WARNING: I don't belong any of the characters or settings that are in this story. All characters belong to the creators of Marvel's Jessica Jones and Heathers. This is purely a work of fanfiction.

SMILE, VERONICA

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There's two outcomes to every problem. You either A) Walk away and pretend it never happened like a coward. Or B) Fight back. Sometimes, it is necessary to take Choice A if it's something so shitty like….guess it doesn't fucking matter now, does it?

Come back here Veronica!

It was the last time I would ever listen to him. What he made me do was…it was just…..every time I hear his voice or see a glimpse of him, it kills me. I lose any sense of reality and the air crawls out of my lungs. It hurts like a bitch.

You love this food, Veronica. Be a good girl, Veronica.

SMILE.

NO, VERONICA!

Then that bus crashed and he was gone. Jason Dean was gone and I would never have to follow another command again.

At least I thought he was gone. But not anymore.

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Chapter One – Walk or Fight

January 2015

I walked into the law firm with the folder in my hands, listening to some shitty playlist on Pandora. Jeri wanted me to get some subpoena to a strip club owner downtown, read and signed. He was a little difficult to convince, since he wanted nothing to do with Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. So his persuasion may have required some effort. And by effort I mean…..lifting the back of his car and telling him I have "laser eyes". Heh. Well, I at least thought it was fun and games.

I walked past the front desk, where Pam was helping some old lady before she noticed me. I didn't even stop to say hello. How classy of me. I got to Jeri's office and took out my earbuds.

"I'll call you back." Jeri finished her phone conversation. Must've been a client or something.

"You're late, Sawyer." Jeri stated as she reorganized her desk. I walked over and dropped the folder onto her desk.

"Got that subpoena signed." Jeri didn't even look at it. She just gazed out the window.

"So I heard." She got up from her desk and grabbed the folder. She didn't say a word. We stood there in silence as she looked through the paperwork.

"So, how much am I getting?" I finally asked. Jeri stopped reading and closed the folder.

"Sawyer, do you even realize what you did?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I'm not criticizing you for getting the form signed. I'm criticizing HOW you got it done." She stored the folder into one of her drawers.

"He claims that you stopped his car by lifting the trunk over his head. You threatened him with…laser eyes?" I rolled my eyes at her.

"How did you expect me to get the job done, Jeri?"

"You're a Private Eye, Sawyer. You could've done it in more humane ways." Jeri walked over to her door and opened it. My cue to go.

"I'll send your paycheck to your box."

"You know where to find me." I sarcastically responded. I walked out, plugging my earbuds back in.

So what if I used inhumane methods to get the job done? I'm a fucking ex-superhero barely making a living in Hell's Kitchen. But, hey. I've been through worse.

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The elevator stopped on my floor and I got out. My apartment door is the blatantly broken one down at the end of the hall. Always open too. My neighbors are assholes on every floor. People below are always having sex and the neighbors above are constantly yelling at each other (They're twins – the boy is a little bit more dysfunctional). The only neighbor that's somewhat normal around here is Martha – she lives down the hall from me. Martha is a nice girl, but like the rest of us, she has some issues of her own.

As I began heading towards my apartment, I saw Martha sitting outside of her door eating out of a jar of peanut butter. I stopped and crouched down to her level.

"Martha, you know you could just ask me to give you money for groceries." I told her. She looked up at me and stopped eating. She must've gotten the jar out of my cabinets when I wasn't here.

"Sorry, Veronica." She began to hand the jar back to me but I stopped her.

"Keep it." I stood back up and began towards my apartment again. When I finally got there, I noticed that my door was open. I couldn't see through because…..well part of my door is missing. I have to cover it up with cardboard and tape.

"By the way, Veronica," Martha called out from the hallway, "some clients wanted to talk to you. I think they might be waiting inside."

"Thanks, Martha." I responded and pushed my door open. I looked around my apartment (which by the way is a shitstorm and extremely tiny) to find my clients waiting by my desk. It was some married couple, around the age of 50 or 60, and they seemed to be distraught. The odd thing about it – I felt like I knew them from somewhere.

"Are you Miss Sawyer? The Private Investigator?"

"Yeah, you're looking at her." I took off my coat and sat down at my desk. I rested my feet up on my desk.

"If this is about my door," I gestured to the door behind them, "it's been like that for a while."

"Oh no. We're not here about that." the man said. "Although, it does look like it needs a fixer-upper." His wife nudged him to make him focus on why they were here. It still bugged me that I knew them from somewhere. Like their child was someone that-

"Anyways, how good are you at finding people?"

I slid my feet off my desk and leaned forward.

"Depends. Why? Who are you looking for?"

The man turned to his wife and nodded at her. She reached into her bag to grab something. She pulled out a thin binder and placed it on my desk.

