The one who matters most
"You're thinking of her."
Jessica Jones's head turned, the gesture fast and somewhat jerky, to more fully face her companion at the table. She had been startled by his voice, not because it was loud or harsh in its tone, but by the absence of bite or emotion it held. When Kilgrave's voice went flat and soft, she knew to be on guard. Her inner wariness was further validated when she took in the hardness in his gaze.
He was angry. In the months that she had lived with him, by his will rather than her own, she had rarely spent a moment apart from his presence, and she had very quickly come to know even subtle shifts in his mood. An angry Kilgrave was often dangerous, not just to her, but to anyone unfortunate enough to be near.
She could not let him see the tension she felt inside; even had she wished to, Kilgrave's control over her would not have allowed her body or most shallow emotions and thoughts express it. But deep down, in the part of her that still remained herself, she braced herself for what could come next.
"What do you mean?" she asked, hating the pleasant, innocent tone of her voice, hating the warm smile that felt so unnatural, so wrong for her to give him.
How could he want something from her that was so fake, so clearly of his own making? How could he be satisfied with a bitter, unwilling fantasy of admiration?
But he did. Clearly he did, or else, he could not tell the difference between forced and freely given admiration. Sometimes Jessica thought he was twisted and crazy enough for the latter to be true. Sometimes, she believed that it was the mental torture of it all that made the former more likely to be the truth.
"You've been looking at the blonde woman across the room for ten seconds now," Kilgrave responded, his voice still low, but Jessica thought she heard tension in it now. She could certainly see it in the stillness of his frame, in the way he sat with his fork tightly fisted with uncharacteristically rude table manners. "I counted, Jessica."
When Jessica opened her mouth to answer, Kilgrave raised his hand, cutting off her words with his dark eyes flashing. "Do not even think of interrupting me now, Jessica."
Of course, after that direct command, Jessica couldn't have spoken up if she tried. Her throat felt thick and almost choked with the effort of all the words she wanted to say, her legs heavy and aching with the movements she wanted to make, but it wasn't his will for her, and so she remained in the restaurant's padded seat of Kilgrave's favorite little corner, unable to do anything but wait for his next move.
Kilgrave took a breath, slowly putting down the fork in his fist, and steepled his fingertips together on the table before addressing her again.
"You were looking at her. You look at any woman who is young and blonde. You look at any woman with a big, wide-eyed, sitcom-happy smile," he leveled at her with heavy scorn in the last sentence, almost spitting the words. "Any woman who looks like Trish."
He hadn't given her permission yet to speak, and so she couldn't. Nevertheless, Jessica's mind whirred with seething resentment at being caught and called out, but the resentment was just as much tinged with fear.
How could he know that? She had thought she was subtle, since she never fully turned her head towards any of the women, or addressed them or mentioned them in any way. How could he still have noticed? How could he actually have learned to understand her enough to see her longing, to sense the pieces of Jessica still lingering inside her, crying for release back into the shitty little life she had once had?
She had never understood, let alone actually appreciated, her life before Kilgrave. Why would she? She was orphaned not only of both parents, but her brother too, left without any blood relatives in the world and only an adopted sister as unfortunate and ultimately as uncared for as she was. She had somehow received supernatural powers that were not always within her control, and her efforts at using them to be some sort of super hero had been a failure. She liked to drink too much and sleep too little, and her trust and intimacy issues were pretty extensive even then. Most days Jessica had been winging it, not exactly expecting any favors or easy times floating her way.
But however shitty her life had been then, it had been hers, for her to mess up however she chose. She had been herself, even if whoever she was, wasn't necessarily someone she liked very much. That life's problems had been nothing compared to the hell she was living now. Now, she was Kilgrave's puppet, his literal play thing, an extension of his body and voice, with her own will pushed down so deep she could barely have awareness of it, let alone act on it.
"Tell me that you were not thinking of Trish Walker when you looked at that woman," Kilgrave said, his eyes holding hers, almost unblinking.
"I was not thinking of Trish Walker when I looked at that woman," Jessica responded automatically, parroting his request. It was, after all, an order.
Kilgrave groaned, his eyes rolling upward, and he wiped a hand over his face, exasperated.
