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“You want to let me in.”
Killgrave wandered through the open doors, to a building so secure no one unauthorized was meant to gain entry. He called over a guard.
“Help me get up there.”
Most of these people didn’t even have clearance to get to the top: they knew who did though, and it was easy to get access to the right people. It only took a word.
He’d seen it on the news. The heroes of New York. He probably should have felt threatened. Instead, the door opened cleanly.
He liked women, and he liked the gifted. He couldn’t say for certain the gifts all of the Avengers had, but he knew they seemed to possess them. There was no harm in trying.
“Delete the security footage, then jump out the nearest window.”
He’d heard they spent a lot of time at the top of this tower. They should all be gathered about now; someone had told him their schedule. It hadn’t taken much persuasion.
For anyone else, having more Avengers present might have been a danger. For him, it was handy. Captain America, Thor, the Hulk, Iron Man, Hawkeye and of course Black Widow. He knew for a fact he should be able to control most of them.
“If you don’t see me leave safely, poke out your eyes.”
There were only a few agents wandering around at this level. It didn’t really matter. As far as he could tell, most of the people he ran into were bar staff; even heroes needed time off.
“Get Thor out here.”
The biggest risk first. An Asgardian, Killgrave couldn’t be certain his powers would work on a non-human. They didn’t usually; but then, most animals didn’t have the right level of brain function. Thor, however, was human enough to be intelligent.
“Do I know you?” Thor said. Killgrave smiled.
“Break a finger.”
Barely thinking about it, Thor lifted a hand, and absently curled one finger back: using his other hand to push harder, until-
“Don’t make a sound,” Killgrave said. “Don’t move.”
A sickening snap. Thor stared at him, a flicker of wary fear on his face.
“You know, I really wasn’t sure that was going to work. So much easier that it did. Now, tell me honestly, who’s inside? You’ve just come back from a mission; what state are they in?”
“Stark, in his suit,” Thor said. “Banner, unhurt. Rogers, exhausted. Romanov, in good condition. Barton has his quiver.”
The whole team, then. There were only two foreseeable risks, but with everyone else on his side, it shouldn’t be too bad.
“Come with me,” Killgrave said.
They walked out, into the room where the Avengers met. Tony Stark was by the bar, completely suited up, save for a faceplate. Natasha Romanov was at the other end of the bar. Steve Rogers was lying back over a sofa, and Bruce Banner and Clint Barton sat near him. The three seemed tired.
“Stay calm,” Killgrave said, as soon as the team turned to look at him. “You remember we’ve been friends for years. You’re fine with me being here.”
Everyone looked away, content with his presence. No one protested, or gave any sign they were unprepared. That was good.
Casually, he wandered over to where the three more exhausted heroes were sitting. Captain America, Hawkeye, and Banner. Killgrave sat.
“Tell me,” he addressed Banner, “Is there any room here, strong enough to keep the Hulk contained?”
“Of course,” Banner said. He idly gestured to the side. “We need to be careful.”
“Lock yourself in there,” Killgrave said.
Calmly, Banner stood up, walking over to the door he’d pointed to. He walked through and, half a minute later, there was the sound of hydraulics. A pause, then more groaning, and grinding: the sound of some unholy cage sealing.
There was threat one, and the biggest, neutralized: the Hulk might not have the level of brain function to be able to be controlled. Killgrave wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to risk it.
The only other threat didn’t register.
“Protect me with your lives,” Killgrave said. He stood up, gesturing to Black Widow: “Come with me.”
He preferred subtlety. This wasn’t necessarily the quietest he’d ever been, but it didn’t matter; there would be no official record, and if this worked then there probably wouldn’t be any Avengers left to hunt him.
And even if there were, so what? He’d left a trail of broken victims before. They couldn’t find him, much less hurt him.
“Terribly sorry sir,” a distinctly british voice said, barely audible. Killgrave sighed.