"Our daughter has gone missing. She was supposed to be at Syracuse's graduate school, but she hasn't been attending any of the classes for at least 6 weeks. She's been racking up her credit cards as well on the most ridiculous of things-"

"Ma'am," I stopped her. "If this is about a girl who dropped out of school to live her own life, then there's nothing I can do about it."

"But you need to." the man said. "The person who recommended you to us said that you were the only one who can get her back."

"Did Jeri Hogarth send you?"

"We don't remember." the woman responded. "But it would be good for her to see a familiar face."

"What are you talking about?"

"Take a look, Miss Sawyer."

I leaned back into my chair and grabbed the binder. I began to look through it. But now it's hit me how I know these people. Because I know their daughter, very well.

Heather McNamara. It had to be Heather McNamara. She was one of my foster sister's best friends. Or rather, I should say, minions. She was on that dumbass show with the others. I stopped her from killing herself. Jesus, it just had to be her.

"Can you try to remember who recommended you to me?" I quietly asked.

"So, you will help us." Mrs. McNamara stated. I couldn't look at her anymore. She reminded me too much of her daughter. Mr. McNamara wrapped his arm around his wife shoulder.

"Did it sound like I said no?" I responded sarcastically. I closed the binder and stood up.

"How much do you want for the job? Name your price."

"We'll get to that later." I walked around to where Mr. and Mrs. McNamara were standing. "Give me some time to research and I'll get back to you."

"Here's my cell." Mr. McNamara handed me his card. Of course - he sold engagement rings.

"Thanks for stopping by. I'll find your daughter." I gestured towards the door, hinting that it was time to go. Mr. and Mrs. McNamara began to leave. Mr. McNamara stopped at my door to examine it.

"You know, Miss Sawyer. I have a buddy who knows how to fix doors—"

"Thanks." I shut the door on him.

So much for a fucking reunion. Heather and Heather would be pleased to know that the third member of their clique has gone missing.

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After doing some research with my trusty old laptop and a bottle of whiskey, I headed out for some fresh air. Jeri called earlier, telling me to get some dirty work on a woman named Gina, who's apparently cheating on her husband with a bartender. Jeri said some guy named Andre is suspicious. So I headed out to the East End on Hell's Kitchen, discretely following Gina to where her bartender "boyfriend" was working. With my Nikon around my neck, I leaped up to an apartment balcony across the street from the bar. Through the windows, Gina was sitting at the counter while the bartender, a tough-looking muscular man, was beginning to close up shop. When he wasn't looking, she slipped off her wedding ring. I snapped a picture of that.

Someone was having a party across the street. Lights were flashing and music was blaring through the brick walls. Something flashing purple caught my eye, and it brought me into a trance. A trance I never wanted to go back in to.

No. No. He's already been removed from my mind. He can't be back.

DON'T BE A BAD GIRL, VERONICA. I could hear his voice as if he was standing right next to me.

YOU LOVE THIS. YOU LOVE ME.

SMILE, VERONICA.

"NO!" I screamed at nothing. I shut my eyes and held my hands over my ears, dropping my camera on the balcony floor. When I felt it was over, I uncovered my ears and felt tears forming in my eyes. I rested my head again the rails and wiped the tears away.

"Birch Street…Higgins Drive…Cobalt Lane…" I muttered to myself. I say this to myself whenever I feel my memories of HIM seeping back into my head. I wanted to forget him. I really did. But once he was in, he wasn't easy to get rid of.

Once I calmed down, I picked up my camera and tried to find Gina and her lover. They were no longer in the bar, but they moved up to his apartment above the facility. She was in lingerie, heading towards another part of the room that was out of view. Snapped a picture of that. He was only in his underwear and talking to her. I couldn't make out the words. He went to shut the blinds. And he saw me.

I looked away as fast as I could, lowering my camera. I turned my head back to look at him. He still stared at me as he finally shut the blinds. His silhouette walked away.

Well, that was enough snooping for tonight. Time to go home. I needed a proper glass of whiskey and a somewhat normal amount of rest. Tomorrow was gonna be a busy day.

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When I got up the next morning, I went on to my laptop and looked at Heather M.'s credit card bills. Jeez, I thought to myself, it's like her parents never taught her how to pay off anything. And they're the millionaires. I noted that her recent usage included buying expensive jewelry, bras, a hotel reservation, and a table for two at a place called Niku.

So that's where I started. I went to the jewelry and bra shops where Heather was last at, and both sets of workers stated that they didn't know anything. So I headed for Niku (The funny thing about Niku is that it just opened up as an Asian cuisine about a week ago. Before, it was an Italian restaurant).

I walked into the restaurant and went to the working staff, trying to set up for later today. The workers were busy talking and setting tables.

"Uhm, hi. Excuse me, hi." The workers stopped and the manager stepped forward.

"Miss, would you like to make a reservation?"

"Have any of you have recently seen a girl in her late 20s at this restaurant?"