"Sod it, I didn't mean to repeat my literal words, Jessica. You of all people should know what I'm getting at by now." He shook his head, but clarified. "Let me rephrase. Tell me what you think of Patricia Walker. That should be clear enough, then."
Jessica didn't want to talk to Kilgrave about Trish. She didn't even want to think about her; it hurt too much. But there wasn't a choice of refusing. Kilgrave had asked, very specifically, and she did not have the ability to refuse him.
"I miss her," she told him, hating herself even as she spoke. "I wish I could talk to her."
This wasn't the answer he wanted from her, even if it was the answer that he had demanded she give him, the answer that was the truth. Jessica could see this in the furrow of his brow, the knitting of his eyebrows, even before Kilgrave pushed on.
"Is that so, now?"
The question was rhetorical. Jessica knew that, but it was a question nevertheless, and that required her to answer all the same.
"Yes. Yes, I wish that she knew where I am, and I could see her and talk to her."
Every answer she gave was only making things worse, but how could she stop herself? It wasn't possible. How many times had she prayed for the ability, the raw mental strength needed to go against Kilgrave's will for her, to fight back and refuse him, even with something so small as a verbal reply? And how many times had that effort been so easily pushed back, overridden immediately by his power to produce another reply in her?
"You want Trish to know where you are so you could talk to her," Kilgrave repeated, seeming incredulous at Jessica's words. "Do you, now?" He ignored the nod she automatically gave him, as again, this was rhetorical questioning. "And mind you, what exactly do you think that the famous Miss Walker would do if she did happen to know your mysterious whereabouts?"
"She would try to bring me back home," Jessica said, again speaking the truth, as she knew it. "She would try to get me away from you."
And she would be punished severely for those efforts. This, Jessica knew very well. Patricia Walker would never stand a chance against someone that Jessica herself was helpless against, but still, she was loyal enough, brave enough, and yes, damn stupid enough, to try all the same. Because she would want to save Jessica, whether or not Jessica deserved that kind of effort and sacrifice. Because she cared so damn much, more than anyone else Jessica had ever encountered.
Sometimes it amazed her, that Trish could love so much and so hard, when she had had very little in the way of love in her own life. How could someone like her, raised by the likes of Dorothy Walker, still love so easily and trust so much, when Jessica, who had been loved fully and fiercely by her own parents, fought against even liking someone, let alone experiencing any deeper bonds?
Sometimes it seemed as though Kilgrave had learned her after all, enough that he could nearly pick the thoughts out of her head.
"And you think that she would succeed?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "Her? Your or I could break her with a finger, Jessica. Don't be silly."
"No, she wouldn't succeed," Jessica said quietly, her eyes drifting past him to the blonde woman she had been watching. The woman was now standing, shifting her purse onto her shoulder as she bid her companion a smile warm enough that Jessica's chest ached. "She wouldn't last a minute against you. But she would try. And she would know what had happened to me."
Although her body betrayed none of her deeper feelings by increasing the pace of her heartbeat or churning up her stomach, Jessica nevertheless writhed in mental anxiety, waiting for the explosion she knew would come. There was little one could predict in Kilgrave except that he was indeed unpredictable, but when he was angered- and she had given him plenty of cause for anger in her answers- violence of some kind was nearly always coming forth.
She waited for him to overturn the table they were sitting at, to smash their wine glasses against the wall or demand that a nearby patron stick a knife into his own eye. But Kilgrave merely stood up abruptly, not bothering to push his chair back beneath the table as he seized Jessica's arm less than gently in his grasp.
"We are leaving," he announced tightly, even as he propelled her out of her seat and began to steer her towards the restaurant's exit. To the concerned waiter coming towards them, Kilgrave barked out, "We have already paid, now get out of our way."
"Yes sir, thank you very much, and we hope to have the privilege of your dining here again soon," the waiter said obediently, giving him a smile that Kilgrave did not return.
As Jessica followed, stumbling slightly to attempt to keep up with Kilgrave's longer legs, he made no effort to slow down for her. Instead he continued to drag her forward, his fingernails seeming to dig more deeply into the skin of her arm with each step. She almost expected to see blood when she looked down, but she wasn't stupid enough to protest. If she had tried, he almost certainly wouldn't have allowed for the words to come.
