A Terrifying Conception (Closed to Jack)

The first thing she noticed was the faint taste of alcohol on her lips, always a sign of regret. The rancid taste of old wine laid in her mouth like a blanket of blurry memories, and as she opened her bleary eyes and smacked her lips, she made the oath made a thousand times; I’m never drinking again. The light streaming through the windows felt like daggers in her eyes and she winced, bringing a hand up to block the dreaded beams from wreaking carnage on her mind. Already, things were a blur, last night’s events presenting itself only in occasional flashes of embarrassing insight.

The second thing she noticed was her nudity, which was odd in itself. She never slept in the nude, that was a surefire way to be taken by surprise. And she hated being taken by surprise. The sheet curved around her form, blankets long discarded on the ground, and her long legs exposed to the cold air streaming in through the window. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light beaming down through the bay window behind the bed, she noticed a rather curious bruise on her hip. A groan broke through her lips, bringing with it the taste of bile and old wine. She clasped a hand over her mouth and in an instant was out of the bed, bare feet pattering on the cold marble to the bathroom.

The third thing she noticed was the pain. There was a soreness in her core, altogether unfamiliar, something she hadn’t felt in years. Each movement brought with it a pounding in her head and intensified the pain in her midsection, but somehow, she made it to the toilet, ejecting the contents of last night's dinner and undigested wine. With a groan, she leaned against the toilet seat, the cool porcelain soothing to her pounding head, at least. By Ala’khir, she felt awful. A soreness presented itself in her neck, and with a wince, she twisted her muscles, exposing the injured skin. Using the nearby sink, she pulled herself up to look in the mirror. A curious-shaped bruise seemed to be the source, and as she wracked her mind for the source, a quick flash came to her, of hot lips against her neck and a hand on her-

Her head snapped upwards and a curse leapt from her lips. She did not. She couldn’t. It would be crass, completely against protocol. She slightly shivered as a cold wind blew across her skin, but she ignored the sensation, instead focusing on what was going to be one of the most humiliating moments of her life; confronting the mistakes of last night. Ala’khir, what was she going to say? ‘Sorry, I get whorish when drunk?’ Thankfully, Kitty was still asleep so she couldn’t mock her for that particular thought.

Her reflection seemed to reveal her inner turmoil. She was paler than normal, likely a result of the hangover currently making it hard to think, and her long black hair, typically pin straight, was messy, knotted at the top and twisted at the back. As she fought in vain with the knot, another image presented itself, of a strong-handed individual yanking her back by the hair and of sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Ugh. Not something she wanted to feel right now, it’s only gonna make it harder to kick the guy out.

She gripped the edge of the sink briefly, closing her sapphire eyes for a brief second before pushing away. Well, she had to get this over with eventually; may as well do it quickly so she can rectify whatever damage she caused the day before. She retraced her steps from earlier, back into the mess of a bedroom; she had to say one thing, it certainly looked as if it wasn’t restricted to the bed. She sighed at this; the maids were going to have a field day. She shouldn’t be so nervous; this wasn’t nearly the most terrifying thing she’s ever done. It was as if something was holding her back, as if some small part of her knew what was happening before she did.

“Hey.”

Her voice rang out across the bedroom she called her own, the surprisingly feminine decorations doing little to absorb the sound. It did rouse the man in the bed, though, who turned to face the sound, though still asleep. It was as if she had been struck by a livewire, freezing her body in place in shock. Nearby, the slightly-transparent form of her lesser half stirred, the white dress clinging to her form much in the way the sheets did before, but even as Kitty stood up and joined Katrina in shock, she didn’t move. For the face staring up at them was plastered across a dozen countries, most wanted in several more, the subject of a thousand crimes.

It was …

---

”Jack.”

The voice came from the shadows of his apartment outside New York City. All her sources had told him he would be here, something required since she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since that fateful day three months ago, almost exactly on the dot. The slight breeze of an open window signalled her entrance point, but that was quickly eclipsed by a sudden and irrepressibly angry scream. Katrina sighed as Kitty once again tried to injure her lover - or ex-lover, whatever their relationship status is - by throwing punches at him, failing to conclude in her addled mind that her transparent form simply cannot connect with even an Archadian body. This was tough. Over the next few days since the “Incident’, as she called it, the details of the night came back to her, though slightly blurred at the edges and tinted the color of red wine.

