[30] Morning After, Awkward Encounters

Chapter 30: Morning After, Awkward Encounters

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The first rays of dawn crept through Jessica's blinds like guilty thieves, painting zebra stripes across tangled sheets and warm skin.

I lay there for a moment, watching the light play across Jessica's sleeping face. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow like spilled ink, lips slightly parted, expression peaceful in a way I'd never seen when she was awake. No smirks, no raised eyebrows, no constant vigilance. Just Jessica, unguarded and beautiful.

Part of me wanted to stay right here, pretend the world outside didn't exist. But being a romantic wasn’t in my blood, and the Omnitrix on my wrist reminded me that my life wasn't that simple anymore. Never had been, really.

I gently ruffled her hair, smiling when she made a soft sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow. Then I slipped out of bed as carefully as possible, muscles protesting after last night's... activities. Both the monster-fighting and the other kind.

The apartment was quiet as I padded through it in just my boxers while yawning, my throat dry as sandpaper. I needed water before I attempted the walk of shame back to the Rust Bucket. The kitchen was easy enough to find – Manhattan apartments weren't exactly known for their sprawling floor plans.

I found a glass in the second cabinet I tried, filling it from the tap. The water was cold, perfect, and I drained half of it in one go.

As I turned from the sink, movement caught my eye.

I paused.

Trish Walker leaned against the counter like she'd been there the whole time, cradling a mug of coffee. She wore an oversized band t-shirt – The Killers, nice choice – that barely covered her thighs, and a pair of simple black panties that my eyes definitely didn't linger on.

The silence stretched between us like a tightrope, and I was acutely aware that I was standing in her kitchen wearing nothing but boxer-briefs with little alien symbols on them. Real dignified. I gotta upgrade my fashion sense.

"Ben, right? Morning," she said finally, that practiced media smile playing at her lips. "Find everything okay?"

I managed a nod, holding up my glass like it was a shield. "Just... water. Throat was dry."

"I'll bet." The smile turned into something closer to a smirk. "Sounded like you two had quite the workout last night."

I gave her an awkward smile, rubbing the back of my head. "We, uh... sorry if we were too loud."

"Oh, don't apologize. It's nice to know Jess is finally letting someone get close." She took a sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving mine over the rim. "She doesn't do that often, you know. Let people in."

There was something in her tone, a weight to the words that made me hold back a frown. What’s her angle?

This was Trish Walker, Hellcat, my brain supplied helpfully, though the details were fuzzy. I'd never gotten around to watching the Jessica Jones show in my past life. Female MCs weren’t my thing. Now I was living it.

"So," Trish continued, setting down her mug, "Jessica mentioned you before, you're on some kind of summer vacation? Interesting timing to visit New York."

"Yeah, well, my grandpa likes to travel. See the sights. Though I don't think monster battles were on the itinerary. And no, I actually live in New York." I shrugged, trying for casual. "We were already quite far away in our journey, but had to make a detour because of an emergency."

"You came chasing after that Hulk fella? Most people would run from something like that." She tilted her head slightly, and I couldn't help but notice how the morning light caught in her hair. "But you didn't. Neither did Jess."

"She must have told you about the Limax situation, if you’re openly talking about her superhero secret with me. Guess we're both bad at self-preservation."

She laughed, a sound that transformed her face. "That's one way to put it. Though from what I saw on the news, you seem pretty good at preservation. Four arms and all."

“Umm…"

"Relax." She waved a hand. "I'm not going to out you to TMZ or anything. Jess trusts you, which means I trust you. Plus, I make her costume. I'm kind of already in the superhero support business."

The conversation should have been getting easier, but there was something about the way she looked at me – eyes lingering a beat too long, the subtle shift of her weight that drew attention to her legs. It wasn't overt, nothing I could call out without sounding like an ass, but it was there.

A low-key flirtation that kept me off-balance.

"That's... good to know," I managed.

"Is it?" She moved closer, reaching past me for a mug from the cabinet. The motion brought her into my personal space, her blonde hair brushing against my cheek, the scent of expensive shampoo mixing with coffee. "You know, Jess has never brought anyone home before. You must be pretty special."

I stepped back, bumping into the counter. "I should probably—"

"Looks like you two are getting along."

Oh shit. We both turned to find Jessica in the doorway, wrapped in a bedsheet toga that would've made Caesar jealous. My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for the explosion, the accusation, the drama.

Instead, she just smiled – lazy and confident, voice still husky with sleep. "I'm gonna order breakfast. What do you guys want? Pancakes? Waffles?"

The relief made me let out a breath. No jealousy, no misunderstandings, just Jessica being Jessica. God, I lo— liked her. Really liked her.

"Nothing from my side. I should get back," I said, setting down my glass. "Grandpa and Gwen are probably organizing a search party with military-grade hardware by now."

"At least stay for food," Jessica protested, but I was already moving toward the living room where my clothes lay scattered.

"Maybe next time," I called back, my usual confidence returning. "When you rise before me with some homemade food ready, like a good wife."

The lazy confidence shattered instantly. Jessica's face went nuclear red, eyes wide as she started sputtering. "Wife?! You—” Trish burst out laughing on the side as Jess grew even redder. “No, you two! Stop it! I— Get out!"

A couch cushion sailed past my head as I laughed, grabbing my clothes and making a strategic retreat. "Love you too, honey!"

"OUT!"

I dressed quickly in the hallway, still grinning as more thrown objects thudded against the door. Trish's laughter echoed from the kitchen, and despite the chaos, everything felt fun in the world.

At least until I had to face Grandpa and Gwen.

****

The Rust Bucket sat in a discrete alley exactly where Grandpa's text said it would be, looking as innocuous as a vehicle covered in alien tech could manage. I climbed inside, already rehearsing excuses and explanations.