The AI in Stark’s Iron Man suit. JAR-something. He’d heard it mentioned, and he didn’t; expect to be able to control a machine. Still, he couldn’t be sure it would have much power without Stark commanding it.
Ah well. He had the Avengers on his side, he could deal with one suit.
Killgrave was at the door, before the Iron Man suit, still populated by Stark, had flown in front of him. Stark looked impressively baffled.
“JARVIS, what are you doing?” he said. “This is my old friend, uh-” he glanced up, questioningly.
“Killgrave,” he offered, politely.
“My old friend, Killgrave,” Tony said. “Why have you taken control?”
“You seem to be compromised, sir,” JARVIS said. “Emergency override. You gave me this functionality in case of such an event.”
“This is a bad time, JARVIS,” Tony said.
“Terribly sorry, sir,” JARVIS said, again. “Please do not struggle. The motors in this suit are strong enough to overpower you, and I do not wish to harm you.”
“Struggle as much as you can,” Killgrave said, smiling. “Let me leave.”
JARVIS’ suit still stood in the way. About a second later, however, Thor’s hammer struck it aside. Nodding an idle thanks, Killgrave walked out the door, Black Widow in tow.
Opting not to take the elevator, given there was an AI suspicious of him, he asked Natasha to guide him down the stairs. They were about halfway before all hell broke loose.
Three empty Iron Man suits whirled up the stairwell: and an explosive arrow, from a friendly brainwashed Hawkeye, pierced the helm of each. When a bulkier suit began to charge down the stairs, Steve leapt at it, wrestling it into submission.
He’d ordered the Avengers to protect him; he had twelve hours of the best security money couldn’t buy. More, if he asked them to follow, but that wouldn’t be worth it.
“Don’t let any suits follow me beyond this tower,” Killgrave said. Then, to Natasha: “Except you, dear. Come with me.”
They knew where the suits were storied. Almost immediately, the Avengers began to battle their way over to it. Prevent the source, none would be able to follow. Good thinking.
Only a handful proved a bother, as he continued down the stairs. Clint stayed with him, though. It was quiet surprising what a bow and arrow could do.
It was going well, until the ground floor. There, just by the entrance, was a Hulk-sized Iron Man suit: bulky, and rather intimidating. Too big to come from the Tower; it must be stored outside. Some satellite or other. Tedious.
“Hold a gun to your neck,” Killgrave said. “If anyone tries to hurt me, pull the trigger.”
He addressed Natasha, but enunciated clearly. The JARVIS-controlled monstrosity faced him: and remained perfectly still.
Sometimes Killgrave wondered how the Avengers were a threat to anyone.
He took Natasha’s free hand and, so slowly, began to leave the Tower. He walked past the Hulk-armour, waving cheerfully, and unconcerned.
At the threshold, a bolt of light shot from the armour’s wrist, swiftly disarming Natasha. Killgrave swore.
“Take care of it,” he said, gesturing to the suit.
Then Natasha was in front of him, preventing JARVIS from getting a clean shot: and she leapt at it.
The suit was meant for bigger opponents: the likes of the Hulk. It could fight the strongest of foes: however, it was far from designed for dealing with smaller, nimble opponents: especially not smaller, nimble opponents who knew every circuit that made it him.
Natasha ducked under an arm, and jabbed an electrocution device into a hinge; the left arm fell down, uselessly. As JARVIS tried for another shot at Killgrave, no doubt assuming that incapacitating him would free those he controlled, Natasha leapt over the dead arm.
She shot into the visor three times as she fell, before zapping the right limb; and falling further, in one fluid motion incapacitating each leg. The Hulk-armour fell, keeling over. Not yet finished, she sprang up again, shot the visor: cracked it, and threw a small device inside.
She walked casually over to Killgrave. After four seconds, the device pulsed, and the suit fell apart, each component disconnecting from each other, leaving it twitching uselessly on the ground.
