(A/N: This is a story about an abusive relationship. Please be warned: it deals with canon-typical themes including rape, abuse and mind control, and goes heavier on themes of depression. Jessica's head is not a healthy place to be.)

i. with great power comes zero responsibility

There were two of them. Thugs. Stealing a guy's wallet, beating him bloody in the process. She wasn't trying to be a hero. Didn't hunt criminals or monitor police broadcasts or anything like that. It was late evening, quiet, she was walking home. The thugs were unlucky. Wrong time, wrong place.

She stopped them. Threw them around, mostly, bodies smacking against tarmac, an iron railing, a car. Not exactly graceful – she'd never trained for this. But the thugs got the message. They ran. Job done.

Meanwhile, the guy they had tried to mug was flat-out on the sidewalk like a slab of meat. Breathing raspy. She hurried over to check on him–

The sound of clapping rang through the night air. With it came a delighted voice: "All right, yes!"

Jessica straightened up slowly, assessing this potential new threat. She hadn't expected there to be witnesses. Certainly not applause. The applause was coming from three people, a man and two women, and it was the man who had spoken.

"That was absolutely tremendous," the man continued. British. Fancy coat, fancy suit. "I thought I was good – you are a sight to behold." He glanced at his companions. "Isn't she amazing?" The women nodded and smiled. "You bore me. Leave, go on."

And just like that, they did. They'd gone from smiling and hanging on to his arm to walking away, heels clacking on the sidewalk. Jessica stared, but a small groan from somewhere near her feet reminded her that she was trying to help someone, not perform for an audience of one, no matter how appreciative he was.

She bent down to help the man on the ground.

"Leave him, he's fine."

The British guy again. Jessica brushed her hair away from her face and found her voice through sheer incredulity. "He is not fine. Either help me help him or take a hike."

She was checking the pulse of the guy who had been attacked when the British man moved forward and spoke again. "Did you not hear me? I said leave him. Stand up."

The fuck?

Her brows creased. "What are you on? Get out of my face."

She dismissed him with a flick of her hand, staying crouched down until she lifted the guy into a sitting position and then got his arm over her shoulder, pulling him up. He was a dead weight and she needed to get him to a hospital, but she still had this British asshole to deal with. He hadn't gone away. He was looking at her with a strange, fascinated expression, the way a child might stare at a tiger in a zoo.

More to the point, he was in her way.

Jessica glared at him. "I said get out of my face. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Well," he said. "Good question. Surprising question. I think I'm like you."

"What?"

He gave her a significant look, then turned to the guy leaning on her shoulder. "You are absolutely fine. You can stand up and walk without any problems. Now go home."

And just like that, a guy who had been doubled over and breathing heavily straightened up and walked off as if he hadn't been kicked and punched in the gut, as if his bruises had healed, as if the incident hadn't happened at all. Jessica whirled around to watch him go, her heart thumping, and almost chased or called after him but he wasn't the cause of the strange surreal feeling in her stomach.

The other man was. She turned back. Looked at him. Dark hair, thin, tall, smartly dressed, and watching her with an intense curiosity.

"You did something."

"So did you." His rejoinder was swift. "Beating up those thugs, saving a man's life. You're quite something, aren't you?"

She wasn't prepared to admit it. "I work out. Why did he walk off like that?"

"Because I told him to."

Jessica hesitated, her frown deepening. She didn't know what to make of him. He was a self-assured asshole, yes, she'd already figured that one out. But was he for real? She glanced back, thinking that she should chase after the injured man after all, but he'd already disappeared around the corner. Shit.

Back to the stranger. "What about his injuries? Did you cure him?"

He'd done something. Something that allowed a victim of a mugging to walk away.

"Mmm, sort of." He shrugged, hands in pockets. "Seems like we have a lot to talk about. I was about to find somewhere to eat. What do you say to introductions over dinner?"

She could have walked away. That was her first mistake. Why didn't she walk away?

He took her to some Chinese place. Fancy, like him. She was wearing a busted leather jacket and gloves, neither of which she took off even after sitting down, and she raised an eyebrow when a waiter came over to light a candle for their table. They ordered food, and she didn't object when he suggested a bottle of red wine. She wasn't one to turn down a drink.

"I assume you're paying for this."

"Of course," he said. "So, what's your name?"

"Jones, Jessica Jones."

"No, no, no, your superhero name. You must have one."

She gave him a look. "Jessica Jones."

"Oh." He looked disappointed for a moment before shrugging it off. "Rather prosaic, but it's fine. Pleasure to meet you, Jessica Jones."

And he held out his hand across the table, his features lighting up with a smile. Charming bastard. She shook his hand with some reluctance and then settled back in her chair.

"And you are?"

"Oh – I'm Kilgrave."

She waited for him to say something else. He didn't. "Kilgrave? That's it? What is that, a first name or a last name? Don't tell me it's your superhero name."

He smiled. "All right, I won't. It's the name I go by. Like Banksy or Bono."

She snorted. Right. "Meaning you made it up."

He didn't seem offended, giving a wry shrug. "People like us, it's not always wise to use our real identities. You never know who might track you down."