He was standing there, looking charming, dashing in a suit, radiating the power he rarely failed to hide. Katrina could sense it, and though Kitty begged to take over her body to greet her boyfriend, they were both inebriated, the latter agreeing with a drunken giggle. The party was a success, of course, the dozen or so individuals there trusting their leader to take care of this party crasher. But instead, her hair down and curled into waves, ignorant of her similarity to her dimensional sister, she asked him to dance. The feeling of his power so close, his strong hands on her hips, sent flurries of heat down her body-

She shook her head, taking herself out of the memory. Now simply wasn’t the time to be thinking about this. With another sigh, Katrina leaped down from the windowsill, landing without a sound. A flare of orange lit up her body and suddenly Kitty was wrapped in a similarly-colored circlet, her body forced to the ground by Katrina’s hand. Her massless form could easily be stopped for several hours at this point if she so desired … hopefully, this wouldn’t take that long. She didn’t think she could handle such a long conversation.

Katrina was dressed for combat; swords strapped to her side, black cloth masking her form. The only difference would be the cloth typically hiding her face was pulled down around her neck. Well, that, and the lack of her utility belt. The golden, multi-pocketed belt was Katrina’s pride and joy, and in the vast majority of cases, would never leave home without it. But more than that, as she moved into the light, she seemed … ill, almost. Deep shadows were under her eyes, no make-up on her lips or nails, and her hair, though straight, was unbrushed, causing it to fall in crazy wrinkles around her face.

Katrina couldn’t do this; she just couldn’t! This was an … well, an evil man. How, by Ala’khir’s many legs, is she supposed to tell him she was … but she couldn’t even process the thought. Even now, it seemed impossible, but the slowly growing thing inside her told a different story. Unbidden, her hand flew to her stomach; she knew it was there, so perhaps that’s why she felt a small bump through the thin material, as if this child was as eager to get out of her as she was unwilling to have this conversation. Her legs almost gave out, and she collapsed onto the nearest surface, holding her hands. She was so tired … sleep had been a hard thing to come by these days. The morning sickness, and Kitty constantly screaming and yelling yet unable to do anything …

Katrina took a steadying breath and looked up, tears shining bright in her sapphire eyes. Tears. How embarrassing, but she had found herself so damn emotional lately. A dainty finger wiped away one small droplet, flinging it to the ground without a thought. There was nothing to it but to leap in, both feet forward.

”Jack, I …” She looked at him, wherever he may be; there was no sign of the typical arrogance or pretentious condescension she normally addressed him with. Her tone was almost pleading, as if begging him to do ... something, she didn’t know what. Forgive her for telling him? For sleeping with him? She didn’t know.. ”Oh by Ala’khir, I’m pregnant with your child, Jack!”

Jack awoke early in the morning despite the fact that he had spent the night drinking. He felt his head, his notably human head. It was pounding. There was only one cure for that, irish tylenol. He searched the dark room for around 10 minutes before remembering where it was that Kitty kept the whiskey.

Reaching under the bed, Jack grabbed the whiskey bottle and popped off the cork. He started gulping down a large amount and looked over to the bed blearily. He saw black hair and pale skin. A woman. Kitty and he must’ve gotten together. That would certainly explain the scratches on his hairy chest and the fact that his clothes were… fuckin’ everywhere. Kitty was… well, she was rough let’s just leave it at that.

Jack stretched, and decided not to leave. I mean, where the hell was he going to go anyway? Olympus’ security would tear him a new asshole even if Kitty vouched for him. He’d have to ask for Katrina to let him go in the morning anyway. Might as well sleep off the headache. After all, it was only…

He pushed a pink rabbit out of the way of the clock. 6 AM. Bollocks it might be a bit.

Jack hated visitors. Ever since he and Kitty had broken it off with each other, the Irishman had been particularly pissy. The only thing that kept him sane was his lobster Hannibal, and honestly even that recently was on the rocks.