They had reached his car- "given" to him, long ago, by an unknown and easily persuaded citizen- before Kilgrave said another word. Snapping at Jessica to get in the vehicle when she stood outside the passenger side, unsure without his commands what he intended for her to do, he slid behind the driver's seat, but did not make a move to drive. Instead, he turned his entire body towards her, jaw set as he spoke seemingly through clinched teeth.
"All right then, Jessica. Tell me how you FEEL about Patricia Walker."
There was no room for misinterpretation in that question, no way that Jessica could stall or avoid giving the answer he had demanded of her. Even as she spoke she knew that her words would undoubtedly put herself or Trish in danger, at risk of his jealous, vindictive focus…and yet she could not stop herself from giving out the answer.
She fucking hated herself. If she could have, then or so many other times since coming into his control, she would have killed herself, rather than give him yet again what he wanted.
"I love her," she said simply, which was, of course, the truth, one he surely must have guessed.
But that wasn't enough to satisfy Kilgrave.
"Elaborate," he said, dragging out the word so it almost sounded like several.
"She's my sister," Jessica said, recognizing even as she replied that this was the first time, perhaps the only time, she had ever spoken her feelings towards Trish out loud. It was sickening to realize that the first person to hear this was not Trish, as it should be, or even some random stranger who wouldn't give a damn, but Kevin Kilgrave, the person she both hated and feared even more so, or maybe just about equally, as she sometimes hated and feared herself.
"She's my sister. She's the only person in the world who really matters to me, even if almost everyone matters to her. She's the only person I love."
For several moments Kilgrave didn't speak, didn't even seem to move in the seat beside her. No commands came forth, nor did he betray his thoughts. Only from the slight tremor of his hands, pressed down flat against his thighs, and the continued tightness in his jaw, could Jessica see just how enraged he was. Inside she squirmed with the anxiety of his silence, wanting to crawl out of her own skin with the terrible anticipation of what would come.
He would take it out on her, though he had made her say those words. He wouldn't care; she would be punished, all the same, for his insistence, for being unable to truthfully speak, or feel in her heart, of the love for him he desired her to have. He would demand her to speak of and show love for him all the same, she knew. He would make her touch him and smile at him, kiss him and climb atop him or roll beneath him, showing love in the only way that Kilgrave seemed to understand it. He would force her to make love with her body that she could never truly feel in her soul, just to ease his own desires.
And she would do it. She wouldn't have a choice to disobey. She would say the words and make the noises he asked for, touching him where and exactly how he wanted, allowing him to touch her. And all the while she would be screaming inside, raging and weeping and wanting death to strike them both if it would stop just one second of the torture he put her through.
But it didn't happen. Kilgrave didn't even make a suggestive comment, let alone make a move. Instead, he drove in brooding silence, shoulders hunched, and pulled into the parking lot of their shared home. He didn't shut off the car's engine. Instead, he got out, engine running, and came around to Jessica's side, gesturing for her to roll down the window. Confused, Jessica obeyed. What was he up to?
"Get in the driver's seat," Kilgrave told her, little discernible emotion in his voice.
There was no explanation, but Jessica couldn't ask for one. She just obeyed, looking up at him questioningly from her new seat behind the wheel as she waited for further instructions. They weren't long in coming.
"You love that woman so much, Jessica? Go show her. Go fuck her like you fuck me. Then, come back and tell me all about it, every second. Don't leave anything out, or I'll ask you to go back."
Jessica felt her insides go cold with the shock of his command. She was sickened, infuriated, recoiling from the very thought of doing such a thing to anyone, let alone to Trish. But above everything, she was terrified. Because she knew that she would have to do it. Because she knew that no matter how much she wanted to, she would not be able to resist. Not if Kilgrave asked, and especially not if he repeated himself.
She would rather him take her right then and there, submitting herself to anything his twisted mind might come up with. She would rather him shoot her in the face outright or torture her until she was barely alive. She could have born either almost gladly. But he was asking her instead to violate the one person who trusted her, the one person who believed in her.
The one person left who loved her.
