Say it (if it's worth saving me)

"What if you and I walked out of here right now? Lock the door and never came back? Just left it."

Trish Walker's voice was low, intense, as she turned towards Jessica, her blue eyes bright with feeling that Jessica had come to recognize all too well. It was a spark of new thought- desperate, fervent thought, brought on by equal parts hope and fear. Jessica had seen that look each time, just before Trish made a life changing and often self-destructive decision. It was a look she had come to dread, because inevitably, either by her own choice or against it, Jessica Jones ended up involved.

Jessica's bowed head lifted slightly, just enough for her to set eyes on the figure of the man imprisoned in the altered bunker before them. Soundproofed glass and concrete, hooked up with microphones she could turn on or off at will, had been the only way she could be sure that he would not be a danger to herself or to anyone else- not with his actions, but with his voice, his will. The man could and would cause the most gentle, nonviolent person in the world to commit torture and murder with a smile, at the briefest of his commands.

She had seen it happen more times than she could count. She had experienced it herself, for eight soul crushing months. Kilgrave was the single most frightening being she could ever imagine, more damaging than anyone with strength of muscle or skill at weaponry, because Kilgrave was the only person she knew of who could twist another person into being and doing whatever suited him most in the moment. Kilgrave was the only person who had ever been able to force Jessica into his control.

Kilgrave was terribly, terrifyingly dangerous. And in his presence, Jessica became someone else, someone dangerous too- even without his commands.

She had proven that just now, when his provocation had driven her to such anger she had nearly beaten him to death. Her own best friend had been forced to electrocute her along with him, just to stop her from crossing that line. She knew that Trish was shaken from seeing that side of her, from knowing just how close Jessica had come to going over the edge that Kilgrave had left far in the distance long before.

She had almost become a murderer, rather than a killer.

There was a difference, to Jessica. Causing the death of Kilgrave would not have been the first time a person had died at her hands. But the first time- it had been beyond her will, beyond her wish, no matter how much she suffered and regretted because of it. Killing Kilgrave now would not just be a killing. No matter how dangerous he was, no matter how damn deserving, it would be a death of her own will, on her hands entirely. It would be murder.

Jessica could not, would not, be a murderer. Not even of him.

Trish had to know that. She had to see that difference, that tiny but so important distinction. She had to realize what she was saying to Jessica, to make that suggestion. Didn't she?

The man who called himself Kilgrave was sporting the blood and bruises of her recent loss of control, sitting up in the shallow pool of water with his shoulders bowed, head slightly inclined towards his knees. He looked every bit the defeated, beaten soul, wearily awaiting whatever his tormenter would do to him next, but Jessica knew better. It was all an act for the camera's benefit, to deny her the proof of his powers that she sought. Kilgrave was nothing if not helpless, and as far from ordinary as Jessica herself. As she fixed her eyes on him, she could not even respond to Trish's question. She pressed the palms of her hands against the table the two of them sat behind, pretending she hadn't even heard her.

But Trish did not let the thought go. She never could, when she got into that mindset.

"Hope could take the deal. I have enough money to get us far away-"

"Trish," Jessica interrupted, her voice quiet, holding all the weariness of the words she couldn't seem to form. But Trish gave her no opportunity to further try, cutting her off as she turned to face her fully, her voice dropping in volume as it strengthened in intensity.

"I mean it. As long as he has your attention, as long as you care, he's in control."

Jessica was still, silent, as Trish's words sank in. She tried to push them out of her thoughts, to push down the rising temptation to even consider the possibility that what she was telling her was true.

But it was hard to deny it, even with Jessica's years of experience in avoidance. She had lost control in there, even with everything she knew and understood about Kilgrave. She had lost control long ago, when it came to him. He knew that. He used it, played it against her. He always would.

If she was there and available for him. If.

Her eyes flicked up towards him briefly in his captivity. He didn't smile, but there was a challenge in his eyes. He didn't have to move his lips or say an audible word for Jessica to know that he was smirking at her inwardly, feeling that he had triumphed, even in his imprisoned state. Because he had driven her to the reaction he wanted, even without an overt command. Because he had made her feel the way he wanted her to feel.