"I'm sorry, miss, but who are you?" I rolled my eyes.

"Veronica Sawyer, Private Invesitgator. Answer the damn question."

"Could you describe the girl again?" one of the workers asked.

"Ugh…..Young woman. Late 20s. Blond hair. Wears yellow all the frickin time. Have you seen her around here?"

The manager thought about it for a moment. Then he spoke.

"Come with me please." He lead me further into the restaurant.

"Hey look! I'm not trying to cause trouble-"

"I remember seeing a girl about your age with a handsome man a few nights ago when this place was still an Italian restaurant. I saw them at this back table over here." he stopped and gestured to a booth in the back of the room.

I recognized that booth. And this place.

No. NO.

Memories began flooding back into me. The room was crowded when HE took me in here. It was our one-year anniversary. He made me wear some awful purple and black dress that barely fit me.

YOU LOVE THIS FOOD, VERONICA. I responded that I loved it.

NO, NO, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING. NO!

TAKE A SIP OF YOUR WINE. SMILE.

"Miss, are you alright?"

I back away once the visions disappeared. I began muttering to myself.

"Birch Street, Higgins Drive, Cobalt Lane….."

This couldn't be happening. He couldn't be - unless…..UNLESS…

"Miss, can I help you?"

"I have to go."

And I ran out.

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I pounded on the hotel door. The McNamaras were not answering.

"Open up! Mr. and Mrs. McNamara, please!"

The door opened. The McNamaras let me in and started asking if I was okay. If I had found their little Heather.

"Who sent you to me?" I cut them off. The McNamaras stared at each other for a moment before speaking again.

"One at a time, please!" I ordered.

"We don't remember." Mr. McNamara responded.

"No. Mr. McNamara, please. I need you to remember. I think I might know what happened to your daughter…and who she might be with. But please! You have to remember. Who gave you my information and when?"

"Well," Mrs. McNamara began. "Once we discovered Heather wasn't responding to any of our calls and emails, a young, handsome man showed up. He told us if we were having trouble, we could talk to you. He gave us your information."

"Young, handsome man? I need more description."

"Honey, what did he say his name was?" Mrs. McNamara asked her husband. He thought about it for a moment. But I think I already knew who recommended me to them.

"He never gave us a first name. Just his last." he said.

"Well, what was it?" I asked in frustration.

"Dean."

I widened my eyes at Mrs. McNamara. She looked down at the floor in fear. Then she looked back up at me.

"His last name was Dean."

NO. NO. IT CAN'T.

"Miss Sawyer, are you alright?"

"Pack your things. Get the hell out of here." I barked at them before exiting.

"Wait! Aren't you going to find our daughter?"

"Stop wasting time. If you want to stay alive, then leave!" I yelled as I walked down the hallway, out of the hotel they were staying at, and out onto the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

He was here. No, HE IS HERE. He was supposed to be dead. But not he's back and Heather McNamara is with him, undergoing the same torture that I went through.

I had to leave. I wanted to leave. But there was something I needed to do first.

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I jumped up to the balcony outside of her apartment. It would've risked too much trying to go in through the front. I looked in through her window and saw her crew talking with her. Maybe they were going over what to talk about on tomorrow's show or whatever. I couldn't tell. And there she was in the middle. Her hair up in a red scrunchie and everything. God, she still looked like that 14 year old that I met in the hospital when her mother and the other girls took me in. Who knew that a mythic bitch from Disney Channel could turn into a cool and collected radio host?

She saw me and slowly raised her eyebrow. I gave her awkward smile and waved. She ended the meeting and the rest of her crew left. Once they were gone, she walked over to the balcony door and slid it open. She put her hands on her waist and gave me a stern look.

"Jesus, Vern. You could've just told my doorman you were stopping by." She gestured for me to come in. I rushed in and turned to her.

"I don't have much time for you sarcasm, Heather. I need to borrow some money."

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Don't you have enough fatty paychecks from Hogarth?"

"Heather, please. I'm going away for a little while."

"Leaving? Vern, please, you did that once already. And that was because of my mother!" And there it was – my little dosage of Ms. Chandler, foster mom and upright c-word. I rolled my eyes at Heather before she spoke again.

"Why do you need to leave?" I looked around to make sure no one else was here. If anyone leaked this shit….

"Heather M's in deep shit." I quietly responded.

"Wait, Heather McNamara?" she asked. I nodded. "I thought she was in grad school! What happened?"

"Even more - he's not dead."

Heather blinked at me for a moment. Then her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

"Wait…you mean?"

"It's JD. He's back."

END OF CHAPTER ONE

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A/N:

Hello! So yeah, this is my first official crossover and I didn't fuck it up! Woohoo!

So yeah, you should check out my other stuff on my page and leave a comment if you want.

Happy New Year!

Smile, Corn Nuts!