Chapter Text
"...I mean, what do you think?"
Jane's head snapped up, meeting the gaze of her client, Henry. He was sitting on the couch in her living room, his knee jerking up and down as he nervously fidgeted, his eyes locked onto her.
Shit, she thought. What was he talking about?
"Let me understand," Jane said slowly, trying to give herself the few seconds it would take to get her mind linked back to his.
(What is with her today?) he thought. (It's like she's in her own world. Maybe she's doodling in that little notebook of hers. I had a panic attack for Christ's sake, what is she thin--)
"The panic attack came after your dad offered you a ride to work," she reiterated, following his line of thoughts back to the root of the problem. He wanted to understand why he'd panic about something so innocuous. "Even though you've gotten into a few different cars since the accident."
"Yes," he answered.
She paused, keeping in mind to make it brief so Henry didn't think she hadn't been listening. Which, of course, she hadn't been. She scribbled into her notebook to appear as if she was connecting the dots to something.
She pressed further into his psyche, ignoring his bewildered expression and confusion at her loss of concentration. When she could see the memory of his dad offering a ride, there was definite trepidation that hadn't been in the previous memories of getting into taxis or friends' cars. While he'd only been able to get into a car a handful of times in the last month or so, preferring to walk around the city if he could help it, he hadn't expressed this level of intense fear. Why was it?
"Something about that is bothering me," she continued, as if that wouldn't be obvious. She could tell he was suppressing an eyeroll as his mind wandered off to her being so distracted.
(It should bother you. Why would you want your patients to have panic attacks?)
She bit back a reply. It wasn't his fault that she'd let her mind drift off again, like it had been doing so often recently.
"Why do you think getting a ride from your dad worried you more than, say, a taxi driver?" Spinning the question back to a client was a cheap trick of counseling, right up there with "and how does that make you feel?", but she was struggling to break through his being annoyed at her. And because of it, this time Henry did roll his eyes. (Are you serious?)
Jane sighed, feeling like an idiot for screwing up this appointment. He'd been doing so well until this panic attack, and once he was finally in to talk to her about it she hadn't been able to connect with him like she usually could. She had to focus. This was her job, her client. The last thing she needed was him to lose his trust with her, after they'd already made it this far.
"I don't know," he stated bitterly. "That's why I'm talking to you." His knee stopped bouncing, and she noted that his nerves had given way to his frustration.
In that moment, just as she noticed the difference in demeanor, she caught something that she hadn't ever seen from him before. Henry's mind flashed to a memory of his father talking sternly to him at a dinner table, and he recognized that his tone had matched his father's. It was dismissed almost as soon as it had been conjured, but she could immediately sense him becoming anxious again as he straightened uncomfortably in his seat. The memory had dug up an old fear, one that he clearly hadn't felt in a number of years. Not since he had moved from the far side of Queens to Hell's Kitchen to attend NYIT.
"Have you ever considered that the panic could have been brought on by your father?" she asked. She steeled herself for the influx of emotions that would flood him.
Surely enough, Henry froze up. His mind went a million miles an hour, never stopping on just one memory. It made Jane's head swim with an amalgamation of different scenes, but she could see the forest for the trees. His dad was not a pleasant man, and while Henry had never consciously decided to go to school in another borough to get away from his father, he realized he'd never had a choice either.
(How did she guess that?)
His knee began thumping up and down again, his eyes on his hands as he twiddled his thumbs. She could feel his nerves as he flipped through some of the more pertinent memories, thinking about times he'd come home late or they'd disagreed about his future. Times that went back a lot further than she'd realized, as the memory of him being chastised by his father at the dinner table had happened when Henry was only eight years old. His father liked to yell, more than that he liked to belittle. It made her queasy.
She took a sip of her coffee, which had gone lukewarm at this point, but it was enough to settle her stomach as she withdrew a bit. He'd have to sort some of this out before she could start to untangle it again.