Killgrave chuckled. The Avengers were well-prepared for any of their number to turn evil; a suit to face the Hulk, a device to incapacitate Iron Man… Pity they weren’t prepared for what would happen if all of them were compromised.
“Nicely done,” Killgrave said.
“Thank you,” Natasha said.
“I’m feeling peckish,” he said. “So are you.”
Unconcerned, Killgrave walked out of the Avengers tower. He could still hear battling above; JARVIS and however many suits Tony had constructed, against almost all the Avengers.
It was almost tempting to stick around, just to see the carnage.
Twelve hours later, they were having Italian for dinner. A complimentary bottle of the restaurant’s most expensive wine, and a free meal. He’d ordered for both of them.
He didn’t know if Natasha was gifted, as such, but she might as well have been. The level to which she’d been trained said it all. Not quite the perfect company for him, but he hadn’t really met any more gifted, yet.
Nothing much had happened, yet. Relationships only had meaning if they started slowly. She’d told him about the Red Room, and fun stories from the Avenger’s Tower. He’d told her a little of himself; not too much, obviously, and made sure she ooh-ed at the right points.
The meal was only ruined when an empty Iron Man suit flew into the restaurant, shattering the window, and pinning Killgrave by his neck to the booth’s wall. Too quickly for anyone to react, it held him too tightly to let him speak; and had shot a tranquilizer into Natasha.
Killgrave simply rolled his eyes. He lifted a hand; when the grip on his neck tightened, he waved it, showing it was empty.
So very slowly, he withdrew a pen from the pocket of his purple jacket. He wrote on the wall.
There are thirty two people who know to kill each other if I don’t walk out the door, unbound and unharmed.
The empty suit didn’t let up. Still, Killgrave knew enough about how heroes thought; even computerized heroes.
You have half an hour. You won’t be able to find them to stop them, until it’s too late.
He was hardly going to antagonize the Avengers without a back-up plan. This was tedious, but it didn’t matter.
You can keep the girl.
He’d vanished before; he could start again. There had to be some more gifted people around New York, somewhere.
Slowly, the suit released his neck. It couldn’t do anything; and it didn’t want to take the risk, to see if Killgrave was bluffing.
Patting his suit down, Killgrave waved, and walked out the door.
“Protect me with your lives,” he shouted.
The moment after he said that, the suit was behind him; it knew only to let him walk out the door. However, the combined mass of every in several metres’ radius, on the street and in the restaurant, were immediately on it.
There couldn’t be too many Iron Man suits left intact, after the battle he’d left them in. Fighting the Avengers for twelve hours; he’d give the AI some credit for that.
The one that had found him looked rather beaten up; scratched, and hastily repaired. He didn’t worry.
Killgrave walked off, quickly vanishing.
Tony was in bed, each limb bandaged, broken in too many places from being in a suit he couldn’t help but resist. JARVIS had done what he could, but when the number of suits had begun to low, Tony’s suit had to get involved.
Thankfully he’d only been conscious for half hour of it.
Thor was offering congratulations and apologies to JARVIS: Banner was still in the cage. He’d hulked out after hearing what was happening, and couldn’t calm down.
“I hate mind control,” Clint said. “Hate it.”
“Me too,” Steve said. His leg was bandaged, from where an arrow had pierced it.
“Most unpleasant,” Thor agreed.
Mjolnir was on the floor. A few minutes under Killgrave’s control, and he hadn’t been able to lift it. A small mercy; Thor wasn’t quite confident enough in himself to try again.
His hand was bandaged, fingers together. It was the worst shape the Avengers had been in that they could remember; one or two of them had been hurt before, but never this much all at once.
Natasha was in a cell, unconscious. She was released only twelve hours later, when Killgrave’s control would have worn off.
“Looks like there’s a new threat,” Steve said.
“Perhaps,” Natasha said. “He’s had his power for a while, he told me, but he hasn’t made much noise.”
“So?” Clint said.
“He’s petty,” Natasha said. “Pathetic. Powerful, but selfish.”