He looked around the room, noticed Katrina standing there. He flipped onto the floor next to his bed, and reached for his scythe. ”Alright, alright. If you’re here to kill me, or let Kitty kill me at least let me fight back. I don’t even have my face on yet.” Jack said, bouncing back up with his pumpkin head. ”Hey wait, have you gotten fat?” Jack said, before she could finish her thought.

The daylight struck Jack’s eyes before the feminine voice did. He didn’t even have time to process who it was before he was trying to get his pants on. ”Oh no.” He said, his Irish accent now fully in the forefront of his speech. ”Fuck fuck fuck.” He said trying his best to get his socks on. ”I don’t know what happened last night. But I do know how this looks. I’ll get my shoes on, and I’ll go. Just give me a head start first, okay, love?”

Jack shook his head, clearing himself of the memory of that morning… the morning that he lost the only person he really ever cared about for a fleeting moment of passion that was replaced by fear and an impending notion that he wasn’t going to leave the island alive.

That’s when the blow came. Something Jack would never have though he’d heard. He blinked a couple of times. Dropped the scythe and dropped the pumpkin head schtick. It wasn’t necessary for the kind of conversation they were about to have. He reached under his pillow, undid the bottle of whiskey and took a swig. He offered some to Katrina, then realized his faux pas and took another glug out of the bottle. ”Fuckin’ hell… Fuckin’ Russel’s… Shoulda known your genes were too good to let you get fat.”

”Damn it, Jack. Don’t you take anything seriously?”

She was tired. She looked tired, now that she was inside, out of the obscuring effects of the darkness and the night. Not just the bags under her eyes making it look as if she hadn’t slept in weeks, but also the pallor of her skin and the way she seemed to constantly be stifling a yawn. There was a paleness to her that was quite unusual and, frankly, unhealthy. Her feet hurt, her back hurt; hell, after dealing with Jack for only a couple of moments, her head had started to pound. She sunk to the bed, head in her hands, arms supported on her knees. Even three months later, she couldn’t believe the situation she got herself into.

The silence lasted moments, maybe a bit longer. As Jack fumbled for his shoes, suddenly Kitty began screaming, railing abuse at her erstwhile lover. ‘How could you’, ‘she’s like my sister’, ‘what’s wrong with you’, every curse word under the sun, and much more. Katrina remained silent, infinitely vulnerable in her nakedness, only her arms covering her form. There were no words for what she felt; shame, defiance, guilt. As Kitty screamed at Jack, Katrina numbly got dressed. She said nothing, did nothing, simply because what was there to say or do? She already made a fool of herself.

Her eyes snapped open, brilliant blue orbs illuminated by the moonlight. She had dozed off for a bit there, lost in memories; a yawn split her face, lasting several seconds, which she shook off with a shake of her head. Her tight ponytail pulled at her scalp, exacerbating her growing migraine. With frustrated fingers, she pulled free the leather thong used to tie it back, letting the inky blackness of her cascade down her body. This was followed by a contented sigh. So much better. Despite the relief she felt, despair clung to herShe laid down on the bed, one hand cradling her stomach, the other curling to the bed, sprawled out like the rest of her. Her pregnancy was obvious in this position, the swollen mound of her stomach stretching the material of her uniform. Soon it wouldn’t fit her …

”What am I going to do?”

There was more emotion in that one short sentence than she’s shown Jack so far. The question wasn’t directed at him, more of a general anxiety aimed at the universe. It was soft, and quivered with the fear and worry she refused to admit she felt. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes again, but this time she didn’t wipe them away, letting them fall freely. She felt so alone.

Jack rubbed his head. Katrina was right of course. Jack needed to take this seriously. It was just… Jesus Christ. How did he end up in this situation? Okay, he knew how he got into the situation. Jack became a fool when he drank. Especially the strong stuff the Russell’s served. It took a long time for his metabolism to get rid of the toxins. Usually though, at worst, that meant spending the night in a jail cell and having to fight his way out. Not an unexpected pregnancy with the woman who housed the soul of his ex-girlfriend…

He sank lower into the bed himself. He had to say something. He was taking a long time to respond. She was distraught. Jack stood then. “Alright Russel. We need to talk about this, yea? But you don’t seem like the talking sort, and we both know I’m not. Way I see it, we got two options. Couples therapy, which I suppose I’m not completely opposed to. I do know a guy who has been helping me.” Jack put on a set of green and black leather armor. “Or we can go find something to screw up until we’re too bloodlusted to feel our inhibitions, or we’re forced to discuss it because there’s nothing left.”

