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itspatsy · 7 years

Text

you're out on the bottomless sea

Summary: All Jessica wanted was some pizza rolls, but first she had to peel a drug-addled teen idol off the floor. (or: everything good Trish ever learned, she learned from Jessica.)

Read at AO3.

Jessica trudged through the door, boots dragging and bookbag crashing against the marble floor of the foyer. Dorothy would've scolded her about making scuff marks, but sadly, what she didn't see wouldn't hurt her. It was Friday and time to toss off the week's bullshit, so she made a beeline for the kitchen with a hankering for some inexplicably delicious cardboard flavored junk food. At least that was the plan. But of course, bullshit was inescapable in the Walker home, and as she passed by the sitting room, she saw something that forced to stop in her tracks.

She sighed dramatically. Maybe next time, Totino’s. As much as pizza rolls of questionable nutritional value called to her, she figured she should probably do something about the busted up, glassy eyed child star slumped by the couch.

Again.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence lately, and it pissed Jessica off each and every time. Not so much at Trish. They had reached something of a truce, a friendship even. They weren't some twee secret sharing bosom buddies kind of shit or whatever, but what they had was still… nice. It was good to have a friend. Jessica had always hung out with a small group of other social outcasts, but they were never tight, and they got all weird when she came back to school after the accident. She and Trish hadn’t known each other before that and had only gone to the same school in the barest sense of the word. Trish was usually away filming or doing publicity, and they ran in entirely different social circles when she was actually there. Jessica had assumed she was some stuck up, empty-headed, spoiled rich kid with an oversized ego and probably a cocaine habit to match.

But as it turned out, it wasn't as easy for her to hate on a spoiled rich kid when the kid was doing all the work and when she was living in the kid’s house benefiting from the money. And mercifully, Trish herself turned out to be different than Jessica expected. She wasn’t entirely wrong with her first impression: Trish was more than capable of being a snarky, sneering brat, and while she didn’t really mess around with illegal drugs, she was never far from a pill bottle, but she was also cool and whip smart and funny and good-hearted. And her taste in music was actually pretty decent, all explosive angry girl rock, not the mind-numbing bubblegum pop Jessica had anticipated. Really, nothing about Trish was as bad as she anticipated. And honestly, who was she to pass judgement on an occasional streak of bitchery? She wasn’t that lacking in self-awareness. She'd have to hate herself too. Or, you know... hate herself even more than she already did. Whatever the case, she liked Trish, and it was hard to be angry at her.

Her mother was another matter altogether. Dorothy Walker was a dangerous whack job and a nightmare to live with. Jessica was able to get by mostly unscathed because Dorothy just... didn't give a shit about her, and she was honestly glad for it, even though she knew it definitely wasn't how adoptions were supposed to go. Trish, meanwhile, was always directly in her path of destruction. Getting slammed into a wall by a superpowered teenage freak might have spooked Dorothy, but apparently nothing could stop her from being a calculating, child abusing assclown. Jessica could threaten and intimidate, but she couldn’t be there every time Dorothy was near Trish, and the woman had her own leverage now that she knew of Jessica’s powers. The fact of the matter was, Jessica was an orphan kid with nothing to her name, and Dorothy was rich, powerful, and well-lawyered. She only had so many options available to her while living under the Walker roof.

And two of those options right now were A.) eating some goddamn pizza rolls or B.) peeling Trish off the floor. As always, option B won out. But she didn't have to be nice about it, so she stomped into the room, bent down, and roughly shook Trish’s leg. “Hey! You alive?”

It took a moment, but Trish turned her head in Jessica’s general direction and grinned. The bloody nose and busted lip colored her teeth red, and her sunken, glazed eyes stood out even more against her ashen complexion. It was kind of creepy. Like Night of the Living Dead creepy. Jessica pulled back her hand, ready to throw a punch in case Trish had suddenly developed a more carnivorous diet.