"People like us?"

"Gifted. You know. People with abilities."

"Who says I'm gifted?"

It was his turn to give her a look. "Come on. I saw you."

No point in denying it. It was why they were here – he was obviously curious about her abilities and she was trying to work out his. She was saved by the waiter coming over to serve their meals, the aroma of steamed fish and jasmine rice making her mouth water. If she'd gone home, she would have bunged something in the microwave. No sense in turning down a free meal either.

Kilgrave lifted his wine glass. "Bon appetit."

The wine slipped down her throat like liquid gold. She wiped her mouth on a napkin and decided to play ball. "You're right about me. I don't advertise it. But if some asshole is beating up someone on the street…"

"You're willing to intervene," he finished. "So how strong are you?"

"I could break you like a twig."

"I bet you could. Can you do anything else?"

She took a few seconds to answer while she speared several pieces of fish and guzzled it down along with more wine. Kilgrave watched her with mild amusement. He was being far more fastidious with his food, and she suddenly felt like the woman in that old movie. What was it? My Fair Lady.

Obviously, no one had ever described her as fair.

"I can fall without hitting the ground." He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. "It's not flying. It's more like… achieving a great vertical distance."

He chuckled, lifting his wine glass. "Now that you'll have to show me."

She shook her head. "Your turn. What the hell is it that you can do?"

"Like I said. People do what I tell them to."

"Like… mind control?" Ice froze up her spine. She put down her fork. "Are you mind controlling me right now?"

"No. You'd know if I was."

Would she? Jessica had been freaked out by her own powers when she first discovered them, but at least they were straightforward. Mental powers like mind control were invisible. She thought back, replaying their meeting in her mind's eye. The odd things he'd said. That dick move he'd pulled telling her to leave the poor guy who had been mugged alone.

"You tried to," she realised. "You didn't want me to help the man who had been attacked."

"Well, he was fine, I knew I could handle him for you. I wanted to get your attention."

"But it didn't work. So what, I'm immune?" The other option was that he was full of shit and making up a power to get her attention. But she'd witnessed the two women walking away when they were told, the way they'd applauded along with Kilgrave, the mugging victim getting up and walking off like nothing had happened…

Kilgrave shrugged. "Seems so. That makes two firsts. First time I've ever met someone else with super powers. And first time meeting someone immune to mine. I don't think those two things are unrelated. Are you sure you don't have some kind of mental resistance ability? Something that would make you immune?"

She shook her head. "If I do, I didn't know about it. Can you do anything else? You're not a mind reader, are you?"

Christ, he'd be in for a treat if he read her thoughts. You rat-faced prick, she thought loudly, just in case. If you're in here, fuck off out of my head.

He chuckled, dabbing at his mouth with the napkin. "Sadly not. If I was, I could skip the introductions and go straight to the fun part."

"The fun part?"

"Well, I don't know, a demonstration of your powers. Heroics. Super kinky sex."

She rolled her eyes. "I would crush you."

"You could be gentle."

She had enough food and wine in her belly to be tempted. Jessica put her knife and fork down and crossed her arms over the table. "So, mind control. Sounds convenient."

He smiled. "It is."

Hmm. She messed around with her food, pushing around the rice on her plate. Mind control. It seemed impossible, but then so was leaping up a ten-storey building and she'd done that only yesterday. He looked so… normal.

"What about the women you were with?" He looked blank and she elaborated. "Your cheerleading squad."

Now that she thought about it, it was kind of creepy. Him with the two women hanging on his arm like dolls.

"Oh, we were going to join some friends for dinner but I decided you're much more interesting."

Dinner with friends. That wasn't so creepy. She told herself she wasn't flattered, but he had a disarming smile. It was hard not to smile back. She speared another piece of fish with slightly more force than necessary.

"So you bailed on your friends."

He cut his fish with delicate precision. "I know, bad manners. Still, you only live once. I'll make it up to them later."

"How spontaneous of you." Her sarcasm only seemed to make him smile. "Before you get too interested, you should know that I'm an asshole too. Sure you don't wanna go back to your friends?"

She was giving him an out. He pretended to think about it. "I don't know, we're already halfway through this meal so it'd be two dinners in one day. I don't know if my wallet could take the strain. Or my waistband for that matter."

She snorted. "Mind control powers and still a tightass, huh. Can't you walk out and tell them to forget the check?"

"I could, but that tends to make it difficult for me to come back. They remember later, you see, and then I have to tell the entire staff all over again to let me in next time, it becomes a palaver. Quicker to pay, give a generous tip, and be welcomed back as their favourite customer."

"Really." He was painting a convincing picture, but her instincts told her to double-check. "Hey." She called one of the waiters over, pointing at Kilgrave. "Do you know this guy? Is he a regular?"

Kilgrave cocked his head at her, but his expression was amused rather than dismayed. She wasn't about to pull one over him, unless he was a very good actor.

The waiter looked unsure, but nodded his head. "Yes, ma'am, he is."

"Would you say he's your favourite customer? Does he always leave a tip?"