The driver's seat was empty. No Grandpa Max. Just Gwen.

She sat at the dinette table, the Archamada spellbook open before her, but she wasn't reading. Her eyes were fixed on a blank spot on the wall like it held the secrets of the universe. The air felt dense, charged with the kind of tension that preceded either storms or explosions.

"Hey," I tried, going for casual. "Where's Grandpa?"

"Out." Her voice was flat, emotionless in a way that made me wince. "Making calls. Probably explaining to his old Plumber buddies why his grandson decided to play demolition derby with two angry monsters in the middle of New York."

Each word landed like a precisely aimed dart. I sighed, dropping onto the opposite bench. "Look, I know you're mad—"

"I'm not mad." She finally turned to look at me, and I wished she hadn't. Her green eyes, so similar to mine, were shadowed with exhaustion and something else. "I'm just trying to understand the new protocol. Is an all-night 'perimeter check' with your new girlfriend part of standard hero debriefing now?"

The accusation was like a sword to my neck. I felt a little annoyed at her words. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and I did send Grandpa a text. What right did she have to judge? "It wasn't like that. And she's not my girlfriend."

"Oh?" She turned a page in the grimoire with enough force to nearly tear it. "So you two spent all night discussing tactics? Comparing notes on monster-fighting? I'm sure it was very productive."

That's when I really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes were pronounced, almost bruise-like. Her hair hung limp, none of its usual shine. She looked like she hadn't slept at all. Was she worried for my safety?

"Gwen, have you even slept?"

The shift in my tone caught her off guard. For a second, the mask slipped. "...I didn’t get the chance. I was studying," she said defensively, gesturing to the book. "Someone has to figure out how to be useful for the next apocalypse, since you always put your foot into world-ending threats like trading cards."

And there it was. The real issue. This wasn't about Jessica, not really.

"You were great out there, Gwen. You saved people. You saved me from getting flattened by that chunk of concrete, don't think I didn't notice."

She scoffed, the sound bitter as burnt coffee. "I stopped a rock. You went toe-to-toe with the Hulk. And now you have your precious Jewel to back you up. Guess you won't be needing a partner who can just do a few magic tricks anymore."

The quiet insecurity in her voice startled me more than any punch from Abomination. Is she scared? This wasn't jealousy over a girl – or at least, not just that. This was fear. Fear of being left behind, of becoming obsolete in this grand new world of gods and monsters we'd stumbled into.

The Ben 10 world was dangerous, but it was a cartoon, whereas this was real life and Marvel. Gwen’s fear of this scary world was justified.

I reached across the table, my hand hovering over hers for a moment before I pulled back. The gesture felt too intimate; I couldn’t do it. "That's not true. We're a team. You, me, and Grandpa."

"Are we?" She looked down at the ancient text, fingers tracing arcane symbols. "Or am I just the cousin you're stuck with on summer vacation?"

The word 'cousin' felt strange in her mouth, inadequate somehow. We'd been Ben and Gwen our whole lives, a unit, a matched set. But something had shifted between us, some invisible line crossed that neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

The silence stretched, heavy and unresolved. The hum of the RV's generator filled the space where words should have been. Outside, New York was waking up, but inside the Rust Bucket, time felt frozen.

I sighed in the end. I couldn’t do this without some corny words, but that was better than her being bothered by this subject. No matter how much we fought, I knew she cared for me, and I did the same.

"Don’t record me saying this, but… I need you in this, Gwen," I said finally, the words coming out rougher than intended. "Not just your magic. You. Remember how you saved me from that Vilgax drone during the first time I got the Omnitrix? You had no powers, but that didn’t stop you. You keep me grounded, and keep me from doing stupid things—"

"Like fighting two gamma monsters?"

"Like fighting them alone." I met her eyes, trying to convey everything I couldn't say. "This watch is special, Gwen, very much so, but it might lead me astray. No, precisely because it's special, it will probably lead me down the wrong path in the future. I… for now, I’m playing hero because it’s cool, and I like saving people. Kind of. But what if I get bored with it and choose the easy way out? When I'm out there, when things get crazy, knowing you've got my back... that's what keeps me stable."

Gwen looked stunned at my words. Surprised recognition flashed across her face. She looked at the mirror as if to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating this out of sleep deprivation. I didn’t interrupt her and waited for her to speak.

Gwen turned to me, eyes locking with mine as her expression grew more complex. “Well, Ben I… Ugh, maybe I made a big deal out of nothing, this is awkward…” I watched her fight with her embarrassment, finally overcoming it as she took a deep breath. “But! I’m surprised by your honest words, and I—”

But before she could continue, the door opened and Grandpa Max climbed in, looking every one of his sixty-plus years.

"Hmm? Ah, good that you're back," he said, collapsing into the driver's seat. Gwen grumbled silently, while I laughed. I understood her response without her having to finish her words. "We need to leave. Now."

"...What happened?" Gwen asked, the personal drama instantly shelved.

"SHIELD happened. They've got the city locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Every exit, every bridge, every tunnel. They're looking for whoever intervened in the Hulk incident. I don’t want us to be part of this." He started the engine, checking mirrors with practiced paranoia. "Nick Fury himself is heading the operation."

My blood sped up. Nick Fury. Director of SHIELD, future assembler of Avengers, and currently the last person I wanted interested in the Omnitrix.

““Let’s go, Grandpa,”” Gwen and I agreed at the same time.

As the Rust Bucket pulled out of the alley, I caught Gwen's eye. Something flickered in them, and she looked away quickly. And this time it wasn’t because she was angry. The easy dynamic we'd had our whole lives had fractured, and I had no idea how to fix it.

Hell, I wasn't even sure what was broken.

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