“So we shouldn’t bother?” Clint said, disbelieving.
Natasha responded with a harsh-sounding strong of Russian. Clint blinked, and nodded, slowly.
“Which means?” Tony said, voice strained. He could barely move.
“Exact translation, you really don’t want to know,” Clint said. “The gist: we should find him, but it’s not going to be easy.”
“High value targets are usually well known,” Steve said. “I have no idea where we could find him again.”
“Or what to do when we do find him,” Thor said.
“JARVIS,” Tony said. “Like last time.”
“Earplugs,” Natasha said.
“Shoot him,” Clint said.
The Avengers looked at him; he shrugged.
“What? It’d work,” he said. “Long range, no warning.”
“I’m with Clint,” Natasha said.
A pause. Natasha glanced sideways; Bruce was back to being himself, though he was still in the cage. The transformation was uncertain. He’d never had full control of the Hulk, and he was angry: with himself, as much as anyone.
Tony could just about move his fingers; it was his arms and wrists that were shattered. They had the technology to help him, but it would still be a while before he healed fully.
Even so, he’d been helping JARVIS reprogram the Avengers’ security. Their thinking, before, had been that computerized recognition was dangerous, due to how many hackers wanted in. They’d relied on human checkpoints.
Killgrave had showed them how dangerous that was.
“Make it a project,” Natasha said. “Track patterns: any accounts of people saying they were controlled. Unexplained suicides. Security camera logs erased. See if we can track down a location.”
Two years later, and the Killgrave Project, as it was called, had gotten precisely nowhere. There were hints that he was in Hell’s Kitchen, New York, and enough bits and pieces to make it worth examining; but even so, the Avengers weren’t in the same condition they used to be.
And those hints hadn’t been around much. People were always blaming crimes on being controlled, and it was impossible to investigate every one, the world around: it was easy to think there was another false sighting.
It was very hard to follow a blind spot.
Until FRIDAY, Tony’s new AI, picked up a ping. There was a mention of Killgrave in the news: the name had been appearing with more frequency lately, even if it was nearly impossible to track him down.
A body was sent to the morgue, image uploaded to the internet. It was effortless for FRIDAY to take the photo, and compare to the artists’ impressions created by each of the Avengers.
The match was positive. Killgrave was dead.
Jessica Jones downed a glass of whiskey. She’d lost count of just how many she’d had. Still, it did make it easier to deal with the recent flood of calls.
Someone knocked on her door. She stood up, and rolled her eyes. She didn’t have any appointments booked; so either it was an idiot, or a very polite burglar. Or Malcolm, but he had a key.
There was a man standing just outside. Short blonde hair, a decent figure, and casual clothes he looked distinctly uncomfortable in.
“Do we have an appointment?” Jessica said.
“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” Steve said.
“So no appointment,” Jessica said.
“It’s important-”
“No appointment,” Jessica said, again.
“I’m-”
“Come back when you have an appointment,” she said: paused. “Or booze. You know what? Go wild, come back when you have both.”
She shut the door. She could see the man’s silhouette just outside the window, looking somewhat confused. After a few seconds, he bent down, and slid a piece of paper under the door.
Jessica sighed, and took it. She wasn’t too interested, but she was bored. Wandering back to her desk, she slid the paper into her to-read pile, and waited. After a couple of minutes, the man walked off.
Apparently he was disappointed. She shrugged: the amount of requests for services she was getting, she couldn’t please everyone.
A little time later, bored, she unfolded the paper, and began to read. Approximately two seconds later she laughed loudly enough that Malcolm immediately hurried out from his room.
Too busy laughing her head off to talk, she threw the sheet to Malcolm. Uncertainly, he skimmed it: a call-back phone number, a ‘Dear Miss Jones,’ and ‘We would like to invite you to join the Avengers,’ and-
Malcolm blinked. Reread. ‘We would like to invite you…’
Mutely, he slid the paper back to her. Jessica took one more look at it, laughed again: then screwed it up into a ball, and chucked it into her overflowing bin. “Idiots. I need a drink.”
