Maybe it was time to leave New York, Kilgrave thought. In the cold November evening even the street-lamps' yellow lights felt dirty as they flooded the glistening concrete. The two women on his arm (marketing experts, models, or something) certainly would've never come to this part of the city on their own. At least he didn't think so. It was impossible to tell. Over the years using his powers had become an unconscious, unbreakable habit. Sometimes he wondered if he forgot to command it the sun would rise. Other times he fantasized about a small cabina on the Cinque Terre, the groves of lemon and olive trees spilling over steep cliffs bordered by dark, tangled forests dense enough that neither tourists nor the sun got inside.
Then he remembered how shitty the Chinese food had been in Italy and thought better of it. Which reminded him. Where was he going to eat tonight?
The African-American woman on his arm stumbled as her spindly heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. She gasped like it was the end of the world.
Kilgrave rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Her jaw snapped closed. Feeling generous, Kilgrave paused and allowed her to adjust her shoe. Although he counted silently to himself, one you're annoying me, two you're annoying me…
He wasn't exactly sure what he'd do on three. Thankfully for the woman he never found out.
A hundred yards ahead someone slammed into a metal fence back first, and then slid down to land in a pile of trash bags with a satisfying thump. Kilgrave's attention traced the arc of the man's flight to a slight figure on the other side of the sidewalk. In the shadows the assailant was a collection of ripped jeans, sneakers and a fake leather jacket. Androgynous by way of appalling fashion sense. But that throw had been strong.
The girls twitched on his arms, uneasy.
"Stay," he commanded
Another man lunged at the figure, crowbar extended. With deft, pale hands, the other fighter used the leverage of the bar to propel the second man to the fence along with his friend. Then when the first attacker roused the figure picked him up by the scruff of his sweater and flung him through the metal door of an abandoned food-truck, which popped off like a soda-tab. The bang was loud enough Killgrave winced, but his smile grew into a full grin.
When it was clear the round was over, he found himself clapping in excitement, his heart pounding, for God's sakes. "Now that was absolutely tremendous. Well done. Seriously, bravo!"
The figure stiffened and turned.
Kilgrave's breath caught in his throat. His little hero was a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Her tight jeans clung to her tense legs, and her face was pale with skin so clear it shone. Her halo of dark hair made her lips seem blood red. She was a goddess in rags.
"Brava, actually," he said, correcting himself. The first time he had ever bothered.
Her lips parted, eyebrows raised. They all looked like that at first, startled.
"Come here, let me look at you." Poor thing, all that power and she still looked like she had crawled out of a dumpster.
She shuffled toward him, the soles of her no-doubt warn sneakers scraping against the pavement. Once she got close he noticed her features weren't really well fitted for her face; her eyes and lips were too big and the tip of her nose was ruddy from the cold. But their imperfection had it's own kind of compulsion. He certainly couldn't look away.
Next to him the girl wobbled on that blasted heel. His other companion might as well not been there at all. "Leave," he said curtly. "Now. Both of you."
They left.
His hero jerked her head to evaluate his departing dates, but kept her conclusions to herself. She crossed her arms. "What do you want?" Her flat, American affect matched her gothic features, but he could see the earnestness behind the sarcasm.
"Me?" His hand fluttered to his chest in mock modesty. "Well to learn more about you. The was spectacular by the way, the throwing people around bits... You're spectacular."
The beginning of a smile crinkled all the way up to her luminous eyes. Of course. When he told she was spectacular, suddenly in her mind she was.
"Tell me your name?"
"Jessica," she said softly.
"Jessica," he repeated. "And why did you fight them those thugs, hmm? Did they piss you off? Steal your wallet?"
Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head, genuinely puzzled. "They were going to hurt him. They had a knife."
"Him?" A sour taste fermented in his mouth he spotted the third nobody. The mugging victim splayed up against the fence, indistinguishable from the garbage around him, his hand clutching his gut. Ah, the stab-ee. "To be honest, Jessica, I think you could seek out a better cause if you're going for a feat of heroism," Kilgrave raised a finger, "but serious points for execution."
Her smile dulled and she blinked in confusion.
"Say thank you," he prompted.
"Thank you," she said numbly.
He waved away her pitiful gratitude, annoyed. Making her parrot back his lines felt wrong. She wasn't weak like the rest of humanity. She was a goddamn shooting star, burning up any mortal foolish enough to get close. Which only left one question... "So this man, do you know him? Is that why you defended him?"
The man groaned grabbing one of the iron fence posts as if to try and pull himself up and answer Kilgrave himself. This stole her attention away immediately, bafflingly enough. She strode over and Kilgrave followed, curious. Why bother with the prop? The show was over. Unless it wasn't. Maybe she was going to toss him about too.
Instead, she actually kneeled down to his level. "Are you okay?"
"Ugh, I'm fine really." The vagrant shrugged her off jerkily, doing a poor job of concealing his injuries. Weak. His face was covered with blood, but not more than Kilgrave had seen. Had spilled. "What's up with him?" He nodded toward Kilgrave.
A snarl flared on Kilgrave's nostrils.
"No idea. Just ignore him." His little hero pulled the man upright in a smooth motion. "I'm going to take you to an emergency room." She slung the mans arm over her shoulder, supporting him as if he had all the mass of a hand-bag.
"Ignore me? After I've been so kind to you. Really, Jessica." Cold calmness spread from his fingertips up his arms and to his heart, and he slid his hands into his pockets in a motion too slow to be casual. "Face me. Both of you. Give me your full attention now."