"I can't just leave," Jessica said abruptly, shaking her head hard in an effort to shake away his image in front of her, to shake out the thoughts creeping into her mind. "Not after everything. Not like this."

"Yes, Jessica, you can," Trish countered. "You can. You can walk away with me right now and never look back. You can leave. You can leave him, and no one else will be hurt. Everyone will be safe from him, and you'll be the one who made sure of that. YOU will be safe from him."

There was a note of pleading in Trish's voice with her last sentence, a rawness that Jessica had to swallow at the sound of, dropping her eyes to the side. She could not look at her adoptive sister's face and see the naked concern and caring that she knew would be there. Not now. How many times was it that Trish had begged her to be safe, to take care of herself…and how many times had Jessica ignored her and done as she pleased? How many times had Trish done the same, in response to Jessica's pleas?

But this time, it was so tempting to listen to her. This time, it seemed so much easier to just let Trish have her way.

"I can't," Jessica repeated, in affirmation to herself as much as to protest Trish. "I can't let Hope stay in prison. She doesn't deserve that. I can't let that happen to her."

"Why is she your responsibility?"

There was steel in Trish's voice now, a flinty edge that Jessica heard so rarely she could not avoid straightening up, looking her in the eye. Trish looked back at her squarely, making sure she was heard out.

"She is not your responsibility, Jessica. You barely even know her. Kilgrave threw her at you to draw you out. You're doing exactly what he wants you to do, Jessica. Even Hope knows that."

Hope did know that. All it took was listening to the terse bitterness of her voice on the phone, seeing the new hardness in her once soft eyes, for Jessica to see this for herself. Hope had been used, her life destroyed for the sake of making a statement to Jessica. Kilgrave had reeled her in with Hope as the bait, and she had followed.

But didn't that make her now responsible? Didn't that mean all the more that was owed to Hope, from Jessica?

"Hope is not the only person Kilgrave has screwed over," Trish continued, breaking the rapid flow of Jessica's thoughts. "What about the guy who lost custody of his kid? What about the people he's tortured or killed over time that you don't know about, or the ones that you do? He's left a trail of broken people in his wake, Jessica, and Hope is just one of the many. You can't fix all of them. You can't save all of them. Look what he did to you." She paused, then said more softly, her hand beginning to reach out as though to touch before she quickly drew it back, "Look what he's doing to you."

A better question might have been, what hadn't Kilgrave done to her? He had warped her thoughts, controlled her will, broken her mentally until anything and everything in her path seemed dangerous and startling. He had left her without sleep, without appetite, with a need for deadened emotions and memories that only drinking herself to blackouts could bring. He left her with blood on her hands, with hih invisible handprints on her body and her soul. He left her without friends, without family, without any self esteem or direction. He left her hating herself and fearing the world, even as she felt driven to save it.

He left her with the need to fix the very people she feared. The people like Hope.

Trish must have assumed that Jessica's refusal to answer her was protest or stubborn denial, rather than the desperate attempts to order her own thoughts. She spoke again, this time actually letting her hand ever so lightly come to rest on Jessica's wrist.

"Let Hope make her own choices in life, Jessica. Don't you think this is what she'd tell you to do too? Don't you think Hope would want to be certain that this could never happen to anyone else ever again, even if it meant that she would have to suffer a while longer? Think about it, Jessica. This is the only way. You let him out of there, for any reason, or send anyone else in, and anything could happen. Even to you. Especially to you. You try to capture him, film him, fight him, and everything you worked so hard for is at risk. He could and he will take control. You got him this far, Jess. He's locked away, he can't hurt anyone. This isn't on you anymore. You've done everything you needed to do. Why don't you just leave it now, Jess? Why don't you just walk away with me, and let this go?"

Jessica swallowed, the corner of her lip catching between her teeth before she realized and abruptly rearranged her mouth. She blinked, feeling sudden tears prick behind her eyes, and the hand on her arm squeezed gently. Fucking Trish, she had seen.

She opened her mouth, but the angry, dismissive words she had planned died before they left her lips. Trish saw that too, and her lips curved into a smile showing nothing but sadness.

