Author's Note: I've been out of the writing game for awhile, and the Jessica Jones fever hit hard. I can't get this pair out of my head, whether it's friendships or romance. I don't own Marvel, Netflix, or any of that. Please review. Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation. Also if you have head canons or stories you would like to see, please let me know. I'm always looking for some inspiration. This particular inspiration I found while obsessively refreshing the #Jessica Jones tag on tumblr. Please enjoy.
"I've been asking the impossible of you. I wanted you to love me, but you've never loved anyone. You're not even capable of it.
With one exception."
In all of his sick and perverted delusions, Kilgrave finally got one thing right. Even the devil knows that I love her. Recklessly. Dangerously. Unconditionally. With everything that I have and everything that I am. He is finally beginning to understand, and I'll kill him for it.
As Trish walks to him, leans into him, kisses him like she means it, my blood boils. I love her. I'm in love with her and all the sappy shit you see in those horrible chick-flicks. I can't remember a time I wasn't. She is my weakness and my strength. She's the one that I give a damn about (more than occasionally, all the fucking time), and she's the voice in my head telling me to be good and save the goddamn world. She is everything. She is my world. She is the light in all of awful, twisted, fucked-up darkness. There isn't a damn thing I wouldn't do to keep her safe.
Those beautiful green eyes are filled with fear as Kilgrave steps closer and closer, driven by the excitement that he can control me again. Bastard. You won't win this time. Not when her life hangs in the balance. Over his shoulder, I meet her gaze. "I love you." It's not the first time I've said it. Hopefully it won't be the last - not after all of this, not after everything.
His bones snap like nothing under my hands, and my stomach immediately churns, revolted at the thought of taking a human life. Not a fucking human, I remind myself. A goddamn superhuman psychopath with a stalking obsession and a disregard for any and all life. Somewhere, deep inside my mind, a voice that sounds oddly like Trish insists for the 900th time that it isn't my fault. Then I remember Hope, feeling the life drain out of her. It wasn't by my hand, but it hurts all the same. Scrambling to the edge of the dock, I retch violently into the water.
God I could use a fucking drink.
For once in her life, Jeri isn't a complete asshole of a human being. Trust me when I say it's a pleasant surprise. I wasn't particularly looking forward to spending the rest of my life in jail. Still it would have been worth it. His death is justice. His death means the end of a lot of pain and suffering for the residents of Hell's Kitchen. Maybe if I keep repeating that to myself I'll stop feeling like such a piece of shit. Right now the only thing that helps is that Trish is safe. It's the only thing that still matters.
Then I'm free, walking out of a police station like a handful of cops didn't just see me snap a guy's neck. It's over. It's surreal. I don't have a single damn clue what to do next. Trish leans against her car, and for a second, she looks surprised to see me. Relief washes over her angelic features. She wraps me in her arms in two large steps. God it feels good. It feels right.
It's all of five seconds before my brain starts reminding me how dangerous I am for her. How life threatening I am to the woman I love. Reluctantly, selfishly, I hug her back because I want this moment of celebration before I run. To save her. To protect her. Everything she has suffered since Dorothy has been directly linked to me. Even Simpson. She stopped breathing. She nearly died. Because I broke my damn ribs and couldn't properly fight a roid-raging cop on damn combat drugs.
She's better off without me. Even if it shatters my soul to walk away from her again.
"C'mon. Let's get you home."
All the thoughts in my head swirl tumultuously like a goddamn tornado of self-loathing and guilt. How can I tell her what she means to me? That what happens next is what I have to do to keep her safe? I need to tell her that I love her, that I've always fucking loved her. I have to tell her that I'm sorry. For everything. For letting her get hurt, for letting that sick son-of-a-bitch get close enough to touch her. For roping her into all of this in the first damn place. I need her to know that she's my best friend. I need to find a way to express all the feelings I've buried for years.
Instead I say nothing because that's the kind of anti-social screw-up I am. Abandon her. Come back to ask for money. Drag her into a clusterfuck of murders and violations. Use her as a ride home. Run away forever. God, I'm such a fucking asshole. Did I mention that I need a goddamn drink?
Belatedly I realize that she's taking me back to her place, to the only place since the accident that's ever felt like home. It would have been so damn easy to walk away from my shit-hole of an apartment with its shattered windows and broken door. (Not to mention the person-sized holes in the fucking dry wall. Goddamn Simpson.) "We'll order Chinese. Watch shitty reality tv. C'mon, Jess. A celebration is in order." Maybe I'll leave tomorrow. One night couldn't hurt.