Jack threw Katrina a bag of gear. “Kitty left some of her stuff here. I don’t think she’ll mid if you use it... much… maybe…” He said, scratching the back of his head.

Jack was awful at this. Talking about feelings, and long term planning were for men smarter and more… balanced than he. Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about Katrina. She was beautiful, sure. But she always seemed like she had a stick up her ass so far that she could legally be considered a sapling. Still, Jack couldn’t let her struggle with this. It was his kid too, after all… Fuckin’ Russell’s...

The silence hung between the two of them like a shroud, acting as the only barrier between intimacy, something they shared a fear of. The idea of sharing a life with someone, with no guarantees they’ll stay, and thriving in that uncertainty … it was foreign to Katrina, she could never understand why someone would subject themselves to such cruelty. But as much as she hated it, it was seeming like the only option to stop this well of pain and sadness that had been drilled into her core. With her family out of the picture - the only remaining adult in the Russel family out for her blood - Jack was the only option. And she’d be damned if it wasn’t seeming more and more appealing by the moment. To feel those long, muscled arms wrap around her and pull her close, tucking a slender finger behind an ear while whispering ‘Everything will be okay-’

She mentally kicked herself; that was what got her in this position in the first place!

Delicately, with the back of a crooked finger, she wiped the tears from her long lashes, flicking the drop to the ground. It seemed, finally, Jack got the seriousness of the situation. Gone were the jokes and attempts at humor, replaced instead by the impending realization of what the fuck he did. It was satisfying, in a way, to see his previously-held beliefs fall down around him. It only served him right, to experience what she had to. And he didn’t have to feel his body betraying him, know that you’re growing a parasite, sapping your energy and life and-

The anger rose in her like a viper and she struggled to push it down, the fires burning in her eyes. It felt good to blame him, to have him suffer, but her logical mind knew it wasn’t sustainable; she needed him, god forbid, and so she forced a smile through the tears, her anger ebbing until it was nothing more than a burning flow of liquid magma under her skin, as close to the surface as she’s ever been. She’s self-aware enough to know that she isn’t always the … calmest person, but she took pride in being able to wrangle her temper. Recently, though, with her hormones as crazy as they have been .... well, it’s been harder to control. And yes, she blamed Jack for that.

His offer was a good one, and he had them pegged; though she’d love to sit and talk and hash out all their problems, the simple truth of the matter was that there was too much between them, and they were entirely too different, for that to work in any amount of time that would help them. They were, as Kitty was fond of saying, ‘two different books written in different languages.’ So then, the only way to reconcile the two was to … translate. And this seemed to be the right way to do it. Honestly, she wasn’t sure. But sitting here crying about her bad luck isn’t doing anybody any good; and really, she should be disgusted by her attitude.

”... that’s an idea.”

She slid out of bed with an aura of calm she certainly didn’t feel and grabbed the proffered bag. It certainly had equipment, though none of it was any she was personally familiar with. She could feel the memories pressing against her, but she fought against it; last she needed now was her memories tainting this already-ruined experience. The bag itself was nothing special, just a black sack, but inside were many things she had come to know and love. A utility belt, almost an exact copy of hers except for the cat ears in place of a phoenix for a clasp, various throwing utensils, rings she knew contained the magic that housed Kitty’s weapons, and-

”A bloodied name badge? Really? What’s the point of-”

Sirens, flashing bright and loud, flashing dappled light, scattering pale reflections of those assembled on the shattered walls. They were in a bank, or what used to be a bank; the street-facing wall had been blown wide open, the employees now scattered on the floor around them … and one in her arms. A pretty little thing, long blond hair, painted nails. A shiny little ring on her finger. Jealousy reared up in her heart, the type of jealousy on the truly unhinged can feel; and she taunted the poor employee, before slitting her throat with her own name badge. As her body slumped to the floor, she leaped back, into the loving arms of her Jack, his permanent leer the only good thing in this mess of boring-

The name badge was tossed with all the force Katrina’s lithe body could manage, embedding itself, end quivering, into the wood of the door. Her memories always did this to her, forcing themselves where they’re not wanted, much like her LIFE and EMOTIONS- she reigned herself before she started ranting about how unfair it was. Jack had already seen her cry, he didn’t need to see just how rough she’s had it recently … if that wasn’t clear by the rather rough state of her being. Her head pounded, and her vision swam with tears, but she ignored both, reaching into the bottom of the bag for the skintight unitard she knew was in there … but instead, all she found was a white sundress. Confining herself to an embarrassing, and breezy, night, she tossed the bag at Jack and instructed him to keep his damn eyes covered.

