Clutched tightly in Jessica's right hand was the man who'd made her life the very mirror of hell itself, and he looked down at her with more fear in his bulging eyes than she'd ever thought him capable of. Her fingers acted as a vise around his jaw, locking it shut, preventing him from speaking, and her nails dug deeply into the skin of his cheeks. She held him above her with such strength that the tips of his polished shoes barely touched the ground. Paralyzed by terror, he dangled limply in her grip. His life was literally held in the palm of her hand.

Jessica's lips pulled back from her teeth into a scowl and she spoke his favorite command, the one that sickened her most. "Smile."

Then she reached up with her other hand—

—and stabbed a syringe deep into the muscle of his neck. Kilgrave emitted a small noise of surprise through his nose, but it quickly grew into what he could muster of an agonized wail after the golden-hued substance was injected into him. Almost immediately, the capillaries in his neck and face turned a visible shade of purple. The color blossomed outward from the injection site, and then it slowly changed into the same bright yellow as the fluid that was pumped into him. Jessica tossed the syringe to the ground as Kilgrave's hands reached up to claw at her arm, her vise grip still muffling his desperate shrieks. The display made Jessica's eyes squint in disgust. Even as his skin grew hot beneath her fingers, she fought the urge to toss him away. She had to make sure this worked.

Then, and very abruptly, he went silent. In the same instance that the strange color in his face disappeared, Kilgrave's eyes rolled into the back of his head and every muscle in his body went slack. Jessica held his dead weight for only a few seconds before she finally dropped him. He crumpled until his back hit the hard ground. There was silence, and then there was a low drone of voices behind her. The crowd of people Kilgrave had gathered to be his countermeasure against her now murmured among themselves in confusion, undoubtedly wondering why they'd been trying to murder each other only minutes ago. They'd been freed from his control.

In this brief moment of peace, Jessica's eyes lifted and locked with her sister's. From across the small distance they gazed at each other, neither speaking, neither moving. A shared somber expression meant they both knew this was a small victory, one gained only after suffering unspeakable loss. One might've considered it a Pyrrhic victory. When considering the toll on Jessica's psyche, it almost certainly was one.

And yet, she was still alive. They both were. Trish offered a small smile, but Jessica couldn't return it. Her body still tingled with an adrenaline that was born from the raw power granted to either take a life or leave it. Kilgrave had been entirely at her mercy. All it would've taken was a single second, and he'd have been dead at her feet. The fingers of her right hand twitched. In the moment of it, that power had exhilarated her. Now it made her sick. She shook out the hand that had held him, as if the act could rid her of the adrenaline, but it did nothing.

"Is he still alive?" Trish asked when she came close enough to whisper.

"Yes," Jessica replied with a hint of disappointment, despite herself.

"I didn't see you check."

"Trust me, he's too stubborn to die like this. I'd have to crack his neck to really put him six feet under."

Trish carefully collected the discarded syringe, minding the needle. "Well, we need to get moving." She glanced around the dock. "If there's any chance he still has his powers, we can't let him wake up around all these people."

Jessica took a moment to look back at Kilgrave's most recent victims of persuasion. Workers, families, friends and lovers, elderly and minors, innocent civilians of all kinds now tended to the wounds they'd inflicted upon each other. She recognized the misery upon each of their faces. When her eyes swept across the scene, she saw something that made her breath catch. Lying in the pool of light from a tall lamp near the edge of the dock was a motionless body. Blood glinted faintly in the fluorescence. A familiar feeling tightened her chest.

"Jess," Trish urged, snapping her attention back to the man responsible for all this. Jessica couldn't help but note how peaceful Kilgrave looked lying there, his visage far too undisturbed in the aftermath of all the atrocities he'd committed, and an urge to bury the toe of her boot deep into his ribs nearly overcame her. Instead, she picked him up and tossed him over her shoulders like a man-sized rag doll. He would pay the price another way.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" Jess called out to the puzzled crowd, hoping they'd distract themselves with their own injuries rather than wonder where she was taking an unconscious man, and Trish followed her as they hurried back to the building they'd come through.

