, a tacit request for her to give him access to the injuries. "This Brotherhood… they wanna make sure you and your friends don't interfere with their plans. Were you the message? It stop with you?" A blunt question. "Or are we going to find Matt and the others in similar condition soon? They say anything about that?"


Hands tightening on Jessica's shoulder, Jane holds the woman flat — while knowing all the while, even injured, she could be launched across the room with the ease of a re-arranged pillow.

But there is neither fear nor worry for that in her eyes; time to take it as it comes. She holds the other woman's eyes, insistent and sympathetic — through that moment of split-second agony. And through that river of something that wells up out of Jones's voicebox.

Jane's eyebrows hike right up. God damn.

Thankfully, the agony retreats into a sore relief, and so does Jane, easing off from the bed with an 'all done' squeeze to her shoulder. She catches the sting in Jessica's eyes. There are those who would try to persist and hold her through tears, but Dr. Foster does things a different way — knows well the fierce pride of consummate soldiers too reserved than to be seen crying, doubtful, in a moment of weakness. A year with Bucky Barnes has trained her to treat that reserve with the utmost care.

So — what crying? Jane doesn't even see the tears. She crosses around the bed back to Bucky's side, better to give Jessica that privacy, and maintain pretending nothing is amiss — no pride can be broken here.

"I can handle the sutures," Jane speaks, more to Bucky, her voice soft — already arranging their divisions of responsibility. The glance she slips him shines with gratitude; she's impressed with his triage. "I'll need you to go out for me in a bit. I'll need painkillers and antibiotics. I'll text you which ones."

He of the two is far more skilled at illicit pharmaceutical runs. And Jessica is going to need heavy-duty ones.

Eyes also staring critically down on the reveal of Jessica's other injuries, Jane's lips press at talk of the Brotherhood. Bucky asks a question she hadn't yet even thought. "Need me to start calling?"


Point of fact, Jessica hadn't given much thought to accidentally launching Jane across the room, she just kind of…didn't. Maybe it's control that is better than most people give her credit for, maybe she just instinctively dug in with her heels. But she just takes it rather than bucking up. Later she'll marvel at Jane's trust in her, when she thinks it through.

And for them ignoring her tears she is just profoundly grateful. Jane doesn't see them, Bucky instructs her to let them get at the lacerations, and by the time Jess sits up, they're gone.

There's no getting around having to peel her shirt off. She's wearing a sports bra, though, a good long one that covers more than an average swim suit. Not that right this second she exactly cares, she really does trust these two as much as she said at their last meeting. But it makes things less awkward, distantly, all the same.

This is an exercise made easier by having two working arms.

It's a criss-cross array of cuts and lacerations of varying lengths, depths, bruise coloration and mess, exactly what one might expect out of someone thrown full force into a bunch of scrap metal cars and all their sharp edges. There are some on her arm as well. These aren't as bad as they could be; she was wearing her leather jacket at the time, but the force of it kind of tore through that. Like most ballistic armor, it does great against bullets and not so great against direct impact bladed anything. The jacket is in a similar state to her body.

"I don't know," Jessica admits softly, to Bucky's question. A fact that probably upsets her more than the battered state of her body.

"She wasn't making a lot of goddamn sense. One fourth 'you're a flatscan sympathizer.' One fourth 'join our dark side, or at least agree with us, we have cookies.' and one half 'tell your friends never to interfere with the Brotherhood ever.' Matt was thinking turf war, and he said something about getting people together and trying to find out more. Or…maybe…subtext…picking a fight right back, even after I told him dropping her from twenty stories made her laugh at me. Shit, I should— I'm not sure I told him enough about the electricity."

And then, softly, savagely: "Bucky? Will you teach me to fire a gun? Please?"

Because as usual, her response to feeling helpless is to find a way to make sure she will in fact never again be that helpless if she can avoid it. "Stabbing her didn't work, my makeshift shiv crumpled, but maybe a godamn bullet in the goddamn eye would have given her pause."

'Need me to start calling?' Jane asks, and Jessica for a moment is having trouble figuring out what she means. But then, her brain is pretty scrambled. It really is a testament to her durability that she's up and coherent at all. "Warning anyone might not hurt," she mutters. "Just…don't…don't call Luke. Or at least don't tell him where I am. I'll get with him when I'm better. I can't fucking…relationship right now."