Jessica resisted as long and hard as she could. Inside herself she screamed at her body to lash out, to punch Kilgrave in the face or much lower and more painful areas. She screamed at herself to throw the keys at him, get out of the car, and run. But none of those things happened. She couldn't make her body follow through. Instead, she nodded to Kilgrave, a pleasant smile curving her lips, and started the car's engine, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to steer it towards Trish's apartment.
And the part of her under his control, the part of her that wasn't really Jessica Jones anymore at all, was actually happy to follow through on his command.
For the entire length of the drive, Jessica continued to struggle against Kilgrave's command, to be able to somehow wrest back control of her own body and mind. She tried to tell herself to run him over, pulling out of the parking space, and failing that, to drive the car anywhere but Trish's place. But it just kept going down the all too familiar roads, bringing her closer and closer. She tried to tell herself to crash the car, or speed enough to attract the attention of a police officer, but her hands remained steady on the wheel, her feet on the gas pedal remained controlled, and she could not seem to bring herself to take the car anywhere but the path Kilgrave had commanded. He hadn't told her to take a side trip, or to crash, or to attract any attention to herself. He had told her to go to Trish, and that was exactly what Jessica was forced to go through with.
She pulled into the parking garage of Trish's apartment all too soon. Even as she parked the car and began to walk towards the building's entrance, Jessica could not help but flash back to previous times she had entered. At one time she had even lived here, but all of this had stopped months ago, with one psycho's will that she show interest in him.
Her life, as she had once known it, was over now. It wasn't even her life anymore at all; it was his.
As she continued down the hall, she willed her feet to stop, to turn the opposite direction, and still they came forward steadily, all the way inside. They lead her all the way to the outside of Trish's apartment door.
Please don't be home. Please, please, don't be home, please be recording, or out on some date, or whatever the fuck you do when you're out, just don't be home. Please, don't be home.
But when she lifted her fist to knock, shortly, politely, she heard the familiar voice of her adopted sister in answer through the intercom, and she knew that Trish was coming to look through the security camera. She was home. She was home, and both of them were fucked.
No. Pun. Fucking. Intended.
"Hello?"
Jessica's heart wrenched. It had been so long since she had heard Trish's voice, and now, the first time in months since she had seen her, it had to be like this? Yet her voice was steady when she answered. It had to be; Kilgrave had not given her the space to give any sort of warning.
"It's me. Jessica. Can I come in?"
"What? Jessica?" Jessica could hear the near disbelief in Trish's voice as she paused, probably confirming for herself with the camera that the voice was indeed belonging to the person she had claimed to be. "Jessica!"
And then she could hear the locks being unfastened, and as the door came open, Jessica set eyes on Patricia Walker for the first time since her capture had begun. It was Trish as she knew her, still blonde and beautiful and perfectly dressed and accessorized, somehow without it seeming obnoxious or pretentious. It was Trish, staring at her with blue eyes wide with astonishment, her arms spread out as though in preparation to draw Jessica into an all too Trish-like embrace.
But even as Jessica braced herself for this, Trish's outspread hands came up to push against Jessica's shoulder in a shove, and the wide-eyed look quickly faded as a scowl formed in its place.
"Where the hell have you been, Jessica?! Do you know how long it's been since I've heard from you? No calls, no texts, no emails, nothing? What the hell were you doing with yourself that kept you so damn occupied you couldn't even tell me you were okay?"
She gave Jessica another little shove, but it was gentler this time, and she stepped closer, the hand on her shoulder softening into a light grasp.
"Do you have any idea how worried I've been for you, how you drove me out of my mind with your stupid disappearing act? Did you even think about that, or care? My god, Jessica, you could have been dead for all I knew. Phones do exist, emails, you could write a damn letter for that matter. Jesus!"
Trish shook her head, obviously not yet over her emotions, but already softening still further. That was the thing about Trish. She forgave so quickly, and so fully. She had always been a better person than Jessica, even when they were young.
What would happen to her now? What was Jessica going to do to her, by being too damn weak to avoid putting herself back into her life?
"Seriously, Jess, aren't you going to say anything?" Trish was asking, peering more closely and with growing concern into Jessica's face. "What was this, some kind of prolonged drunken bender? Are you okay? You look…you look strange, Jess. Almost sick."