Her brains appeared safe, as Trish finally slurred out, “Oh, hey, it’s Jessie. Real nice to see you, Jessie. Where’ve yoooou been all day?”

Jessica inwardly cringed at the nickname. That was a Dorothy thing. Trish didn’t use it unless she was being a condescending ass and trying to pick a fight. “At school.”

“Oh, yeah, school. Like the normal kids do.” Trish looked contemplative for a moment. “But then why were you there? Shouldn’t you be in the ‘gifted’ program?”

Trish giggled at her own stupid joke, and Jessica rolled her eyes. She grabbed Trish’s arm and hoisted her off the floor, maybe a little more harshly than strictly necessary. She lurched forward into Jessica, unable to keep her feet about her, and Jessica shoved her onto the sofa. She crashed back into the cushion, still giggling.

Jessica sneered. “You look like shit. Maybe I should take pictures, send ‘em to the tabloids. How much do you think they’d pay to get proof that perfect Patsy Walker is just another drug-addled fuck up of a child star?”

Trish’s eyes turned hard, or as hard as her strung out state would allow, which was pretty unimpressive, frankly. A fly could knock her ass over right now, and she was a scrawny thing even on a good day. “Fuck off, Jessica,” she growled, but her baby bird voice just further undermined any intimidation factor. It was honestly just sad.

And ugh, okay, fiiiiine. Maybe what she said was kind of low. She thought all the anger was for Dorothy, but maybe she was kind of angry at Trish too. Not for the bleeding on the carpet, obviously, but more the part where she was blitzed out of her fucking mind, and Jessica was the one left dealing with it again. Though she knew the drug habit wasn’t exactly Trish’s fault either, and that just made her feel more guilty for being a dick to her when she was in her "most vulnerable state" or whatever psychological mumbo jumbo a shrink would've called it.

As they'd gotten closer, Jessica had gotten the low-down on the pills, and in an utterly unsurprising turn of events, Dorothy's negligent parenting featured heavily. Basically, Trish once had a panic attack on set when she was 13, so Dorothy took her to the doctor, and she was prescribed an anti-anxiety medication. Pretty standard and what you might expect from a decent parent, right? Of course, when it happened a few more times, Dorothy took her back and made the doctor up the dosage to eleven. By that point, Trish was practically a zombie on set, and that just wasn’t acceptable either. So then came Adderall in an attempt to offset the effect of the benzo, which was insane but also classic Dorothy, and hey, as it turned out you could get more work out of a girl that was hyped on speed, and it just snowballed from there.

Trish told Jessica she resisted at first, said she hated the way the meds made her feel. But as it almost always did, Dorothy's browbeating and bullying prevailed. Now Trish took them willingly, gratefully even. And too damn often, in Jessica's opinion. It wasn't as bad when Dorothy was off schmoozing with producers and ignoring them for days on end, but if the mom-ster spent any time hovering on set or at home, Trish would start popping pills, which led to fucks ups, which led to more abuse from Dorothy, which led to more pill popping until Trish could barely string a sentence together or was bouncing off the walls. It was a fucked up cycle, and it was getting worse. She'd come home one too many times to find Trish slumped at the kitchen table or, like, flying around the room talking a mile a minute and waving a bleeding hand because she hadn't realized how hard she was holding a glass.

It was becoming a problem. Like, the kind of capital P problem that would result in a Very Special Episode in some 80s sitcom, and it was not something Jessica was equipped to deal with. She could absolutely see the appeal of being barely conscious when Dorothy Walker was breathing down your neck, but she dreaded the possibility of finding the least annoying person she knew dead on the floor from an overdose. And maybe she took her fear out on Trish sometimes, and maybe that wasn’t fair, but maybe it also wasn't fair that she had to worry about her friend dying like that.