The waiter rubbed his hands together, now appearing distinctly uncomfortable. "We don't play favourites at this restaurant, ma'am, but of course Mr Kilgrave is a valued customer. I believe he always leaves a generous tip, which, ah, isn't always the case with our British clientele."

"That would be the tourists," Kilgrave said. "Cultural differences. You can go." He waved the waiter away. "Poor man, you had him red as a beetroot. Insulting my fellow countrymen too. What was that, a test? You didn't believe me?"

She shrugged. "If I had your power, I don't know if I'd be so honest."

"Well, I wouldn't claim to be perfect. This power does open doors."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it literally opens doors. Any place you can imagine, any event, any venue, anywhere. I speak to the person in charge and hey presto, they let me through."

Jessica thought about it. She did what he did through physical force, breaking locks and the like. The last time she'd done that had been to threaten her asshole foster mother, which in her opinion was an entirely legitimate use of her powers. Kilgrave's method sounded far smoother, and as far as she could tell from the encounter with the waiter, he seemed to be telling the truth.

It had been a long time since she had used her powers purely for fun.

She tapped her fork against the table. "So if I wanted to take a dip in some rich asshole's private pool…"

He smirked. "You'd have to ask nicely and, if I was feeling generous, I might just grant your wish."

Well, then. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes that suggested her request was nothing new to him. Of course it wasn't. His clothes and that expensive watch and this restaurant told her plenty about his lifestyle, and she'd be surprised if he'd earned it all honestly. She was sitting here wearing a jacket that she hadn't paid for because glass was easy to break. If she had mind control powers, she'd probably use it to help herself too.

Jessica leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "Consider this me asking nicely."

She probably wasn't the only woman in the world who would have fucked him willingly. He was skinny and sharp-featured and had a ridiculous fondness for purple suits, but he also possessed a palpable confidence and happy-go-lucky attitude that she could only assume was a result of getting everything he wanted all the fucking time.

Even so, she was the only woman in the world to have in fact fucked him willingly. She'd thought about it. Any woman who might have reciprocated his attention would still have had her autonomy taken away from her the moment she stepped into Kilgrave's orbit. They never got the chance to consent.

But she did. It was the guilt and regret more than anything else that tore her apart. It physically pained her. The thought of it made her stomach clench, made her queasy. She'd taste bile in her throat and then she'd shake and shiver like she wanted to claw out of her own body.

There wasn't anywhere she hadn't let him touch her.

He told the couple who lived in the apartment to go out and have fun and not come back until morning. He and Jessica were borrowing their place for the night. Totally harmless, and besides, they were rich assholes, so who cared?

She trod on their lovely soft carpet with her dirty old boots, opened their fridge to find more wine, peeked in their wardrobe to look at their fancy clothes.

"You'd look good in that," Kilgrave said at her shoulder, leaning forward to run his fingers over a shimmery silver dress.

She scoffed. "No, I wouldn't."

She didn't take anything. (The wine didn't count.) Somehow that felt like a step too far.

They went to the pool. A whole room devoted to a pool. The water lapped softly at the pool's edge. The walls and ceiling echoed with the movement of the ripples, like the shimmer of that silver dress. She threw her jacket down on the sun lounger and sat down to kick off her boots. Kilgrave sat opposite her on the other lounger, picking up a fluffy white towel that had been left there.

"You don't have anything to swim in," he observed.

"It's called skinny dipping." She pulled her T-shirt over her head and started unzipping her jeans. "You in?"

He laughed. Unbuttoned his jacket. Of course he was. They shucked off their clothes and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't stealing side glances at him in much the same way he didn't even bother to hide the fact that he was looking at her.

She'd saved a life. She had reason to celebrate.

They jumped in the pool together like a couple of big kids, the smack of the water shocking her with a rush of cold. She kicked her legs and got her head above water, hair plastered to her skin. Kilgrave emerged a second later gasping for breath, then caught her eyes and laughed. She grinned back and when he started towards her she deliberately swam away, heading for the other end of the pool.

They swam a couple of lengths. She was easily faster than him in the water; he had no chance of catching her.

"Slow down," he protested.

"Speed up," she taunted him.

She did another length and then turned back to meet him in the middle instead, treading water.

"I swim regularly," he said. "You're just… extremely athletic."

"Nice excuse," she said, but there was no venom in her tone. He swam over to the side to rest against the edge of the pool and she joined him, staying low down in the water so that only her head and the top of her shoulders were visible.

"This is fun." He smiled down at her, and his eyes were sincere. "I'm glad I ditched my night out for you."

She inched closer, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Most guys find me intimidating."

He met her gaze. "Is that before or after they find out how strong you are?"

She smiled. He had wit, she liked that about him. It occurred to her that there was something else too: he wasn't afraid of her. Even though she was immune to his power and therefore free to punch him whenever she wished, he hadn't shown any fear. That was refreshing.

And she wasn't afraid of him either. She had no reason to be.

She set her other hand on his other shoulder, facing him so that their bodies were almost but not quite touching. Her smile became a smirk. "Either-or."

She liked his confidence, then. The way he looked at her. The way he cupped her cheek with his hand, the way his mouth met hers. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

"I started it," she said to Trish. "It's all my fault."