Jessica. Jessica.

There is a dripping somewhere in the apartment, incessant and demanding. It's tapping at the back of her mind like a whisper in the dark, and Jessica would just like to sleep longer. What is a superhero who can't sleep? A mother. At least it isn't the baby, she reminds herself as she fights the urge to fully wake. Reaching her arm out, she grasps at empty, cold air and groans. No one there to help. Stupid Porcupine.

The ceiling is different. It's the first of a very long list of things to be different when Jessica opens her eyes. As she moves her gaze to take in the unfamiliar room, her head pounds. She can smell wine. Is she hungover? Drunk? She sits up and instantly regrets the motion. Hungover. The second groan that comes out of her is also unfamiliar, ringing in her head deeper than usual. Jesus, what did she drink last night? The blankets, dotted in revolting blue flowers, are heavy and her joints hurt. It feels like the morning after a fight but with a significant lack of visible blood.

Is she shorter now? She notices she's much closer to the floor as she puts her feet down. Feet that are narrower than her own at the end of legs that are thinner than her own. For a moment, she wants to tell herself that she's dreaming, but the pain is real. The exhaustion is real. Leaning toward the night stand, she picks up the cell phone and presses the home button to check the time. A stranger and her son stare back and Jessica knows that something has gone wrong.

"Gerry?" She's out of bed much slower than she'd like to be, her center of balance all wrong. It takes a lifetime of leaning against the wall to keep herself from dropping to the ground. Finally, she rips open the bedroom door, knocking her shoulder into its frame. She's met with a strange, lived in space. It isn't the first time she's been taken in by strangers, but there isn't another living being in the place. No one to greet her, no one to rattle off some evil plan. Nothing. Quiet.

Bringing the cell phone up again, the light from the window catches the black screen and reflects a face. The face of the woman with the child. This is a magic she has yet to encounter and she has some suspicions about the source, but first, she's going to be sick.

The light of the bathroom is warm and the floor is hard as her body rejects the shock of identity and a half gallon of wine. When she stands again, it's to open every door in the apartment, searching for the baby. Every small crevice of the place is inspected and her head pounds with every open door. But Gerry is not there. Roger is not there. Not even Carol is there. She'd been hoping this was some assignment. Some ridiculous Avengers thing. But it's just a dark apartment with the smell of wine and a face that is not her own.

She's going to have to figure this out. She's going to have to remember what this is. Soon. But first, she walks slowly back to the bathroom and sits on the floor. She finds the dripping in the bathtub and reaches out her hand, letting a small pool of water form in the cup of it one little plink at a time. The water is wet. It is real. And so is the hand holding it. She's awake now.