Whatever it was, being mean to Trish always made her feel like a creep, so she sighed, resigned to her fate. “Stay here. I’m gonna get something to clean you up with.” She went to the bathroom and grabbed a few wash clothes, wetting them in the sink. Then she grabbed the first aid kit. She looked longingly at the kitchen as she passed it on her way back.

Trish hadn’t moved at all.

Jessica sat beside her and brought the washcloth up to her chin slowly. She jerked away, apparently surprised even though Jessica had telegraphed her intention. She brushed her fingers through Trish's hair a little to ease her, then held the back of her head and brought her face to the cloth, gently wiping at the dried blood. It didn’t look as bad with the blood gone, but it wasn’t great either. No broken nose, but her left eye was already beginning to bruise, and the lip would take a few days to heal.

“Isn't there some rule about hitting you in the face or something? Or is your mom trying to change the theme song? 'I wanna be your abuse poster child’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it."

There was a long silence, and Jessica worried she might have pushed too far. Trish had a dark sense of humor that could rival her own, but it had to be the right moment. And maybe the right moment wasn’t just after getting her face smashed by her shitty mom. Or maybe it was, because Trish smirked and let out a chuckle.

"Haven’t you heard? Bruised is the new black. She’s just making sure I stay up to date with the latest fads.” The smirk dropped, and she ran a tentative tongue across the cut on her swollen lip. “Anyway, we wrapped for the season, and I don't have any public engagements coming up for now. So." She gestured to her face.

“What about school?”

Trish shrugged. “She’ll just keep me out for a few days if it’s not healed enough by Monday. The school doesn’t really know the filming schedule, and it’s not like they’ll ask the set tutor. Besides, makeup does wonders.”

That was true enough. Trish had an assortment of methods to hide the bruises, though they weren’t usually so obviously placed as her face. A little concealer here and there, bracelets, sleeves, scarves. Jesus, scarves ga-freaking-lore. People probably thought it was some trendy statement piece, and "gosh, that Patsy Walker is just so fashionable, isn't she?" but really Dorothy just liked a go for the neck.

She wasn't as subtle as she liked to pretend either. People knew. They had to. Sometimes they added to it, like the crapass producers that nodded along to Dorothy's sniping comments about the rail thin starlet standing to lose a few more pounds. Everyone else just let it happen. The doctors that prescribed enough medication to down a grizzly bear, let alone a tiny teenage girl. The directors that waved off Dorothy's cloying "please excuse us" smiles and pretended not to hear the yelling through the office door. The actors that saw their co-star flinch every time her mother walked on set. The make up artists and costumers that covered the bruises. The set tutors that didn’t even argue when Dorothy cut lessons shorter and shorter. Hell, even the craft table workers that watched her smack a cupcake out of Trish's hand and shove a handful of celery at her. Not a word from any of them.

Then there were the agents and publicists, working double time to cover it up and keep it quiet, making sure the Patsy brand and origins stayed shiny and wholesome, the American Dream at work. Such humble beginnings, just a little girl and her mom, poor but hardworking, rising to fame and fortune with a little luck. A great American success story, and a girl who could be you.

Trish didn't want their help, didn't want anyone saving her, but Jessica didn't know how they all stood by and pretended to ignore it. She guessed that was how the entertainment industry had always worked, its golden legacy, abuse or at least a blind eye to it for the sake of one more dollar. Most of them likely didn't care at all. And the ones who did were probably too scared to speak out for fear they would conjure the all-powerful, fire-breathing industry lawyers that would force them out of their jobs, destroy their reputation, and leave them with nothing. Money grubbing or apathy or self-preservation, whatever the reason, they all relied on the It's Patsy cash cow and didn't dare disturb the unspoken balance.

How did you fight a system so full of structured indifference and greed and self-protection? Jessica figured you didn't fight it. You just tried to escape it with whatever scraps of yourself you could carry with you. She knew Trish had the strength to make it out, but she worried more and more each day what would be left of her when she did.

“Where did Mommy Dearest get to anyway?” she asked.