"Jess….be honest with me, Jess. Aren't you tired? Because I am. I am so damn tired, and I know you have to be too."

That was what finally cut through the last of Jessica's intentions, the last defenses she had left. Because it was true. She was tired, so fucking tired. Too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to have the strength she would need to ever go face to face with Kilgrave again, and have any chance at all of coming out intact.

She was too damn tired.

Jessica's head dropped slightly, her tangled dark hair falling forward to obscure her vision. She stared past the partial view its strands allowed, eyes half closed, not quite seeing the objects in front of her.

Trish knew her better than Jessica had realized. At last, Trish had come to understand that Jessica was not the hero Trish had thought she was, the hero that Trish wanted her to be. Trish would not admit it; she loved Jessica too much to do that. But this was what she was saying, by urging Jessica to walk away.

She didn't think that Jessica could get through this and win. She didn't think Jessica was capable of being a hero anymore.

Jessica had tried to tell her all along that Trish's starry-eyed view of her heroism was bullshit, that she sucked at anything resembling a role model. She could barely play the part of a human being most days. A super hero was stretching it far beyond Jessica's emotional capacity.

But even with all her protests and eye rolls, a tiny, unspoken part of Jessica had liked that Trish saw her that way, no matter what Jessica did to prove her wrong. It was the same part of Jessica that actually wanted to be the hero Trish thought she was already.

Maybe it was time now to finally acknowledge that it was never going to happen. Jessica had tried to save the world. She had tried to push beyond her own fuck ups and, as much as she hated the phrase, make a difference, and she had failed. She had tried to prove to the world that Hope was innocent…but maybe the truth was that she wasn't.

After all, Jessica wasn't. No matter what Kilgrave had commanded, no matter how deeply under her control he had kept her, the truth was that it was Jessica's hands and Jessica's strength that were the final cause of a woman's death. Blood was on her hands, the blood of an undeserving and defenseless woman, no matter how much Jessica regretted it or wanted to take it back, no matter how much she had hated her own actions. It would never take away the fact that Jessica Jones had murdered her.

Jessica could not truly be innocent in Reva's murder. If everything was right and fair in the world, she would be in jail alongside Hope. They had both killed, no matter for what reason.

She had said all along that Hope was innocent. But perhaps Hope would not agree. Perhaps Hope also felt the physical heaviness of guilt and shame and regret of her crime, and it was only by paying penance as society demanded that she could ever find any degree of peace. Maybe it was what she needed. Maybe she would be better off than Jessica herself, if only Jessica would walk away.

"Jessica…Jess?"

Trish's voice sounded far away, not anywhere near her ears, but Jessica registered it all the same. She closed her eyes, her temples beginning to pulse a rapid beat in near synchronism with her heart's uneven thuds. When she nodded, just barely enough for someone else to see, she felt her cheeks grow damp with tears she had not realized were in danger of appearing.

Jessica jolted back into full awareness of her body, of her surroundings and the present moment, when she felt Trish's gentle hand on her shoulder, giving enough time and light enough pressure for Jessica to stop herself, barely, from lashing out. She tolerated it as Trish gave her shoulder one quick squeeze, then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her cheeks were wet again when Trish took a step back.

"Okay. Come on, then. Let's go."

When Jessica didn't immediately stand, Trish helped her, pulling back the chair she was seated in and grasping her by the arm, giving a light tug to encourage her to rise. She didn't release Jessica's arm from her grasp as she started to walk away, stopping only to gather what Jessica realized dimly were their personal belongings, objects that could potentially lead back to tracking them down or identifying them as at one time being present.

"Don't say anything," Trish told her, taking a breath that even Jessica heard. "Don't look back."

And for once, Jessica didn't feel the immediate impulse to do the opposite of what she had been instructed. She didn't want to see the response that Kilgrave would have to their exit, or whether he could read their lips enough to realize what was happening. Later, much later, she would wonder if he had called out to them immediately, if he had pounded on the glass or made useless commands that they could not hear and were not bound to follow. She would wonder, but she would never know. She would not see him again, and she could only hope that no one else would either.