The next Avenger to come by her office won her favour a bit more easily. Tony Stark, in casual clothes, but still a completely recognizable face.
“You’re kidding me,” she said, flatly, upon opening the door.
He replied by lifting up a bottle of whiskey. Jessica raised her eyebrows: then shrugged, gesturing for him to come in. By the time Tony was seated, she’d poured two glasses.
“Please tell me you’re not here for the same reason as the flag-waver,” Jessica said.
“Technically yes,” Tony said.
“Technically?”
“Officially.”
“And unofficially?”
“I miss having drinking buddies,” Tony said. “And I’ve been trying to get Cap drunk for a while now. Honestly curious what would happen, super-strength and all.”
Well that was refreshing. Jessica downed her glass: it was good stuff. She poured herself another, and clinked it against Tony’s.
“You’ll have to buy me a lot more if you want to get me anything near drunk,” she said. “I’ve built up a tolerance.”
“Not a problem,” Tony said.
Jessica woke up with a stolen lamppost curled up in the corner of her room, with a post-it attached to it. Tony was thanking her for the photo, and promising to pay reparations and settle any legal issues. Apparently it was worth it.
She chuckled, and hung the now-circular lamppost on her wall.
Sensing a working tactic, Jessica was next visited by Thor. He hadn’t even made an effort to be subtle, dressed in his Asgardian armour, and a red cape falling from his shoulders.
“You’re kidding me,” she said.
“I was assured you would enjoy my company,” Thor said.
“Really?” Jessica said. “By who?”
“Tony Stark.”
“About how drunk was he at the time?”
“He was sober,” Thor said.
Jessica raised her eyebrows, less than convinced. She couldn’t remember all of the night she’d met Tony Stark, but she was pretty sure she’d insulted him and his team quite a bit.
It was quite hard to figure out how any of that would translate to ‘send an idiot dressed in a stupid cape and pretentious outfit.’ At least, it was hard until Thor removed a flask from his belt.
“Asgardian ale,” Thor said. “Few mortals can-”
Jessica took it and gulped half the flask down.
“Good stuff,” she said, momentarily unsteady. “You can visit any time.”
Jessica opened her door, some weeks later, to see a purple man in a bright yellow cape. Without a word, she shut the door on him.
She’d had a few similar visits from Tony, since then. No more ruined lampposts, but it was good to go out drinking with someone who had near-unlimited money. Plus it was refreshing to have someone honest.
The worst side-effect was the headaches the morning after. Usually worth it, though.
She’d started taking a few PI cases too: she couldn’t manage the entire load people called in with now, and had no desire to, but she could manage some. She needed to make a living.
There was one woman who called in often; a slight Texan twang, who promised she’d pay whatever was necessary. It was promising.
At least it was promising until a woman with red hair and a proficiency at fake accents arrived for her appointment. Jessica had developed quite a skill at recognizing the Avengers, after not identifying her first visitor.
“You,” Jessica said.
“Call me Natasha,” the latest Avenger said, dropping her accent. “I’ve got an appointment. I understand that’s important to you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Steve was clear,” Natasha said. “You asked him to come back with an appointment. He’s busy, so I’m here.”
Jessica glared. Natasha didn’t react.
“I’ve got an appointment,” Natasha said.
Jessica sighed; gestured for her to come in. She may as well. Not much else to do for the next hour. Jessica sat behind her desk, and gulped a glass down. She had a feeling she’d need alcohol in her system.
“I take it the reason you’re here has nothing to do with a straying husband,” Jessica said.
“You know why I’m here,” Natasha said. “I assume you read the letter.”
“You’ve got a desperate recruiting policy,” Jessica said. “I know.”
“We aren’t desperate,” Natasha said. She exhaled: “Tony and Thor really didn’t say anything, did they? I knew we shouldn’t have let them bring alcohol.”