Trish inspected her nails, appearing completely disinterested. “Passed out drunk by the pool? Tormenting some producer’s beleaguered assistant? Giving blowjobs to the entirety of the Teen Choice Awards voting panel? I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

Jessica almost smiled. “Can’t we dig up some evidence against her or something? Tax evasion? Embezzlement? I mean, she’s done worse, but sometimes you gotta catch them with the smaller stuff. Like Capone, ya know?”

Trish made a mock scandalized face. "C'mon, Jess, don’t talk about her that way. When Mom's not smacking me around, piling me with pills, shoving my own fingers down my throat, pimping me out, hoarding my money, or adopting kids for publicity and then ignoring their existence, she's…” Jessica raised a questioning eyebrow and Trish smirked, continuing, “...still a total hellspawn incapable of human empathy or feeling."

Jessica laughed. “Truer words.”

If her coherence and vocabulary were anything to go by, Trish was sobering up, which was good as far as Jessica was concerned. Apparently not so much as far as Trish was concerned, since she was stretching an arm to the end table where her pill bottles were scattered.

"Hey." Jessica reached out and stopped her, knowing it was probably going to provoke a fight but not giving a shit. "Don’t."

“Don’t what?” Trish snapped.

“I think you’ve had enough already. What do you even need them for? She’s not here.” But I'm here, she wanted to say. Stay here with me.

Trish scoffed, shaking her head. "God, what do you even care, Jess? What difference does it make to you?"

Of course, she just had to be right about it starting a fight, and now bitter, belligerent Trish was in full action. Always a pleasure, that one. Hadn't they just been cracking jokes and laughing? Things always turned on a dime in this house. But shit, Jessica could be snotty too. “Because then I have to clean up the mess.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it. You don’t have to do anything. You could just skulk around your room, stick on some headphones, ignore it all. But you don’t. You've never been able to keep your nose out of it." Jessica was still holding Trish's arm, could feel the tension, see her fist clinched tightly. Her nails weren't long, but it was enough to leave little red moon crescents on her palm. She did it often, and Jessica knew it had to sting. Which was probably the point.

"What's all this about? What do you really want?” Trish asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Goddamn, now she was acting paranoid. This was quickly escalating into uncharted territory. Jessica shrugged a shoulder, trying to remain casual, but she was becoming increasingly agitated herself. "I don’t know. Aren't we supposed to be family now or whatever? Isn’t that what family does for each other?"

"Family?" Trish sneered. "What do you even know about family?"

Okay. Okay, then. It was just a day of low blows, wasn't it? Trish was usually careful not to mention Jessica’s family unless Jessica brought it up first. Which was basically never. For a damn good reason. Seriously. Shit. Just... shit. It wasn't... what the fuck? It felt like her head was collapsing in on itself and her skin was was trying to peel itself off, and okay, yeah, casual was out the window now, it flew the nest and got swiped out of the sky by a feral cat.

Trish made to push her off but she held tight. Held hard. Harder than she intended or realized. She wasn't there, and she didn't know. Trish gasped in pain, and Jessica quickly let go, coming back to reality. But now she had a different reason to want to throw herself in a hole and collapse the dirt around her. Red marks were already forming on Trish's wrist, as if she needed more bruises. Except this time it was Jessica that caused them. What was wrong with her? Why did she always fuck everything up? Why did she always cause the most harm to the people she loved?

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't--"

Trish laughed sharply, like acid burning through concrete, and it made Jessica feel even sicker. If they were already filled up with this ugly bitterness and self-loathing, how would there ever be room left in them for anything else?

"Why apologize?" Trish asked. "I'll probably just think it's from Mom in the morning anyway. Well, assuming you don’t flush my pills or something, since you’re suddenly so concerned about it."

