{So I gave her everything; And she did the same for me}

Sister.

That was the word Kilgrave used, the way he viewed her relationship with Trish. Technically, he was right; Trish was her adoptive sister, her attention-seeking mother seeing Jessica as nothing but an opportune publicity stunt. They grew up together, they bickered and fought, they leaned on each other for support as they braved the atrocities that Trish's mother threw their way until they were able to move far, far away.

Jessica had been there to keep Dorothy in line, to make sure she didn't go too far off the deep end when dealing with Trish. Trish had been there to soothe Jessica after another nightmare of the accident, offering up her shoulder to cry on when it all became too much, even though Jessica refused every time.

They had spent most of their lives together, helping each other at every bend, making a silent oath to always be there for the other when the universe decided to throw another obstacle in their path, to keep the other out of harm's way (admittedly, Jessica did more of that in the earlier years than Trish).

And even with their rough patches, with the brutality of adulthood that followed their already shitty childhoods, with the months of silence that Jessica subjected Trish to and the months of loneliness each girl spent as a result, they remained close. They were willing to go to the lengths of the earth for each other...or at least, Jessica knew that she would. She had the strong feeling that Trish would do the same for her and almost had on a few occasions.

Hell, the dumbass had taken some super steroids drug to protect her from the crazy hopped up spec ops dude. At the risk of her own life at that.

(A terrifying sight she never wanted to see again. An awful feeling of dread and remorse she never wanted to experience for the rest of her days.)

They were close. And though Jessica Jones was far from ever admitting it aloud, or even in the quiet of her apartment in the early hours of the morning, nursing a bottle of whiskey her in clutch, she did love Trish. But not as the sister that she had grown up with, or even the best friend she had gained through their shared experiences of pain and suffering.

Sister.

Of course Kilgrave would only see her as the much. He was obsessed with her - she could see the maddening love in his eyes when in his presence, was aware of the way he reveled her in her being when they stood in the same room. Personally, it made her very uncomfortable and wasn't something she liked to think too much on. But she had noticed because that's what she did best.

She noticed. She observed. She caught things most people didn't, or overlooked.

Yet when it came to Trish, she was always a step behind. Particularly with how she felt towards the blonde.

Now she wasn't a sap or anything of the sort, and that wasn't a road she wanted to go down. Jessica couldn't tell you when the feelings started to bud inside her, mostly because her feelings became easy to ignore, the one thing she was clueless to until they hit her like a metro. So she never could tell you when it started, nor how long they'd been there. One day they just…were.

(And the day they hit she had made sure to double her booze intake to repress them for a future Jessica to deal with.)

To be honest, Jessica wasn't even sure when she came to the realization. There was no trigger, no catalyst that opened the dam of her repressed emotions, no kick-off to the swirl of thoughts that consisted of Trish and only Trish that she could think of. She couldn't remember her surroundings, where she was, only the intensity at which she was hit, hard enough that the very breath was knocked out of her lungs.

And even as she tried to patch up the dam, to shove those feelings back in and pretend nothing had ever happened, a few would still trickle out and betray her.

The absolute and raw fear that she felt with each time that Trish was put in danger, her life dangling before her eyes to remind her that as strong and sturdy that she knew Trish to be, even she had her limits.

The shame and guilt that consumed her that night on the balcony, right after she found out that Kilgrave was still alive, when Trish looked at her, disappointed and hurt.

The prick of jealousy when that damn cop walked out of Trish's bedroom, dressed down to his boxers, a smug grin plastered across his chiseled jaw that she wanted nothing more than to punch and, hopefully, dislocate.

The adoration and admiration when Trish showed how brave she was, though sometimes stupidly so.

The flutter of hope whenever Trish's white teeth flashed her in the form of a smile, or when she tossed her head and those dirty blonde curls fell around her in such a fashion that should've been illegally gorgeous.

Jessica closed her eyes and let her head lean back on the headrest of the police car.

Sister.

That prick. To trivialize her and Trish's bond to such a simple word like that. To see only what he wanted to see, which was that Jessica was madly in love with him and just reluctant to show it. (The thought made her gag and the policeman gave her a funny look in his rearview mirror.)

That wasn't to say she didn't ever view Trish as a sister. Maybe she still did. But it was….more than that now. A single word wasn't enough anymore, not after all they'd been through. Not with everything that Jessica felt now. All of what had happened between them, all of the thoughts that Jessica had about Trish on those lonely nights, peering at the city lights through the slits of her blinds and absentmindedly wondering if any of them could somehow belong to Trish's penthouse (which, logically couldn't have been possible but tell that to the booze) and wondering what Trish must be doing, must be thinking, if not of her…

No, a single word was no longer appropriate to describe them. They could no longer be stuck with such a vague label, to be confined to just one thing and leave it at that.

They were more. They were...complicated. Their relationship was intricate, delicate, and strong. It was a bond unmatched by others, a snowflake in a vast landscape, a fingerprint in a police database. They were unique, they were...them.

Just Trish and Jessica.

She wasn't sure where that would carry them throughout the future, what that would or could potentially evolve into once all this crazy shit was over. They didn't need a label for their relationship, but dammit if Jessica didn't wish they had, well, something to refer to themselves as. It would be less confusing and maybe less thought-consuming. Maybe she could get on with her life and maybe that life would include Trish in ways she had never imagined before.

Sister.

Jessica sneered and propped her foot against the back of the driver seat, receiving a sharp reprimand almost immediately, one she ignored with a roll of her eyes and lull of her head.

She no longer knew what Trish was to her, or what she was to Trish, but somehow, that word didn't feel right. Especially coming out of that bastard's mouth.

Besides, it was kind of immoral to want to shag your sister, right?

A/N: So it's been awhile since I've uploaded anything, and now that I have it's not even RWBY. Sorry 'bout that. But I went on a Jessica Jones binge over break and now...well here we are.

I don't know how many JJ fics I'll be writing, but given how obsessed I've become with the show as of late, hopefully more to come. And as time goes on, hopefully I'll pick up on their personalities more (the first fic is always so hard and awkward). So I apologize if any of this is ooc or whatever. I tried. I'll get there. Eventually.