"We don't have anywhere else to put him," Trish argued, punching in the reactivation code for her front door's security system once Jessica had finished stepping through with Kilgrave still slumped across her shoulders.

The hermetically sealed interrogation room they'd rigged had since been rendered useless by the separate sabotages of both Hogarth and Simpson, leaving them with no real options for a place to keep their prisoner. Jessica frowned and adjusted Kilgrave's weight. Her ribs, still not yet fully healed, were beginning to hurt from carrying him all this way.

"Yeah, I know that. But what are we gonna do with him here? I mean, can we at least use your panic room or something?"

"No, it only locks from the inside. I had to break the door to my gym, so we can't use that, either."

Jessica raised an inquisitive brow at that last part.

"Simpson," Trish answered plainly, and Jessica understood.

"Officer Jackass making a mess everywhere he goes, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about him. Look, just put Kilgrave in the bathroom for now."

Jessica scoffed. "You think he can't shout commands from in there?"

"There's a pretty good chance the serum worked. If not, I don't know, just knock him out again."

Despite the worryingly flimsy nature of this plan, Jess headed down the apartment's hallway. "From someone who likes to have a plan, this isn't a very good plan."

"We didn't have much time to come up with one," Trish called back to her.

Fortunately, the bathroom of this lavish dwelling had a generous amount of space, so much that when Jessica bent down and dropped Kilgrave's limp body into the center with a thud, his splayed limbs didn't touch a single thing. For a moment she stared down at him. She watched his chest rise and fall with even breaths, and she could see the vein in his neck throb with the slow rhythm of his pulse. He looked out of place lying on the tiled floor in his expensive charcoal suit and plum tie. Even in his least threatening state, the sight of him flooded Jessica with a sense of overwhelming fatigue, and she wondered how much longer this man would infest every aspect of her life like a goddamned plague. Wearily, she stepped over him to the stainless steel sink, turned the knob for cold water, and splashed a handful onto her face.

The reality of the situation had begun to set in. For the fourth time in recent memory, she had captured her own personal nightmare, her rapist and her attempted murderer, the sole reason behind all the trauma she'd sustained over the last eighteen months, and whether or not he remained dangerous was yet to be known. Jessica gripped the sink's rim with both hands and leaned her weight against it. Under her breath she murmured the street names of her childhood, and she ignored her own reflection in the mirror. Birch Street. Higgins Drive. Cobalt Lane. She spoke it, and then repeated it. When she finished, the only sound in the room was the gentle plink of water that dripped from her chin into the sink. It was a rhythm that did not calm her. The cold water hadn't helped either, nor did the recital of her mantra, and as impossible as it was, she thought she heard the beating of Kilgrave's heart in her ears. It must've been her own. She stiffened when she realized this room had quickly taken on a suffocating quality, like it was cutting her off from the rest of the world. Hurriedly, she dried her face and left, but not before yanking the door's handle off on the bathroom side.

Back in the kitchen, Trish was beginning to explain her idea to bar the bathroom door with a chair, but was cut off when Jessica held up the detached handle.

"Really?" sighed Trish. "You know, between you and Simpson, I won't have much of an apartment anymore."

"Poor you." Jessica tossed the handle into a corner and slung her leather jacket across a chair. "I'm sure you could afford half the studios in Manhattan. You'll be fine." She stood on her toes to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

Trish let the topic drop, and she stared down the hallway. "Let's just assume for a minute that the cure worked and his powers are gone for good. What do we do with him next?"