Jessica felt a surge of anger, but it wasn't at herself this time. Fuck guilt. This wasn't her fault. This wasn't even about her. She was just trying to do the decent thing, and she was getting crucified for it, getting her dead family thrown in her face. It was so goddamn typical. She tried to keep her voice even and measured, and she just barely managed to grit out, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“Well, I never asked for your help," Trish snapped. "Just leave me alone already!”

“God, would you shut up!” Jessica shouted, jumping to her feet and just done, done with all the bullshit, the self-pitying destruction. It was selfish. So fucking selfish.

Trish flinched and hunched in on herself, obviously anticipating some withering verbal assault or a raised hand. Usually Jessica would've felt terrible for causing a reaction like that, for making Trish feel unsafe, but this time it just spurred her anger further. She prowled the floor. “Has that stupid wig cut off circulation to your brain? What don't you get about this? Is it really so crazy that I’m tired of finding you passed out? That I’m worried one day you won’t wake up? That I hate that nothing I do seems to help? Well, excuse me if that's too goddamned pushy for you! I don't give a shit. I'm not going sit around with my thumb up my ass while you kill yourself.”

Trish looked at her, wide-eyed, taken aback by the outburst. And a little guilty. Good. Maybe she was finally getting through that thick fucking skull. She came to a stop in front of Trish, calmer. “You know what? I think I get some of it now. This snotty tantrum of yours. I bet you don’t even know how to deal with this, do you?”

Trish took a troubled breathe. "With what?" she asked, voice barely audible.

“Someone caring about you. You asked what I know about family? Well, I know a whole lot more than you, asshole. My parents loved me unconditionally even when I was being a whiny shit. And my brother was an obnoxious little dweeb, but I would've done anything for him. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I don’t remember what it’s like to have a family and be loved, okay?"

Trish looked absolutely fucking miserable now. She opened her mouth to make excuses, to apologize, to something, but Jessica didn't care. She wasn't finished. "You're the one who doesn't know anything about family, all right? You don't know anything about being loved or loving someone. You don't know shit. You’re used to people wanting something from you."

Trish couldn't even look at her now. She was doing everything possible to sink further into the couch, make herself small and weightless, just dissolve herself right out of existence. But Jessica wasn't going to let her, not now and not ever.

“Look at me, please." Trish didn't move, so she grabbed her shoulders and shook them a little. Finally, Trish turned her head up to meet Jessica's eyes, and shit, she was crying, she'd never seen her cry before. But there was no walking this back now, so she pressed on. "Listen. I like you for you, and I don’t want anything from you except to be your friend, okay?"

Trish just looked at her, tears rolling down her cheeks, jaw clenched tight, and body trembling lightly. But there was hope in her eyes, like she couldn't believe what Jessica was offering but so badly wanted it. Jessica brought her hand up to wipe away a tear with her thumb. "Okay?" she repeated, gently. She didn't really know where this well of tenderness was coming from, when she'd become capable of it, but it seemed to work. After a long moment, Trish nodded. She raised her hands, one pulling Jessica's away to grasp it and the other wiping at her face.

Touching Trish like this, holding her hand, Jessica realized it was the most physical contact she'd had in awhile. Dorothy almost never touched her, except for photo ops, and that had decreased as public interest in the adoption waned… and after Jessica slammed her into the wall. She was fine with it, preferred it even. She didn't need to be touched. Did she miss the feeling of her mother running fingers through her hair or rubbing her back? Her dad kissing her forehead or playfully tugging at her ear? Or even her brother's arms around her neck, choking the life out of her during a begged for piggyback ride? Of course, she missed it, but that wasn't her life anymore. It wasn't fair, but she just had to accept it. Maternal affection from Dorothy Walker left a lot to be desired anyway. She touched Trish all the time. Shoving and prodding and squeezing and pulling. Dorothy hugged her sometimes, if there were cameras around or to use as a subtle warning gesture in public, arm across a shoulder and nails digging in hard enough to leave marks under her shirt.

She thought maybe Trish could use a real hug. She thought maybe she could too.