"Henry," she spoke softly, trying to anchor him. She knew all too well how overwhelming reliving memories could be.
He glanced up at her, but only for a moment. He started biting the nail of his thumb as she waited for an answer. She quickly realized it wouldn't come as she could hear the sound of his father's voice over the voice of his own thoughts.
"I'm sorry if I upset you," she said. "We've never really talked about your father. If you don't want to, I won't push any further today." Regardless, she made a note in her small notebook because she would definitely have to bring this up later.
He seemed to ponder this as he brought the room back into focus, staring ahead at his glass of water. He reached for it and took a sip, though she could see his hand shaking. Once he set it back down on the coffee table, he let out a long sigh.
"I hadn't really made that connection," he mumbled, nearly inaudible. Fortunately for Jane, that rarely ever mattered.
"I don't know if it's anything solid." She started backtracking. While her ability to read minds made this part of her job a lot easier, being able to make breakthroughs that might take another counselor months to notice, it was sometimes difficult to manage. While no one had caught onto her yet, mostly because people generally don't believe in telepathy (even in today's age of superheroes), she constantly had to remind herself not to tip her hand too far. Her clients had to see her as someone with a strong intuition, not as someone with preternatural powers. She added, "It could be something else, like the car he has or maybe what the weather was like that day."
"No, you hit the nail on the head," Henry sighed. His knee stopped bouncing again so he could anxiously shift on her couch.
Before she could open her mouth, a quiet beeping sounded beside her. She glanced at her phone as the timer went off, marking an hour since the session had started.
(Thank God. I'm not ready to talk about my old man.)
Jane reached over and silenced the alarm, giving Henry an apologetic look despite his sudden relief. "I'm sorry," she lied. "I know we were just starting to get somewhere."
"No," he said, standing up. "It's okay, I... You really gave me something to think about." (How didn't I make this connection? Of course it's my dad, of course it's--)
"If you want, I can call you if I get a cancellation," she offered, even though she knew he wouldn't take it. It was hard enough to get him here once a week, and now she'd probably scared him off.
"No," he affirmed. "No, it's okay. I... I feel like I can work through this on my own. Until next week of course."
When she peeked inside his mind to see if he was lying, he seemed to be telling the truth. She could even see him already planning on writing in the journal he kept to refer to for their sessions. Maybe they'd come further than she'd given herself credit for.
She stood up, closing her notebook and resting it on her side table. "Well, I'm sorry again if I upset you. And I'm really sorry if I seemed distracted today, I..." She paused, unable to explain herself to him. "You deserve my full attention, Henry. I'm sorry I was more distant today. I promise, it won't happen again."
Mercifully, he seemed to forgive her. Maybe because she'd saved her own ass by finding the source of his panic attack. Still, she found relief as Henry replied, "It's fine. You were there where it mattered."
She couldn't give anything more than a small smile, grateful that his irritation hadn't lasted. "Same time next week?" she asked.
"Yes, definitely," he answered, grabbing his jacket from where it hung over the back of the couch. He made his way to the door, turning and giving a small wave as he opened it, which she returned. As he shuffled down the stairs, she listened to his thoughts for another moment.
(Holy shit. Why does everything have to come back to my dad? Hasn't that bastard messed with me enough? Why does he still...)
And then he was out of the building, making his way down the street towards the subway, his thoughts getting quieter as he went. If she really tried, she probably could've listened in for another half a block or so, but her focus veered off once more.
Jane sighed as she fell back into her chair, feeling relief when she remembered Henry had been her last client for the day. She turned towards the window, watching as the clouds turned lovely shades of pink and purple as the sun began to set. She used to love this, watching the sky dim as the drone of everyday New Yorkers' thoughts became quieter. It used to calm her, knowing the constant noise would fade with the day, that she could get some peace and quiet as they found their ways home. But now, as the sun lowered in the sky and the people dispersed into their own little lives, the quiet shook her. Her memories were flooding in, despite her best efforts.