There was a brief clinking of glass before Jessica found the bottle of whiskey she wanted. "We're putting him behind bars for life. I called Hogarth about the guy in that penthouse, remember? The place Kilgrave was keeping Albert in. As long as that guy's alive, he can serve as a witness to everything Kilgrave forced his dear, old dad to do." She took a swig straight from the bottle. "Plus, that little makeshift lab is still there. I'm sure Kilgrave's prints are all over it. We got him, Trish. There's no way a judge can turn down this kind of evidence."

Trish leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. "What if it's not enough? Or what if it didn't even work, and he still has his powers?" She fell silent for a long moment, still staring into the middle distance of her own hallway. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Maybe we should've finished it back there on the docks."

"No," Jessica countered, and she set her bottle back on the counter with a hard thud. "Don't give me that 'eye for an eye' crap. That's Simpson putting ideas in your head."

Trish whirled on her. "Simpson doesn't tell me what to think, goddammit! My thoughts are my own, and I just hate seeing you obsess over something that's already damaged your life enough. We weren't able to save Hope, and she's gone now, but you keep letting this consume you!"

"We are so close, Trish. We're so close to putting him away for good."

"There's too much that we're still uncertain of! What if the antidote works, but it doesn't last, and he breaks himself out of prison? Jess, what if he comes after us again?"

There was a desperation in Trish's eyes that forced Jessica to look away. Several seconds of tense silence passed between them. "I'm not a murderer," Jessica finally said, and she spoke the words with a softness, as if she was the only person in the room.

"I know," Trish agreed quietly, apologetically. She now wrung her hands in thought. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just wondering if we made the right choice."

Jessica meant to answer with a heavy sigh, but it instead became a gasp of pain. Grimacing, she lifted her shirt to examine her own cellophane-wrapped rib cage. Trish hurried around the counter.

"It's fine, I got it." Jessica attempted to wave her sister off, but that never worked. She winced when Trish delicately pressed the bruised skin underneath the cellophane.

"I don't think they're cracked anymore," Trish observed. Her careful fingers unwrapped the material from around Jessica's lower torso. "You shouldn't need another binding. Do you want some painkillers?"

Jessica waved her bottle to slosh the whiskey inside. "This is all the medicine I'll need, thanks." Trish, not surprised, discarded the cellophane into the kitchen's trash bin while Jessica crossed the apartment to the glass doors that separated the sitting room from the balcony, where she drank deeply from her bottle and peered, her eyes achingly tired, into the night.

Outside, it was every bit the glittering city most people dreamed of. The moon's white light reflected off of nearly every window of every building in midtown. The ones that weren't touched by moonlight were washed a soft yellow by the streetlamps down below. It was a gorgeous, glittering city, but only on its surface. Even with the picturesque view, the revolting stench of it all still lingered in Jessica's senses. New York City was disgusting, as was everyone who lived in it— including herself. She'd decided so long ago. There did exist exceptions to that rule, but she could count those few souls on one hand. Everyone else was filled with the same black, oozing shit she'd once imagined herself overflowing with. One more burning mouthful of whiskey went down, and she wondered if caring about keeping this city safe, about getting Kilgrave off the streets, was even worth it. Her head swam. For a second, the choice seemed easy. Then the fabric of the sofa behind her rustled lightly as Trish took a seat on it.

"What would you have done?" Jessica abruptly asked, turning to face Trish, and her clipped tone betrayed any attempt at apathy. "Back there on the docks, I mean. Would you have killed him? Ended it all right there?"

The stunned look she earned made her almost regret asking, but Trish's face soon softened into consideration. She gazed back at Jessica for what felt like a long time. Then, she lowered her head and pondered in even longer silence, until finally, and with conviction, she answered, "I would've done what you did."

An unexpected relief made Jessica feel lighter, like a tiny fraction of weight had been lifted from her. Like it was a tiny bit easier to breathe.

"And I think that's enough with the heavy talk for tonight," Trish continued. "You have got to get some sleep, Jess. You look exhausted."