“Enjoyed that more than I’m enjoying this.”
“Didn’t you wonder why we were trying to get your attention?” Natasha said.
“Got sued for too much sausage in the line-up?” Jessica said: shrugged. “I really don’t care.”
“Killgrave,” Natasha said.
Jessica paused. Natasha wore her usual, inexpressive mask; it could be rather annoying. Even so, she didn’t seem to realize the memories that name brought flooding back.
An inhale. A blink; a mental recounting of street names. Jessica stiffened in her chair, shifting position.
“You knew about him,” Jessica said.
It was an accusation, more than a statement. Natasha nodded, once.
“We… encountered him, once,” Natasha said. “I spent twelve hours with him. I was lucky: we had an AI immune to his power. We’ve been working on tracking him.”
“You did a great job,” Jessica said. “Really.”
“Which is why you were invited,” Natasha said. “We couldn’t fight him, when we first met: and after, we couldn’t track him. You did both, with far less resources than us. We spent two years trying to find him, and you-”
“What did you say?” Jessica interrupted, sharply.
“About?”
“How long ago did you meet him?” Jessica said.
“Two years, more or less,” Natasha said. “He-”
“I met him eighteen months ago,” Jessica said, bluntly. “The first time. You really can’t do your jobs, can you?”
“We tried-” Natasha began.
“Get out,” Jessica said.
A moment of silence. Natasha hesitated; she’d expected more of a conversation. Then again, Steve hadn’t expected to have the door shut in his face.
“I know you heard me,” Jessica said. “I’m getting very tired of repairing that door, but I will throw you through it if I have to.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“So would I,” Jessica said. She didn’t smile.
A few seconds more; then Natasha stood up. She pushed her chair closer to the desk, nodded towards Jessica, and walked out the door. She wasn’t going to get anywhere: it was clear.
Not every potential recruit was going to want to join the Avengers; that was clear. It was a pity, but she’d made her feelings clear.
Behind her, Jessica sat, and watched, and waited. She saw Natasha’s silhouette vanish down the hall; and she poured herself another glass of whiskey spiked with Thor’s ale.
She gulped it down, and closed her eyes: the Asgardian liquor made her dizzy, and the mortal burned her throat. It was what she needed.
“Turns out you’re not the only one who expects me to be a hero,” Jessica said.
She lay on Trish’s bed; it was comfier than almost anything she had her apartment. Trish was used to seeing her just lounge when she was visiting; at least when those visits were on less serious matters.
“I’m not surprised,” Trish said.
“You wouldn’t believe the houseguests I’ve had.”
“Hm?”
“Captain America,” Jessica said, absently. “Tony Stark. Black Widow. Thor. It’s a bit annoying actually.”
A pause; Trish slowly taking in what she’d heard.
“Wait,” she said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Wish I were.”
“The Avengers visited you?”
“Not really a visit,” Jessica said. “More a recruitment-thing.”
“You mean you’re a-”
“I said no,” Jessica said.
“You what?!”
“I said no,” Jessica said, again. “You really surprised? Everyone seems to expect me to be more of a hero than I do.”
“But they’ve heard of you?” Trish said. “That’s-”
“They’d heard of Killgrave,” Jessica said. “And heard I killed him. That’s about it.”
Trish was standing; watching. It was an odd feeling; she always expected to be the better-known of the two of them. Her radio show, her old TV role…
And then Jessica had a chance to be an Avenger; to be known far more than she ever could be. The Avengers were an icon; more than a radio or child star was. She was excited, more than jealous; even if Jessica had turned it down.
“You don’t want to join them?”
“Those idiots?” Jessica said. “No thanks.”
“They’re not idiots-”
“I was being charitable. Savour it.”
“They saved New York,” Trish said. “Like you wanted-”
“Yeah, they did a real bang-up job,” Jessica said. “Did you know they met Killgrave?”
“When?”