Before she could have second thoughts about it, Jessica sighed and sat back on the couch alongside Trish. "This is going to be awkward, but I'm going to hug you now, okay?"

Trish blinked at her, eyes still red. “Ummm... how about you don’t do that?”

Jessica went for it anyway.

She was right. It was awkward. She didn't really remember how to hug. Last her parents were alive, she'd been the epitome of disinterested, disgruntled teenager, giving half-hearted pats on the back or dodging hugs entirely because they were lame. She regretted it now, wishing more than anything she could take her parents and her brother in her arms again. But hindsight didn't mean much, except to help her appreciate what was in front of her, so she put all of that feeling into holding the person in her arms now. She felt hesitant hands on her back, and then finally arms coming round her sides, squeezing hard, desperately.

They stayed like that for a long minute, until she felt Trish wince. She pulled back, worried she hurt her again.

"It's okay." Trish waved a hand dismissively, but her other hand went to her side. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to brush it past Jessica so easily, she added, "It wasn't you."

Jessica knocked the hand out of the way and went for the hem of Trish's shirt. Ignoring her protests, she lifted it up and found a bruise across her ribs. Unlike a few yellowish marks littering her back, this one was red, fresh. It was going to look brutal in a few days and would definitely hurt like hell. Jessica once again found herself caught between violent anger and weary resignation, the most popular emotional exports of the Walker household. But Trish didn't need her rage and righteous indignation, especially not right now, so she settled for a scoff instead.

"Christ, man, did she hit you with a chair?" Trish grinned wryly, a little blood left on her teeth. "What is this, the WWE? Nah, it's more like..." she paused and poshed-up her accent into a snooty English cadence, "Ms. Walker with a Nickelodeon blimp in the library."

"How is Clue better than the WWE?" asked Jessica, skeptically.

Trish turned up her nose. "It's more classy."

Jessica chuckled, relieved they were back to joking. All this talking about feelings shit, having to actually verbalize what she felt in her blood and her bones, it was way past her comfort zone, and it was freaking exhausting. But snark she could do. "Maybe one day we’ll get lucky and find Dorothy hanging from the studio rafters with the Patsy wig around her neck."

Trish smacked at Jessica's leg in excitement. “Oh! Or come home to find her tragically crushed beneath a Teen Choice Awards surfboard.”

They broke out into laughter and started coming up with the wildest, most outlandish, and comical death scenarios they could imagine. Maybe it was messed up to joke about Dorothy dying, and maybe they were sick fucks for even thinking it. Or maybe it was just the best way to deal with all the shit. Gallows humor, right? Catharsis. It felt good to laugh, and it made everything feel a little less hopeless, like things didn't always have to be this way.

Eventually, their laughter turned to wheezing giggles and finally contented sighs. In their hysterics, they'd ended up pressed close, shoulder to shoulder, legs twisted together. Trish grabbed her hand again with both of her own, holding it so carefully and gently, as if she was some rare, precious thing, and maybe that was exactly what she was to Trish.

"Hey, Jess? Earlier... you said you feel like nothing you do helps. But that's not true. Just you being here and like... actually caring about what happens to me? It makes a difference. I know there's finally somebody on my side. Is that what family's supposed to feel like?"

Yeah, that was it. Jessica squeezed her hands back, knowing that would be answer enough. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Want me to get the Saran Wrap?”

Trish smiled, her head dropping to the side and resting on Jessica’s shoulder. “In a little while.”

#jessica jones #trish walker #trishica #marvel's jessica jones #ayyy i tried my hand at some fic #warning: content may contain bratty teenagers #teen trish is a self-destructive trainwreck and teen jess the long-suffering supportive friend #trish learned about love and family from jessica and i have feelings #also dorothy walker can choke #just fyi the trishica of it all is pretty ambiguous #i just love their relationship in every kind of way #so i leave room for everything #fic #relationship: the stuff that'll last forever #relationship: snake habitat

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