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A deep groan rolls out of her like a boulder down a hill, throwing up dust and gritting against gravel.
She collapses against the sink, bent over at the hips with her forehead against the cool, marble countertop.
Her breathing is deep, calculated, mechanical. She grips at her abdomen, nails digging in through her suit, her brain blaring at her to stop, that it’s stupid to claw at yourself like a rabid animal, but her fingers continuing to furl anyways like a machine without an off switch.
She breathes, and then she breathes some more, because that’s all she really can do.
Her eyes dart to the side, double checking that she locked the bathroom when she stumbled in haphazardly. She can barely see past the heat in her cheeks, spreading through her as cold sweat breaks against her skin. Her head pounds, her wild mind beating against her uncompromising skull.
She lets a pained moan escape past her lips, but only that one sound. It only takes one small leak to make the whole dam burst.
The cramp yields for the moment, and she can finally rise again. She pushes herself up, teeth gritted and jaw clenched.
She breathes.
And then she breathes again.
She does not look in the mirror, because that’s unnecessary.
She turns around and leans against the counter, lower back where her hands just were. The hard rock digs into her spine like the worlds worst massage.
She brings her hands around and begins needing the muscle, vainly coaxing it to just relent already, just let her take a full breath in without feeling everything inside her shift.
If Miles were here, he’d help her. He’d sputter, a little embarrassed, and he’d look adorable while doing it. He’d run off to grab some ibuprofen and come back as quickly as possible, swinging by in a bright flash of black and red (Red? Did he even stick to that color? Maybe he got a whole new suit, separated himself from his Peter entirely.) His wide eyes would stare up at her (Up? Down, maybe. Maybe he’d gotten taller. Maybe he’d shot up like a weed, persistent life despite everything thrown at him-)
A new pain shoots through her, causing her to double over again as her breath hitches.
Her watch beeps, and she gathers herself just enough to answer it,
“Hey, hi. Yeah. Hi.”
Jess stares back at her, unamused,
“Gwen, where are you? Can you tell me why you ran away from the battle so quickly?”
Gwen squeezes her thighs together, paradoxically scrunching up to stave off the pain of the cramp. Her brow pinches.
“Oh, I just-”
She takes a deep breath,
“I had to use the bathroom.”
Jess raises an eyebrow at her, and her muscles tense harder.
If she lets go, she’ll fall right apart. Her muscles will fall right off the bone and her skin will slip off her face and she’ll crumple to the ground in a heap of body parts, human only in a clinical sense.
Jess looks her up and down,
“Gwen, if we’re gonna work together, you have to be honest and communicate,”
She’s already turning away to deal with some other matter, typing away,
“I have some pain medication and sanitary products. Come get them.”
Gwen presses her lips together. Her fingers curl.
“Thanks, I’ll...I’m on my way.”
Jess cuts the call.
Gwen rests her arm down at her side, watch now silent. She looks at the bathroom wall, and she stands up properly to ready herself to get back out there.
She breathes.
And then she breathes again.