Evil triumph when no one steps up to stop it, or at least that's what Malcolm kept telling me. Before Kilgrave, I probably would have agreed. Probably.

"Alias Investigations, how may we help?"

Even from beyond the grave, he still tormented me. Those glazed eyes followed me at every step with that snapping sound echoing through my memories.

"When did the incident happen?"

As hard as I tried to not give a fuck, convince myself that it was the only option—

"Okay, hold on a sec."

-I still killed another person.

"Jessica—"

"No," I interrupted, slamming the glass down as I glowered at my too virtuous neighbor.

"Come on, just try, just this once."

"I said no, Malcolm," I grumbled as I reached again for the half-emptied bottle of Winston, tipping its contents into my cup until it was filled to the brim. Then I knocked the glass back, enjoying the way the smooth burn traveled from gullet to belly. "Now would you stop answering my phone? I don't need a goddamn secretary."

"Your full voice mail would say otherwise," Malcolm grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest and matched my glare with an even stare. My self-proclaimed friend had long since grown immune to my attitude, so it seems. When his features softened, oozing out that disgusting pity, I knew enough was enough.

Before he could add more, I sighed, looking away with a mumbled, "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a hero? The faster these poor bastards figure it out, the better. I'm a PI. They need someone to save them, go to the cops."

"So, you'll rather follow cheaters than save an innocent woman from abuse?"

"Yep," I growled, distracted when my phone alerted me of an incoming text. Reaching for the cell, I glanced at the message, reading it quick and appreciating the excuse it gave me to wheedle away from this familiar conversation. Giving him the sweetest most fake smile I could, I added, "And would you look at that! I got a case—" liar "—still want to be my secretary? Call her and tell her no, I'm busy."

I scooted the chair back, downing the rest of my drink before striding away to the couch and snatching my jacket. Slipping my arms through the sleeves, I gestured Malcolm towards the door then followed him out, ignoring his annoyed grumblings while I reached my hand through the shattered window to lock the door. I hadn't cared to fix the glass since the incident with Simpson. Between murdering psychopaths and dying friends, it wasn't exactly high on my priority lists. It could stay broken, if only to save me the money.

"Seriously, Jessica, with your skills and gift, do you know how many people you can help?" Malcolm asked, standing by his apartment with one hand on the doorknob. I felt his eyes bore into my back as I traversed past him and down the hall.

"Like I helped Hope and Ruben," I snorted as I slammed a fist against the elevator button. "Sorry, but I don't plan to run around half naked with the American flag slapped across my chest."

I watched people sway around me, wondering about their personal lives and the reasons behind their aimless stares. Curled up as I was against the window, I let my own gaze wander towards the window, watching the walls speed past the rattling train. As I eyed a long piece of pipe, an image of five figures appeared before me, each one with a noose resting around their necks. Time seemed to slow before those accusing eyes. Then, in unison, they took a single step forward, stepping off the ledge to dangle from their necks with a sickening snap. They hung there, squirming, but their eyes… those eyes. So full of accusation, souring to despair, and finally hopelessness.

I tried to scramble away, slamming my hand against my ears, only to succeed in falling out of the hard plastic bench. Ignoring the curious stares, and lifted myself back into my seat. The images ended as abruptly as it began, leaving me shaking with heart pounding a vicious beat against my chest. Out of habit, names sprung to the forefront of my mind as I muttered them in a strangled whisper, "Main Street. Birch Street. Higgins Drive…"

Taking in a deep breath, I exhaled slowly, waiting as my heart's tempo slowed down and the fear eased. "Cobalt Lane."

With Kilgrave dead, I found it easier to calm myself. He was no longer out to get me, hidden behind every dark corner of the city to drag me into a living hell. It was over, but that still didn't stop the flashbacks from rearing their ugly heads. Now, his victims haunted me, triggered by the smallest of reminders. Same damn mental bullshit, different nightmares.

I got up from my seat, hearing as the intercom announced the next stop. Following behind a few people, I disembarked the train and made for the stairs, climbing out and back onto the gritty streets of the city. Being the first time visiting this place, it took me some time to spot the establishment, sitting on the corner a block away. With the painted letters and neon lights that adorned the windows, Josie's Bar was easy to identify. Personally, the place look like a shithole, a shittier one than the last bar Luke worked in. Then again, a job was a job and Luke couldn't exactly work at a bar he blew up, curtsey of Kilgrave's dickish ways.

Stepping through the door, I made my way to the bar after spying the hulking man behind the counter. Luke hadn't noticed my entrance, too busy becoming an enabler for a local alcoholic. Sauntering over, I grabbed and swung onto a stool, leaning back and tapping my fingers along the counter as I waited for Luke to spot me. It didn't take long.