In her head, she'd returned to that darkened street in Midtown. She stood in front of the gaping hole where Midland Circle used to stand dozens of stories tall, now collapsed into a hole hundreds of feet deep. Desperately, she'd searched for any whispers of thoughts, even just a fleeting feeling of fear or pain. His thoughts were always louder than everybody else's; she'd known she would be able to hear him. She wouldn't believe he was gone, not after everything they'd gone through. Not after all the plans their group of misfit heroes had made. Not after they'd made it so far.
But underneath all that rubble, no matter how hard she tried, all Jane heard was silence.
She'd waited around until sunrise, when the thoughts of daily commuters would stop her from hearing him if she even could. When she'd finally made her way home, that silence haunted her as she curled up in her bed and wept. It went on to eerily hang in the air around her for the last two months. It permeated her entire being, disturbing what little peace she'd had before. Even as she watched the clouds waft along, that silence drove her insane.
She never would've believed she'd miss the constant noise of Daredevil's thoughts as he made his way around the city at night. In truth, she never realized she would miss Matthew Murdock as much as she did. That silence was a persistent reminder that this city had lost one of the best men she'd ever know, and that she'd lost her friend.
Jane hung onto the thoughts of every passerby of her apartment, miserably clinging to any semblance of a distraction she could. Most people thought of returning to their loved ones, or what they were going to have for dinner. Some people wondered about their weekend and how they would spend it after the work week ended tomorrow. An occasional tourist, lost between their hotel and their destination, fumbled with directions. Eventually, she heard as the shop owner below her apartment, Alberto, began his closing rituals. The sky had darkened nearly to black, so she knew he'd be closing up and heading home soon.
His thoughts became her own as she focused in. He was thinking in Spanish, his native tongue, and she enjoyed it. Over time she'd come to learn the language herself, and hearing him speak and connecting the words to the images of his mind made it easier to keep up. He began humming to himself, the words to "Alma Enamorada" dancing around his brain to his tune. Jane smiled to herself as he did. It was a song she heard him sing often, as it reminded him of his late wife. A sad comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Alberto briefly considered checking on Jane as he began to grab his things. He hadn't seen much of her in the last few days, only when she'd emerge to meet a client downstairs or had grabbed a bottle of vodka a few nights ago. She'd gone out of her way to avoid him and his daughter, Angélica, not wanting to let on how poorly she felt. It left him feeling worried for her; they'd grown very close since she'd moved upstairs and he considered her like family. He knew she hadn't been doing well, but this last week seemed to be especially hard for her.
Jane hoped that he wouldn't visit. She could barely hold herself together for her clients, let alone for the man she owed so much to. She loved him very much, and she couldn't bear the idea he'd see her in such a state.
She breathed a sigh of relief as he determined his knees were too sore to climb the stairs and began to lock up the store instead. Still, he worried about her as he finished up. He resolved to speak with her tomorrow, and she resolved to put herself together enough to keep his worries at bay.
Finally, he was out of the shop and pulling the security gate down to the ground. She followed his mind as he passed by her window, where he stopped to glance up, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But her apartment was dark and she hadn't moved from her chair, so he slumped a bit in disappointment. He whispered a small prayer (Dios te bendiga, mija.), and continued on down the road towards his own apartment a few blocks away. She listened to him worry about her until he was too far to hear.
Jane let out another sigh as the silence seeped back into the apartment, wishing she knew how to find the comfort in it that she used to. She sat there for a while longer, unable to focus on anything but the memories that she just couldn't shake. She could practically recite every word from their thoughts that night as she replayed them over and over in the quiet. She'd despised her telepathy before, and she detested it then more than ever. She would never be able to forget the anguish that bled into her in that room with all the loved ones, as it had hung in total silence too.
She remained curled up in her chair for hours, unable to see anything but her vision from that night. Inevitably, her body could no longer fight its own exhaustion, and she fell asleep in the same despair she'd been harboring for the last two months.