It was no wonder, because Jessica felt sick. From the moment Trish opened the door she had put all her mental and physical strength into resisting, trying hard to fight down the orders Kilgrave had left her with. She put all her energy now into keeping her body still, her eyes down, fists clinched hard at her sides. For as long as she didn't look at Trish or move, she couldn't touch her, and as long as she wasn't touching her, she wasn't giving in to what he'd asked of her. But the more she fought, the more she struggled against it, the more nauseated, dizzy, and even physically pained she felt. Red dots flashed before her eyes, and Jessica felt her body starting to shake. Kilgrave's order seemed to be screaming in her ears, an endless cycle, and when Trish started to touch her, it was that much harder to fight.
Stop it. Get your hands off me, don't touch me, stop…
But Trish was only coming closer, really worried for her now when Jessica didn't answer, when her body began to tremble and break into sweat from her inner battle. Trish knew only what she saw, and what she saw looked like her adopted sister, very ill and in obvious pain.
"Jessica! Jessica, what happened? What's wrong? Come in here, come sit down!"
Trish pulled her forward into the apartment, shutting the door behind them, and started to lead them towards her living room's sofa, her hand still grasping Jessica's shoulder. It was this combination of movement and touch on her part that finally broke Jessica's resistance.
Turning abruptly on her heels, Jessica wrenched herself out of Trish's gentle grasp and seized hold of the other woman's shoulders, much more forcefully than Trish had touched her. With one shove she had succeeded in pushing her down onto her back on the sofa, restraining her from getting up again with hardly any effort at all.
It was sickening, how easily she could hold Trish down, when the woman was taller and heavier than she was. Trish was so weak, in comparison to her, even with the endless exercise routines she had been through since her preteen years. She was only human, with a human female's average strength. Jessica could break her without even trying to. Keeping her down on her back, unable to fend her off, took no effort at all.
As Jessica straddled Trish's torso, easily shrugging off Trish's increasingly frantic attempts to dislodge her, she took both of Trish's wrists in one of her hands, so the other woman could no longer even hit out at her. As Trish tried to buck her off, Jessica ignored her efforts, using her other hand to begin fumbling with the button of Trish's expensive jeans.
"Jessica, what is the matter with you, what the hell are you doing?" Trish was crying out, her voice shrill, almost gasping with the pain of Jessica's grip on her as much as with her growing panic. "Jessica, stop it, Jessica! Stop! Get off of me, stop it!"
But Jessica couldn't. It was Kilgrave's words to her that she had to listen to, his words louder to her ears even than Trish's, nearly shouted in her face.
"Go fuck her, like you fuck me…."
As she pulled down the zipper of Trish's jeans, beginning to struggle one-handed with pulling them down her hips, Trish's fight against her intensified.
"Jessica! Jessica, stop, stop, stop it, please stop, STOP!"
She kicked and tried to head butt Jessica away, still screaming her name, as though it would somehow snap Jessica out of what she was doing. And Jessica wanted to obey. God, did she want to.
But all the struggling did was help the pants slide more easily down her legs, and then she was bare beneath Jessica, her pale skin shuddering, rippled with goose bumps born not of cold, but from fear. When Jessica's hand slid up her leg, bracing against her thigh with enough pressure that she knew Trish would later bruise, she paused, not yet drifting her touch higher up. There was something in the hitching of Trish's chest below her, the heavy tremor of her limbs and the glaze of terror coming into her eyes, that gave her just enough spark of awareness to hesitate, to try, one more time, to fight.
Maybe Trish could see it. Maybe she saw the reality of Jessica's feelings, her true self, deep down in her gaze, and that was the part she spoke up to then, trying to force it up to the foreground, in full control.
"Stop…please, please, Jessica, stop," Trish nearly whispered, her voice barely more than a rasp. She gulped, her breathing seeming to stick in her throat before she could form more words. "Please stop. This…this isn't you. I know…I know this isn't you."
In the end, this was what broke her. Not Trish's tears, dripping slow and steady to dampen the sides of her hair, or even the bruises already brightening her wrists, sides, and thigh. Not even the vulnerable, shaken bareness of her body, helpless against anything Jessica could do. It was the way that Trish knew, without explanations, without understanding what had happened at all, that Jessica could never do this to her on her own. It was the complete faith, the complete trust in her that Trish carried, even as Jessica's body pinned her down.