Painkillers. Antibiotics. "I have some good painkillers left over from the ones May gave me from Wakanda, if that makes it easier," she mumbles.


Bucky doesn't seem concerned about the potential of Jane being launched by a convulsing Jessica, either. Perhaps it's faith in Jessica's control, or his faith in his own lightning-quick reflexes to catch Jane should that be the case — or a combination of both.

It's over quickly, at the least, and with both Bucky and Jane studiously ignoring the tears that glimmer briefly on Jessica's lashes afterwards. James is ingrained not to see such things, and Jane has picked up the habit of respecting that reserve after long association with him. Bucky simply moves briskly over to the kit afterwards, though Jane's quiet words draw his eyes.

After a moment, he nods in acceptance of her division of labor. "You got a steadier hand for the little details than I do," he says, which is saying something given he himself has a sniper's precise hands.

Though, to speak of that —

James' brows lift when Jessica asks to be taught to shoot. "Thought you'd never ask," he says. He had never felt it his place to press that sort of lethality on anyone unasked — a gun and all it implies isn't to be picked up lightly, and sometimes it reminds him unpleasantly of his time making Widows — but he'd nonetheless always thought he'd feel a little better if Jessica had something to defend herself with beyond her bare hands. "We'll start when you're ready."

He's started washing out Jessica's lacerations, even as he's speaking. Her state of undress doesn't seem to faze him at all; he does his work methodically, leaving clean wounds behind for the suturing. I don't know, Jessica says, when he asks about the Brotherhood's true intent, and his mouth thins.

"We'll just have to find out," he says.


It is an eminent compliment that Bucky Barnes affords Jane's deft hands.

She touches him once, briefly, on the chin, in quiet acknowledgment. Then, back to work, she checks her rolled-up sleeves and disinfects her hands down to her wrists, a sting of shock and empathy in her brown eyes to the state of Jessica's uncovered flesh — ripped up like she was fed to a shredder. Sons of bitches.

"We'll get this figured out," Jane says quietly, "once you're stable. We can get everyone together, assign jobs, get some information, get everyone properly prepared. And — wait, Matt knows?" She cuts a quick glance to Bucky. "He's not out vengeancing, is he?"

Because she might have to send the boyfriend on a detour to go reel that shit in.

Either way, sooner she sees to this, sooner she can call to ensure everyone is all right and on the level. Recalling old med classes, Jane selects suture needles as Bucky sees to the wound cleaning, making mental math over what might be necessary for a woman who may have it properly healed inside a week. Probably no more than needed to keep out immediate infection.

And then, Jessica asks Bucky for a favour. Jane glances to those words, eyebrows lifted, but no part of her face reticent or judgmental. After all, he taught her hands how to fire weapons — is still teaching her. It's a skill that helped Jane save lives.

Take one, too. It's a slippery slope — but she trusts no one more than James to impart those lessons. "James taught me," she asides, voice warm. "Super strict, but he's the best."

Jane's eyelids hood. "Of course, can't shoot with brain damage. So let's get this finished."


Thought you'd never ask, Bucky says, and Jessica shoots him a grateful look. Both for waiting for her to ask— she truly had not been ready prior to this moment— and in so readily saying yes alike.

He says they'll have to find out what the hell motivated the attack at all, and she nods in agreement. "I tried asking her questions," she says. "Bitch just— wasn't really in the mood to talk."

She nods her head. "He came looking for me. Must have heard the noise. I asked him to bring me here. I told him I'd be fine with some rest."

Just in case Jane decides to go hitting him with medical textbooks.

"Hopefully he's just doing what you said, yeah, but he gave some comment about giving her a shock. She didn't like electricity, but what I forgot to tell him was I threw her into power lines and it was the only thing that got a reaction. It didn't stop her."

And then Jane is both supporting her choice and reiterating the brain damage, and mumbles: "Would ice help? If it would, can I have some?" Asking for some relief. Yet another measure of how shitty she's feeling.

But she stays still for the sewing, murmuring, "Thanks guys. I don't know what I'd do without you both."

Lay here and get infected as all get out, most likely.

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