He watched clinically as the man turned first, grunting with impressive effort against Jessica's hold just to obey. Jessica followed soon afterward, again dragging her shoes against the pavement as she went. It was no wonder she didn't have nice things, if that was how she treated her footwear.
Now she was point black glaring at him, not just sulkily but with righteous anger as if he were another thug. "I don't know how you're doing this."
"Doing what?" He tutted his tongue. "Trying to have a polite conversation with you?"
"Whatever that just was was more than a conversation. You were," she squirmed, "manipulating me somehow."
His eyebrows rose to his hairline and he shook his head, surprised by her for the second time that night. "I don't know if anyone's ever actually realized it while it was happening to them before. Perceptive, strong and beautiful. Be still my heart. Now, tell me how do you know this man."
"I—" the man started.
"Not you. Didn't ask you."
Jessica stepped forward, angling the wounded man away from him. Clearly she lacked a basic self-preservation instinct. "I don't know him."
"Then why all the bother? Surely there are more exciting ways to use your," he motioned to her as if her uniqueness was somehow tangible, "power."
"It's called being a decent fucking human being, asshole. You might try it sometimes. With your dates. Or, you know, the world in general."
Kilgrave sucked in a breath through his teeth, and held up his palm to push away the instinct to tell her to snap her own neck. No one talked to him like that. But no. No reason to shoot the wild mare for bucking the bridle. Not one this unique. Just pull the bit tighter.
"You don't swear at me," he said in a low, even voice.
"I don't swear at you." Her face slackened and she dropped the man's hand. Her lips looked even softer under his control, her eyes wide, glassy, all of her taught muscles turned to gentle, even curves. She was beautiful this way too, but getting her here with only a few words for the first time almost felt like cheating.
"What the hell, man?" mumbled the man. "Leave her alone."
Nobility was catching. Unfortunately, on the face of someone who should've really been nothing more than a few lines in the police blotter, it looked rather pathetic.
He rolled his eyes. "You." He pointed. Best to be clear. "Get away from us. Any direction's fine. Just make it quick. Keep going forever. If someone asks you why, tell them it's because you're a bloody idiot." He risked a glance at Jessica out of the corner of his eye. She didn't look amused. "Oh come on, laugh. He's stupid, obviously, or he wouldn't have gotten mugged in the first place, and he's literally bleeding."
Beneath her ragged jacket her abdomen twitched with a spasm that might've been a chuckle, but the oof that came out of her mouth sounded more like she had been punched.
He frowned. That hadn't been what he was going for.
She pressed her fingers to her stomach, eyes wide. Then she sprung around him, following the man. She really had an impressive vertical, and he had a feeling that wasn't even all of it he had left to see.
"Jessica," he purred. God, did he like the feel of her name in his mouth. "Stop now."
She stopped midair, crashing back to the concrete inches away from him. She landed with one hand on the sidewalk like she had jumped down from the top of a skyscraper. Obviously, she had practiced that pose.
"Look at me."
She rose slowly, as if taking the time to roll upwards vertebrae by vertebrae. When she was finally upright, she was close enough he could see the sweat beading on her brow. Clearly it wasn't from the jumping. She had been fighting his commands. Not winning though. Her neck craned, trying to make out the man as he disappeared into the shadowy depths of the construction overhang. "Why are you doing this?"
"Can't you guess?" He gave a tight smile. Her skin looked so delicate in the yellow light. Soft, if sallow. She wasn't very well fed, but he'd fix that. He raised the back of his hand, just to touch her, and for a second she watched him, fear and a sliver of fascination fluttering in her erratic pulse. She drew back.
He stared hungrily after her, but didn't command her to return. Instead, he bit back a grin as he realized what he had just witnessed. She wanted him. Oh, she might not even know it herself, but she was at the very least curious. He wouldn't have to tell her to anything, just set up the right... situation, and let it play out. And, well, if it didn't go his way, he could always go back to loading the dice.
"Now. I'm going to let you go in a moment, but let's get a couple things clear. First, you won't tell anyone about me. Second, you will meet me in two days on Friday at the Italian restaurant Il Rosso at 8pm. Wear something nice. Don't be late. And third, you will tell me your full name. Now. Once you do you may go wherever you like."
"Jessica Jones," she spat. With her dark hair covering one of her eyes, she looked all the world like a surly teenager getting ready for another schoolyard brawl.
A smile curled the left side of his mouth, and he tilted his head. "Well then. Don't be an idiot, Jessica Jones. You know what I can do, I'm sure you can imagine that charging me right now would be a bad idea."
"Me and bad ideas are friends. Can't say the same for me and you." She jutted her chin upward defiantly.
"Very nice. I'll enjoy more of your snappy repartee at our dinner." He pointed at her like a professor acknowledging a surprisingly insightful answer.
"Have fun waiting, you.. ." Her lips pressed together, fist twitching, discovering the hard way that she couldn't curse at him. She could've ran though. Or tried to fight him, instead she just glared
He was tempted to ask her to smile. The sneer puckering her lips was repulsive, the loathing almost intolerable. Except… Her eyes. Jesus, they burned so hazel and bright in the night. Furious. Not just with him, but with herself and the world she thought he was a part of. He was wrong before, she wasn't shooting star. She was a sun, one that was far, far away and rose without his command. Why have a smile, when you could have that.
He grinned himself, showing all of his teeth. "I'll see you on Friday, Jessica Jones."
A biting wind whistled through the street, stinging her cheeks pink. Her heartbeat was so loud Kilgrave swore he could hear it. It was only when he cocked his head at her, that she must've realized she could've moved long ago and that the man was already getting dangerously far away. Then she bolted into the dark night, searching for her lost heroism in the shadows.