“Two years ago,” Jessica said. “Before I ever met him. Did a great job dealing with him, don’t you think?”
“They couldn’t know-”
Jessica didn’t speak at once. Still, somehow, her manner was enough to constitute an interruption. It was a few seconds before she spoke.
“No,” Jessica said, softer. “No, they couldn’t have. I didn’t realize quite why they pissed me off. Guess I’d better give them a call back.”
“To say yes?”
“To tell them where they can stick it,” Jessica said: she hopped to her feet.
She’d spent a few minutes rooting around in her wastepaper basket. She really should empty it out more. Still, the letter was near the bottom; she pulled it out, unfolded it, and started to reread.
The same invitation as ever, the request, the painfully formal tone: and the number to call them back.
Jessica dialled quickly, before she forgot what it was she wanted to say. Whoever was on the other end answered almost at once.
“Hello?” he said; it was a voice she didn’t recognize. “You’ve probably got a wrong number.”
“That so?”
“I don’t think anyone’s meant to be dialling here,” he said. “Can I take a name?”
“It’s Jessica Jones.”
“Oh,” a pause, then: “Oh! Right, I’ve got your name. Are you trying to reach Stark or Thor?”
“What?”
“It says you’re not interested,” he said, “But that you might want to reach one of them. So I’m guessing…”
“I want Natasha,” Jessica said.
There was a pause: the sound of typing, and a click.
“Ok,” he said. “I’ll transfer you. One moment.”
There was a click. For about five seconds there was the sound of tinny muzak playing, before it swiftly turned into heavy metal. Jessica had the distinct feeling Stark had been involved in the hold music.
Still, she was used to being put on hold. She had to make a lot of phone calls. Jessica sighed, and waited.
It wasn’t too long before Natasha answered.
“Hello?” Natasha said. There was the sound of gunfire.
“Is this a bad time?” Jessica said, uncertain.
There was a gunshot, and a scream.
“One moment,” Natasha said.
There was another scream, another shot, and the sound of an explosion. Panting, a thud, and then a sigh.
“It’s fine now,” Natasha said. “Have to say, I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
“And you won’t,” Jessica said. “I’m not interested. Just thought I should tell you why. I’ve got a friend who always wanted me to be a hero; and I did try, one time. It’s a nice idea, but I don’t want any part of what you’re doing. Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear,” Natasha said. “Is that why?”
“No,” Jessica said. “The reason why, is because I’m living in your mess. The Incident that left Hell’s Kitchen in ruins, Killgrave; hell, I’ve had a couple come after me because they hate everyone with powers, because of you.”
“You blame us?”
“No,” Jessica said: paused. “And yes. I don’t expect you to do anything different, but there’s no way you could do any better, with what you’re doing. You hated Killgrave after less than a day, I knew him for months.”
There was a silence, then. For the first time, Jessica guessed she’d rattled Natasha.
“I’m s-” Natasha began. Jessica spoke over her.
“If you finish that sentence I will break into your tower and punch you in the face,” Jessica said. “Clear?”
“You’re always clear,” Natasha said. Her tone was softer.
“You help people,” Jessica said, “And that’s the problem. You help people. Killgrave wasn’t a problem for you. Sure, he looked for him, but you were focused on Sokovia and robots and whatever the hell else. You’re concerned with people, not individuals.”
“That’s not-”
“Of course it’s true,” Jessica said, “You care about scale. And there’s nothing wrong with that; who cares about a rapist when there’s an apocalypse over in god-knows-where?”
Another pause; another silence.
“You keep the world turning, I’ll keep it bearable in my little corner,” Jessica said. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Natasha said, echoing her tone.
“And keep Thor and his alcohol coming,” Jessica said. “Girl could get used to that.”
She was a PI: not a hero. She helped those that came to her, and sure she had a few extra abilities to make it easier, but that didn’t matter. There were no super-heroics, beyond what was absolutely necessary.
No matter what anyone said, she was just making a living.