The soft sound of clothing hitting the floor was the only sound as she changed, and Katrina had to admit the outfit was comfortable, at least. Though she hadn’t worn something like in ages. The white material clung to her skin, flaring out around the hips to help hide the burgeoning baby bump; it ended at mid-thigh, making it the most revealing thing in her wardrobe by far. The rings and belt on and, the final touch; the simple black and gold eye-mask to shroud her face. She knew it possessed magic of its own, hiding her features to anyone who might try to identify her later, and for that she was grateful.

Even though she was virtually indistinguishable from her ‘sister’.

”... I s’pose we’re ready to go.”

She had mussed her hair, the pin-straight locks falling into their natural ringlets, and with the hint of her accent creeping in, she started to seem more and more like the woman whose heart Jack broke. But there was a reason for it, one that Katrina refuses to ever acknowledge; Kitty is just a reflection of what she could be, and not a stranger. Brilliant blue eyes peered straight at Jack, and there was the biggest change; Kitty was light, flirty, unhinged, sure, but with a playfulness that was in every muscle in her face. Here there was none of that; hard and cold as steel, frozen daggers in her eyes, merciless and joyless. The eyes of a person who has never had a reason to be happy.

”If we’re doing this, let’s go.”

Katrina, fruitlessly, tried to pull down the hem of the dress. She was already regretting this.

Jack coughed when Katrina came out of the bedroom. She was gorgeous. While he hated what he did to Kitty, maybe it wouldn’t turn out so bad, yeah? I mean… he could have something here. Maybe the thing he was always missing. Inside of this woman lay an unknown future for Jack. He already felt the serpents in his mind lifting, beginning to allow his heart something more than fury and sadistic pleasure.

“You… look amazing, Katrina.” Jack said, taking a swallow as he looked her over. His eyes resting maybe a moment too long on her midriff. He cleared his throat, and shifted his head into its pumpkin form. “Right then. You’re probably closer to a hero than I am, but I’ve been doing this for a while so I know how to find villains.”

As Jack open the door, another memory, another vision overtook him.

The man begged for his life as the nightmare consumed his every thought, blood spattered the ceiling as his child was devoured by a pack of wild dogs. Meanwhile, his wife was being played with by the beautiful assassin. Half of her face was a mask of blood as the girlish giggles raised in tone.

Jack’s dogs disappeared and the pumpkin headed man’s shoes clacked loudly against the floor. “My dogs wanted me to give you compliments to the chef. Apparently she was delicious.” The man weeped louder as the room around them disappeared, replaced by a void. The ground covered in a thin layer of water, or… blood? A fiery crown appeared upon jacks head, just over the stump like some sort of demonic halo.

“You’re a coward, Mr. Davidson. Even when your daughter was being eaten alive, your wife tortured. And all you can do is beg for your own life.” Jack’s tongue extended from his mouth, the viny thing wrapping around the ear of the frightened man and finding its way inside. Despite his mouth being preoccupied, Jacks voice echoed throughout the room. “Maybe you’ll remember your fucking turn signal next time.” Jacks tongue sunk deep into his ear as the man’s horrified expression turned pained then went slack as the appendage exploded from the other side of the man’s head.

Jack let the reality fade, and went to his Kitty. The things he was going to do…

Jack motioned Katrina forward and silently pointed at the villain holding the strange pastel pink and blue toy gun. “I AM SWEET TOOTH! YOU WILL FEAR MY CONFECTIONARY CONTEMPT, OR YOU WILL DIE!”