Snatching a bottle of some whiskey I couldn't catch the name of, he poured a generous amount into a glass before passing it to me. With a small nod of thanks, I cradled it in my hands before I took in a long drink, eyeing Luke from around the glass. Setting my drink down, I remained quiet, lifting my brows in a silent question as to the reason behind his urgent text message. My initial survey of the room revealed no threat, only that the patrons of this Hell's Kitchen bar was of the usual scum found in this decrepit area. Nothing that someone with Luke's unique skillset couldn't handle.

"Didn't think you would come," Luke began, taking out a rag to wipe down the bar's surface.

"Believe it or not, I'm not as big of a piece of shit as most seem to think." Luke grimaced at my choice of words. Letting out a small sigh, I shoved aside any more harsh words as I asked, "So what's with the SOS? Seemed urgent."

"It is, but not about me," he answered, causing me to furrow my brow. The whole Help, please hurry message followed by the address to his current place of work had me assuming the worst. Someone attacking this bar, maybe even people who had witnessed his impenetrable skin during our brief stint at the hospital. "It's her."

I followed his pointing finger, spotting the girl that sat alone, nursing a bottle of beer. Noting her haggard appearance, I turned back to Luke. "Have you been talking to Malcolm? Listen, I'm not Mother Theresa, ready to take in every little shit with a sob story—"

"But you still need to make a living. She needs you to find someone. I'm only asking 'cause the new boss, Josie, seems to give a damn about her little group. You're probably the best in the business and, like I said, you need the money."

"Like hell I do," I grumbled as I gulped the rest of the drink and slammed it onto the counter. He's lucky I didn't shatter the glass, though it was still tempting. Swinging off the barstool, I sized up the potential client with a critical eye. What I saw made me shiver.

She reminds me too much of Hope Schlotman towards the end of her life. Desperate and scared, yet a hint of determination that I knew meant that she will not shirk from the most extreme decision if it meant not becoming someone's plaything. Hope's suicide had since been frequent feature for my waking nightmares. Long blonde hair hung about her head, pushed back behind an ear to reveal a somber face. Her eyes were rimmed red from tears and her loose jacket failed to hide the bruising that wrapped around her wrist as she took a swig of her liquid comfort. Personally, I didn't want anything to do with this girl's problems, but Luke's right and it's better than taking one of Malcolm's suggestion or following another cheater.

"Just this once," I growled, hating that Hope's memory for making me do this, "but don't you dare tell Malcolm about this."

I left the bar to approach this girl. Confusion took over her face when I dropped into the seat across from her, slouching back, feet firm on the ground, legs apart, and arms crossed in a perfect I-don't-give-a-fuck pose. I pride myself in not giving a rat's ass about pity stories, in my line of work it helped to look and act the part. It made it easier for me, especially if I needed to throw another blubbering idiot through my front door. I had to say, though, I was mildly impressed by the way the girl composed herself after the initial surprise. Quick to school her expression, tucking away her trepidation to give me her own leveled look, she took another drink before speaking.

"May I help you?"

Good, but not great. I could still catch the trembling in her voice. "No, that'll be my question according to my friend over there." I nodded my head towards Luke, seeing the girl's mouth open in a small 'o' before she turned back to me.

"You're Jessica Jones."

"The one and only, thank god. Personally, I don't conduct business outside my office, professional image and all that shit, so if you want to hire me I suggest you come on by instead of having Luke bring me out under false pretenses. I'll tell him to give you my number."

And with that, I hauled my ass out of the chair, making for the door and only to be stopped by a gentle but firm hand around my wrist. I yanked my arm away, spinning around in annoyance as I took a step back to give myself some distance. The girl stood up, meeting me straight in the eye as she kept her chin up. That frightened girl didn't exist, replaced by this confident woman who projected a stubbornness I knew was going to be annoying.

"As far as I can tell, neither of us are busy. I'll be happy to follow you to your office to discuss my case in depth."

"And how do you know I'm not busy," I growled back.

"Because you wouldn't be drinking at ten in the morning."

I sighed, pinching my nose before throwing out my hands. "Okay, fine, let's go. But just so you know, I'm always drinking, on or off the job."

"Welcome to Alias Investigations, how may I serve you," I drawled.