It was the hope still there in the tremble of Trish's lips, in the faint light still present in her eyes. The hope not for herself, but for Jessica. For the Jessica she believed in.
It was gone then, whatever hold Kilgrave had erected over Jessica, whatever control he had put upon her to redirect all her thoughts and actions to his will. She felt it lift off of her like a heavy suit of armor, the sudden lightness of her body making her sway, nearly falling across Trish entirely. As the realization hit her that she was freed, that she was suddenly, inexplicably fully within her own self, her own full control, the full force of guilt and grief slammed hard against her chest.
What had she done…what the fuck had she nearly DONE?!
A loud sob broke forth from her throat, and with jerky, panicked movements, Jessica rolled off of Trish, scrambling away from her on her hands and knees for as far as the room would allow. She tried to bring herself to a standing or even kneeling position and found that her arms and legs were shaking far too badly to allow for this. She couldn't fully sit, let alone stand, and fleeing the premises was at the moment impossible. As memories of her time with Kilgrave, of all the orders she had carried out at his bequest, began to flicker through her thoughts, it sank in with more vivid awareness than before just what had nearly happened, the terrible implications of the assault she had nearly completed.
She was going to hurt Trish. No, fuck almost, she had hurt Trish, and nearly in the same way that Kilgrave had…hurt…Jessica herself.
Jessica was no different than Kilgrave now. He had made her as monstrous as himself.
She didn't realize how badly her teeth were chattering until she dimly heard a rapid clicking and connected the noise to the sudden pain in her jaw. As her breath raged faster and faster, coming in near wheezes, Jessica unconsciously curled herself into a ball, hiding her face in her arms as her fingernails began to dig deep into the slim flesh of her wrists. She neither felt nor responded to the sting of the small cuts they caused, nor to the slight streaks of blood that emerged.
No…no, no, no, no, no….
"Jessica…Jess."
She heard her name as though it were spoken from a great distance, and perhaps it was. She couldn't blame Trish if her sister never came anywhere near her again. In fact, Jessica was going to do one better- she would make sure that she never came anywhere near Trish herself. That was the only way she could keep her safe, the only way that Trish would have any chance at all to have a normal and somewhat happy life. From this point forward, Jessica's involvement would bring her nothing but risk of harm, and certainly pain that Trish didn't need any more of.
She would leave, take off from Trish and the life she had made for herself, and never darken her doorstep again. Just as soon as she could make herself fucking stand.
"Jess…"
Trish's voice was closer now, worryingly so. She might be actually walking towards her, actually intending to attempt some sort of conversation. God that was so Trish. She was the one injured and assaulted, and yet she wanted, unbelievably, not to kick her to the curb forever, as Jessica herself well intended to make happen- but to sit down and have a rational discussion about it.
Jessica pulled her arms more fully over her head, feeling the strain at her neck muscles but not giving a damn; in fact, she was glad for any pain she could give herself. It would never be enough to even things. She couldn't stand to look up, to see Trish actually approaching her, no doubt disheveled, shaken, even frightened…but still coming forward. Still worried not for herself, but for Jessica.
She was so damn brave, yet so damn stupid too. She was better than Jessica had ever been and ever could be, and yet she never seemed to get that at all.
"Jessica, please look at me. I'm not…I'm not upset, I'm not angry. I just…Jessica, look at me."
Jessica could feel how close she was now, could hear the rustle of the clothing she had hastily pulled back up as she knelt beside her, near enough that if she wanted, Trish would be able to reach out and touch her. Jessica didn't think she could stand it if she tried. She wouldn't hit her- that danger had passed- but she would be unable to stop herself from shrinking back, her skin burning with the feeling of how very unworthy it was of receiving Trish's touch.
"I know that wasn't you," Trish said quietly, keeping her hands to herself for now, but it almost didn't matter to Jessica. She was still far too close, her voice far too compassionate and concerned for her to bear. "I know you would never hurt me on purpose. Not like that. Not ever. Something happened to you, didn't it? Someone…what did they do to you?"