The bank was unimpressed and continued their work. The villain raised an eyebrow, the old man’s candy striper uniform with a pink 1940s German military hat with a generic piece of hard candy replacing its normal symbol was clearly not very intimidating. “Fine then. You will see that my victory is sweet.” He pointed the weapon at a cashier, and an energy beam exploded from it transforming the woman working the counter into chocolate. Her finger fell away, and caramel dropped from the wound. “NOW DO YOU FEAR ME?!” Jack felt the fear in the room rise, but that may have had more to do with his sudden appearance like a ghost from the floor.

Jack smacked the man on the shoulder, and grinned. “Fear is my game, sweetheart.” He burned the man’s shoulder with careful fire control, then turned to his new partner; beckoning her forward.

”This is ridiculous.”

It was a statement in two parts, both a comment on the villain waving an, obviously fake, gun, and on the situation in general. All the events that brought her here - her night with Jack and the following, horrifying morning - felt like a conspiracy. The less rational parts of her mind began putting together a puzzle that didn’t exist, grasping at straws for any clue that this wasn’t really happening. It was a nice sentiment, but a lie; she has had several months to get used to the idea, and every day, as her body changed before her eyes, the reality only became more obvious and harder to ignore.

She was pregnant with Mad Jack O’Leary’s child.

”I’m afraid the results are quite conclusive. You’re pregnant, Miss Russel.”

It felt like falling down a well.

A deep, wet, empty hole with no sign of the bottom, no escape from the hell she had been thrust into. She could only sit in silent shock, numbly nodding along to the various advice the doctor gave, she didn’t really care in the moment. Her thoughts were spiraling, a million words at a thousand miles a minute, piecing together a reality she did not, could not accept. A thing was growing inside her, a parasite, a damning reminder of her worst mistake.

She was pregnant.

Hot tears stung her eyes and she swiped them away with an angry hand; tears were easily found these days, snuck in between meetings and practice. She hadn’t told anyone yet, though she suspected Takashi knew; bastard seemed to have a sixth sense for this type of thing. She just wasn’t ready; not for the questions, not for the pitying looks or the jokes made when they though she wasn’t listening. She didn’t WANT THIS. Rage warred with despair in equal measures in her heart, springing forth a fresh batch of tears. These she let fall, tracing salty tracks down her cheeks.

A small part of her was thankful she had forgone the eye shadow found at the bottom of the bag.

”Oh, enough of this.”

Again angrily wiping the tears from her face (subtly removing any sign of tear tracks best she could without a mirror), she prepared for action. Jack, ever the drama queen, appeared like a ghost out of the floor, terrifying the villain and the civilians alike. Katrina would have liked to handle it efficiently; a simple sniper shot through the skull of the Confectiontor and call it a day. Quick, brutal, and takes about ten seconds. But that wasn’t the point; that was not why she was in this ridiculous dress, with these ridiculous rings, and with that ridiculous-

Well, Jack.

With a sigh, she realized she was being a bit disingenuous. He was trying, at least. She could only assume he had a childhood worse than hers, which doesn’t exactly translate into “natural caretaker.” And, grudgingly, she had to admit … it’s not like it was entirely his fault. She was … desperate, to say the least, as alcohol tends to make her and a prime example of why she doesn’t drink. Perhaps being a bit nicer to the Pumpkin King is in order, particularly if he was going to be around more to help with the child.

By Ala’khir, how was she thinking that already?!

Both to prevent further death and to get such intrusive thoughts out of her head, Katrina dropped from the rafters like a particularly light feather. As she dropped, slowing her fall with a graceful forward somersault, an aura of blue light surrounded her hand, fading to reveal a golden curved kopesh, signature weapon of the international criminal Anubis. The crowd stiffened again, one entrepreneurial witness reaching for the door. But like a striking snake, a knife was flung, embedded itself into the steel mere centimeters from their hand, eliciting a screech and no further attempts to leave.

It would be bad for her reputation if word got out.

”You chose a bad day to make your debut.”

Her words were cold, merciless, coated with a layer of venom and malice that could only be matched by the voice of Satan himself. But she only took one step forward before she stopped. Perhaps it was the flip, or maybe the smell of something wafting through the air, but suddenly Katrina darted to the side and buried her face in the trash can, emptying the contents of her stomach. Even when it seemed as if she could throw up no more, she continued retching, sickness claiming her.