[for Jessica]

[onlyapassenger]

The ITF's job was -- and remains -- to keep tabs on everyone who entered Rapture, the underground hellhole of a city that showed up on the island as suddenly and inexplicably as any of the people who walk its shores. The primary mission, poorly defined but executed to the best of our ability, was, by most accounts, an unmitigated failure... Well, you can imagine how well I've been taking to that. We got our people out alive, but it was at the cost of children, and no matter how many shoulders want to carry the burden of what happened down there, mine may just be the most qualified.

I've followed up on all those who were injured in Rapture, at a distance, but Jessica Drew is the only one I've kept track of long after her recovery. I'll admit, her name piqued my interest. It has since it showed up in the Times earlier in the year. That she's not the Jessica Drew I'm acquainted with was obvious from the word go, but after keeping an eye on her over the past few weeks since her release from the clinic, I wonder if I didn't dismiss that possibility too soon.

'Cause she might not be Spider-Woman, but she sure as hell moves a lot like Spider-Man.

The first time was sheer coincidence; he'd been looking for Jason at the obstacle course and found Jessica instead. Had she just been messing around, he wouldn't have stuck around to watch, would have left her to her own devices with maybe a warning that she ought to be careful up there, but though it was plain to see she lacked training, she was nevertheless skilled, in her way. Rough around the edges, but maybe not as out of her depth in a place like Rapture as her injures suggested.

Curiosity, though, is what sees him return, what has him noting her progress with each of his visits. Spying on people isn't a skill he has much use for on the Island, but it's still one that he breaks out occasionally; Jason alone has kept him from getting rusty. Never in the habit of staying for very long, however, Bucky's getting ready to leave after his usual few minutes of observation when the sound of her falling draws his attention back to course: she's landed face first in the dirt.

Retaining his anonymity not nearly as important as making sure she isn't hurt, Bucky gives up his position in the trees after a few seconds of waiting to see if she'll move, making his way towards her with purposeful, but not hurried, strides.

"Christ, are you alright?"

Comments

[notaparker]

I was only in that clinic bed for ten days, you'd think I wouldn't be so rusty. But then, that's as much to do with the fact that, in the absence of the ol' Rapture superheroin, I'm back at baseline human. A little under, in fact, what with the still-healing lung.

Which, frankly, isn't good enough. We've established, in the wake of that disaster, that I have to do better. I have to be better, and I have to be better prepared. Unfortunately, there's a limit on how well I can achieve that, given I'm keeping a secret identity under wraps. No public combat training. Runs, swimming, I can allow those, that's just a nerd who likes to keep fit.

Running an obstacle course with an emphasis on flips, swings, and moves that would end with my foot in someone's face, those are a little fishier.

So I come out to the obstacle course here at times when usually there's no one about, and if it's deserted, I do this...

...except this time, an arm cramps mid-swing and it's less foot to the face and more face to the dirt. My face. Also my dirt, now, I suppose.

A major factor in cramps is lack of oxygen. A major factor in lack of oxygen is, you know, lungs that are feeling poorly. I hate being injured.

I carefully resist thinking about whether this could be worse.

The universe delivers a concerned passer-by anyway. Apparently thinking about thinking that also counts. Swell.

"Swell," I say, turning my head to the side, so I'm not chewing dirt as I talk. "Just taking a nap. In the dirt. A dirt-nap. Wait, no."