Jessica rubbed her own temple with her thumb. Insomnia had been a lingering thorn in her mind ever since the night of Reva, but recent events had made it noticeably worse. She hadn't slept more than a few hours each night for the past few weeks. Still, she protested. "I can't sleep until I know for sure that Kilgrave is powerless. I won't risk leaving you with him."

"Don't you at least want a clear head when you confront him again? Look, you won't be leaving me. I need sleep, too. We can both stay in my bedroom tonight." Trish gave a crooked smile. "Just pretend it's an old-fashioned slumber party."

Jessica snorted at her joke, but the growing ache behind her eyes meant Trish was right. Tonight had taken a huge toll on them, both physically and mentally, and there was no sense in being anything less than alert when Kilgrave woke back up. Dealing with him was going to be a pain in the ass, with or without mind control.

"Fine, whatever," she relented, jerking her head toward the bedroom. "Lead the way."

The hands of the analog alarm clock on Trish's nightstand pointed to 12:41 AM. Jessica kicked her boots haphazardly into the room, partly to provoke Trish, and when she earned a look of disapproval, Jessica hid her smirk beneath the mouth of her whiskey bottle. She fell into her usual bedtime routine by unbuttoning her jeans, but stopped upon realizing that she may need to go sprinting after Kilgrave if anything were to happen. Trish seemed to have the same thought. They both collapsed onto the queen-sized bed, fully clothed.

"This is the most uncomfortably comfortable bed I have ever been on," Jessica muttered.

Trish laughed. "What does that even mean?"

"It feels like I'm gonna sink in and never return." The thought that such a fate might not be so bad remained unspoken.

"It's called a comforter. It's supposed to feel nice."

"Yeah, yeah. So, here's our plan." Jessica set her whiskey down on the floor next to her side of the bed and used her free hands for emphasis. "When Kilgrave wakes up bitching and moaning— which, he will— I'm gonna need you to get out of his sight. Like, entirely. Hide in a corner somewhere while I deal with him, because if he sees you, the first thing he's gonna do is try to control you."

"But we'll need to test his powers to see if they even still work. We can't test them on you, you were already immune."

"Yeah, but—"

"Jess," Trish interrupted gently, shifting her weight to lean on an elbow. "you can't protect me from everything. It's better to do the test on me than on someone who was never involved. Besides, I know you won't let me get hurt."

"If he makes you attack me, I'm gonna be the one hurting you." Jessica's voice was bitter. It hadn't even happened yet, but she already resented Kilgrave for the mere possibility.

Trish didn't seem so troubled. "I trust you. And even if I didn't, it still has to be me. We just can't risk testing it on other people."

"Fine. But I still want you to stay hidden when he wakes up. Let me deal with him a little, first."

"I can do that."

Satisfied, Jessica rolled onto her stomach. "Goodnight."

"Sleep tight," Trish yawned, facing away from her and shutting off the bedside light.

The night slowly passed, and while Trish's breathing eased into the steady rhythm of deep sleep, Jessica didn't fair so well. She stared through the darkness at the nearby wall with unblinking eyes. She stared, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw the mangled, armless torso of Albert Thompson. The memory of him had been seared onto her mind like a scar from a branding iron, much like the memory of Reva Connors. In graphic detail she remembered the way he laid, the way his blood had stained the carpet beneath him a dark, sticky crimson, and she remembered the streaks of it he'd left smeared across the wall. She remembered the way his eyes had snapped open, and how he'd begged her to do what he couldn't.

"There, on the table," he'd gasped at her. "a cure for the virus inside him. All my enhancements that failed— the antibodies that were left— stop him first, and then you can..."

Jessica remembered the way he'd stopped mid sentence, how the life had drained from his eyes and his final breath hissed from his lungs. Back then, standing over his newly dead corpse, she'd understood that the tiny vial of golden liquid had a chance of ridding Kilgrave of his powers for good. Now, as her mind searched for the refuge of sleep, she tried to remember the moment she'd chosen to take that chance over taking his life.

She couldn't remember it.