The trip back from Josie's bar was uneventful, with the both of us keeping to ourselves. The confident woman soon disappeared, replaced by the girl I observed before. This time, I spotted paranoia. With every step we took, she glanced over her shoulders, as if searching the shadows for the devil himself. First impression told me I'm going to be dealing with a stalker, second and third told me that was bullshit. Luke mentioned a group, most likely friends, involved in this—whatever this was. If that was the case, this girl drank because of them. Unless you were an alcoholic or a professional drinker like me, alcohol before noon was used to forget troubles.

I ambled across the room, ignoring her curious looks at my ill-fated door to gesture for her to take a seat. Twisting around the desk, I dropped into my chair, throwing up my legs onto the desk as I reach back for the bottle of Teacher's perched on the window sill behind. Knocking the drinking back, I offered her the bottle then shrugged and took another long draught after she shook her head. From the corner of my eyes, I watched her judge my living space turned office, waiting for the usual questions. However, she made no comment or question about the shithole I called a home.

"I—" the girl finally spoke, hesitating before clearing her throat and trying again. "I don't know where to start."

"Try the beginning, why you need a PI or—you know—a name would be nice."

"Y-yeah," she stuttered, swiping a loose lock of hair back behind her ears. "I'm Karen Page and I need help finding a friend of mine."

I waved the bottle for her to go on. She had my attention, for now. But if she kept on drawing this out, I'm half of mind to kick her out to the curb.

"We were out for drinks last night, me and two of my friends. Technically my bosses, but they don't act like that. They're lawyers and we were out celebrating after nailing a really difficult case, i-t's been a long week," she chuckled, though it lacked humor, "we were really letting loose. Drank too much, even Josie was ready to cut us off, but it was the first tough one we had since… a couple of months ago and we really wanted a break.

"Anyways, there we were drunk and swaying on the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab and—I don't know what happened, it was all a blur. One second we were laughing and the next we were surrounded. One of them tried to grab me, but Matt—one of my friends—hit him with his cane—" she gestured at her bruised wrist "—they were trying to drag me to a van while the others beat up Foggy, my other friend. I don't know how Matt was able to break away from the one guy they had on him, but he managed to piss off the guy who tried to grab me. I fell by that point—I think Foggy was unconscious—and I tried to get up to help Matt. They had knocked him down and then they-they—just laid into him, hitting him over and over again. I tried to stop them, but one of them kept me pinned.

"It felt like forever," Karen whispered, the trembling returning though she tried to steady her hands in a tight clasp against her lap. Tears shined in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "They threw him in the van and drove off, left me in the middle of Hell's Kitchen with an unconscious Foggy."

I slid my feet off the desk, leaning forward to rest my elbow against the desk and steeple my fingers. Something about this wasn't adding up. "Do you know who they were or what they wanted? I find it weird that a bunch of assholes would try to grab you then suddenly switch target because your friend pissed them off."

"My guess it has something to do with our most recent case," she said, though she refused to add more—there was hesitance in the way she glanced away. "As for why they took Matt, I assume it was the same reason they try to take me: they needed a victim. Guess they figured the blind guy was just as good of a hostage." Then she straightened up in her seat, "I want to hire you to help me find my friend and the evidence to take these bastards down."

I regarded her for a second, taking in the new information as I thought over the challenge. A missing blind guy and vengeful assholes. Sounded like an interesting one at least, though I would prefer not to get involved. It sounded too much like trying to be the hero I know I'm not. Couldn't be a hero after all the shit I did; Heroes weren't murderers. Still, I had a feeling that if I didn't agree to take on her request, she was going to go ahead and try to save her friend herself. Another victim to join my already too-burdened conscience. And she reminded me too damn much of Hope. Vastly different cases but… Karen was another corpse in the making.

"So you know, I don't come cheap. Hourly, plus expenses. I need access to everything you have on this last case your lawyer buddies got involved in—especially if you suspect this is connected—as well as anything about you people that can potentially explain why you were targeted—and I mean anything. I've seen plenty of shit to care about your dirty secrets."

Karen smiled, her first genuine smile since I spotted her at Josie's. With an extended hand, she replied, "Deal."

I ignored her proffered hand and slapped a contract down for her, "Fill this out, and just so you know, I work alone. So there's no we in this. Only me."

Try as she might, I still caught the snort as she nodded her head. I had a feeling I'm going to regret taking this case. Yep, definitely going to regret. I already spotted Malcolm's shit eating grin after he snuck a peak at my new client, right through my broken door.

Ah, well, fuck it. Just this once I'll help the damned.

AN: A little idea I had of how to bring Jessica Jones and Daredevil together. Watched those shows back to back and wrote this soon after. Figured to post here instead of letting it sit on my computer for who knows how long. I may continue this story, but for now it'll remain a one-shot.

Thank you for reading!