And then Jessica could see it, just barely, from the small slit in between her arm and eye- Trish was reaching out to her, intending to touch. Jessica's head jerked up from her arms, and she scooted herself back awkwardly, her chest heaving with her difficulty drawing in the breaths needed to speak. Even with her efforts, her words came out in stammers.
"Get, get away from me. S-stay back. Don't touch me….d-don't touch me! I'm poison, I'm f-fucked, stay away from me!"
"I'm not touching you, Jess," Trish assured her, and then, absurdly to Jessica, she continued, "I'm not going to hurt you."
As though she ever could, even if she wanted to. As though someone like Trish could ever stand a chance in causing real damage in someone like Jessica. That is, any damage other than emotional.
Silence stretched between them, no more in all likelihood than a few moments, but to Jessica it seemed an extreme length of time. An eternity of her heaving breaths, of Trish's still figure just beside her own, of fighting so hard against the near suffocating panic enveloping her to the point of immobility.
Finally Trish spoke, so gently that Jessica had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut against the pricking of rising tears.
"Talk to me, Jessica. I'm not going to touch you, but I'm not leaving you either. You don't have to tell me where you've been or what happened, just…tell me what I can do."
"What you can do?!" Jessica burst out with, barking out a sharp noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Why the hell are you asking me what you can do?! You didn't do anything, you didn't cause this, you didn't fucking deserve this! And you can't fucking do anything, you can't fucking help me, I don't even fucking deserve help after what I've done! After everything he fucking made me do!"
Her voice cracked on the word "he," as vivid flashes of Kilgrave's smile, of his cool skin against hers, came over her. She choked, almost gagging on the memory that was as much physical as mental, and Trish spoke over her, her brow deeply creased with worry.
"Jessica, please, try to calm down. You're making yourself sick…" her hands reached out, but when Jessica jerked away, obviously more distraught at the prospect of her touch, she let her hands fall back to her thighs helplessly, her lips parted with the words she had let trail away. She swallowed before continuing.
"Whatever happened, Jessica, whatever you did, I forgive you. Do you hear me? I forgive you. And I don't think it was your fault. I don't think you were you."
"Don't forgive me, don't ever fucking forgive me!" Jessica spat out, shaking her head so hard that she felt her neck muscle pull. "I let him take over, I let him get to me, I let him fucking control me! I hurt…I was going to hurt you…I…I was going to…"
She couldn't say the words out loud. Instead a second loud sob tore through her, shuddering through her body as though breaking loose from some inner bind, and she doubled over, unconsciously embracing herself even as her nails again ripped at her skin.
"I didn't mean…I didn't want…he made me, I didn't want…"
The words were nearly buried in a rush of tears that came, sudden and heavy, too much so for her to stop or suppress in time. Jessica kept herself folded nearly in half, the force of her crying rocking her body forward unconsciously, deaf to the barely coherent words pouring out from her along with her tears.
"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, I didn't want…sorry. I have to go. I have to fucking go…"
When Trish's arms first came around her, slow, cautious, but firm, Jessica twitched, then pushed out at them feebly, barely summoning the control needed for her limbs to move even this much. But Jessica's will was exhausted, and Trish's was stronger, enough so to not only hold on, but tighten around her shoulders and back. She stayed, her arms tight around Jessica was Jessica wept, half holding her up from falling face down on the floor. She stayed, saying nothing that Jessica heard or understood, and waited for exhaustion to still the emotional storm.
Jessica had not yet explained to her the first thing about Kilgrave and his capture of her, nor had she adequately or coherently explained his mental control. It was unlikely she would be able to summon the words to do so any time in that day. But to Trish, that didn't matter. Even after what had happened, after what she had nearly done, Trish was still there, still trusting her, still believing in Jessica's essential goodness all the same. The woman who had once told Jessica she was a hero still seemed to believe her own words. She was forgiving her, loving her, even fucking holding her, loyal beyond Jessica's actions to Jessica, herself.
She didn't know or understand anything at all. Yet here she still was, trusting that when Jessica was able, that explanation would come. Trusting that even now, Jessica was still worth her love.
She had told Kilgrave, quite truthfully, that Trish was the only person in the world she loved, the only person left who loved her. But no matter what actions or answers he might elicit out of her, he would never be able to comprehend the power in this, nor would he ever feel for himself all the reasons why.
The end