AKA That's Rhetorical right?

Luke was gone, either chased away by personal demons or tired of the drama. Either way, his absence was something she couldn't—wouldn't think about, not now, perhaps ever. Their history was short but brutal and the memories needed to be silenced. The bottle of Wild Fowl was on the desk in front of her, almost full. With a sigh, Jessica reached for it. Her dark eyes closed as she upended the bottle and swallowed for about a minute or so. It burned, of course it did, but never enough. The images kept assailing her: Trish kissing Kilgrave, Luke relentlessly going after her in the church, Hope slicing her own throat. And so many more flashes that threatened to blind her. Jessica wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then stood, ignoring Malcolm's nervous hovering. She could feel his eyes on her, searching and wary.

Every muscle in her body protested when she walked across the floor, heading to the bedroom, bottle in hand. Kilgrave was dead. The realization was hard to believe. She thought he'd been dead before, once. Being wrong twice would probably prove fatal because, really, how many times could she defeat a mind controlling killer? That thought, too, needed to be shoved somewhere deep and dark. Malcolm's industrious endeavors had set the room to rights for what little good it did him: Jessica barely noticed. She sank down onto the made up bed, cramming a pillow behind her head as she kicked off her boots. Luke. His smell invaded her nose, setting off a barrage of images. Jessica drank some more, eyes tightly shut as if the visuals would mercifully stop or slow down. Sleep beckoned. Exhaustion made movement sluggish. Whiskey made thinking disjointed. Combined, they allowed Jessica to fall into oblivion where only specters hid in the shadows like stars in the galaxy.

§

Malcolm swept up glass, bagged trash, pulled furniture upright, and answered Jessica's cell phone. So far, there were a dozen or more new clients waiting for the services of the passed out woman in the other room. He heard a thump then rolling sound. Quietly he opened the bedroom door just in time to watch a wet trail chase the bottle of whiskey as it moved across the wood floor. He heaved a resigned breath. There was a dishtowel in the kitchen although he couldn't reconcile it's domesticity in relation to its owner. More than likely its existence had been provided for by Trish. Malcolm bent down on hands and knees and soaked up the alcohol then carefully set the bottle on the nightstand. His eyes drifted toward the bed, resting on black tresses. Jessica was restless, fingertips twitching, chest beginning to rise and fall in rapid succession. He set the towel on a nearby dresser. There was always a fear of being too physically close to Jessica. Malcolm bit his lower lip, the chapped skin sticking behind his front teeth. Definitely not touchy-feely and freakishly strong, she could bring peril to most people. Add a drunken stupor and PTSD, only a dumbass would approach her up close. Malcolm rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles. He couldn't subdue the urge to bring aid, to comfort, to do good. What his next actions would bring was a tossup but the hope for better drove him. Slowly he came closer until his knees skimmed the bedspread. Throat dry with anxiety, he tried to gulp it down. His blood raced through his body like Paul Revere galloping through the darkness. Carefully he extended his hand to touch her shoulder.

"Jessica."

When she didn't stir, Malcolm cleared his throat and injected some strength into his voice, repeating her name just as his fingers softly landed upon her skin. There was a split second when he felt like he was weightless. Until he crashed into wall, barely missing a piece of furniture.

"Oh, shit!" Jessica rasped, slightly disoriented, eyes wild. She flopped out of the bed landing with a thud on the floor, the bedspread halfway following her. "Malcolm! Oh, shit, I didn't…" Panicked, she crab-walked toward his curled up body. Somewhere beneath the sound of her pounding heart Jessica heard his tiny whimpers. A small waterfall of relief soothed her worst fear.

With more tenderness than a handful of people had ever witnessed, she turned him over onto his back and checked his limbs.

"What the hell, Malcolm!"

His eyes slowly blinked open as he grimaced, straightening out one of his legs. "You should really brush your teeth."

Jessica frowned and sat back. The tangled black mess on top of her head gave way to snarled tresses that stuck out at irregular intervals. "Obviously I didn't throw you hard enough."

When he tried to sit up, Malcolm winced, hand immediately going to his lower back.

"Are you hurt?"

"That's rhetorical right?"

Jessica rolled her eyes as she stood and tried to run her fingers through her hair. When that didn't work, she merely tried palming it down and getting it out of her face.

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah…just help me—gently."

"How long have I been asleep?"

Before answering, Malcolm stiffly twisted his torso, flexed his muscles. "A couple of hours."

Jessica nodded. Her eyes studied Malcolm's movements, alert to any abrupt change in his facial expressions and breathing. When nothing indicated his was injured beyond bruises, she went in search of her phone. It was charging on the desk, red light blinking. Dread filled her.

"There are a lot of people who need help, Jessica. I've scheduled some appointments for tomorrow." She scowled but he pushed through with what needed to be said. "Just listen to them. You don't have to take the jobs if you don't want to."

"How else do you think I'm gonna pay the rent?" Impatient, she flicked a finger across the phone screen.

There was a text from Trish and two from Jeri plus a handful of voicemails which she dismissed. Nothing from Luke, not that she expected anything. Still, the pain of it twisted in her chest. Part of her wanted to crawl back into bed and the bottle. The other wanted to set things right. She wavered, indecision causing her to stare at the phone.

"Is everything okay?"

"I can't believe that mind-controlling asshole is really dead."

"I can't believe they let you go. I mean, you did snap the guy's neck."

Jessica shrugged. "I guess it pays to have a shark for a defense attorney."

"How…how is she?"

The compassion in Malcolm's stare exasperated Jessica. "It's not like Jeri Hogarth deserves you feeling sorry for her, Malcolm. She made a deal with the devil. What did she expect?"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have teamed up with him if you could have controlled his sociopathic impulses!"

Jessica's eyes flashed in warning. She sneered, "We could have saved a lot of people."

"You guys could have stopped a lot of people from doing bad things. That's a lot different than saving people. Mind control is coercion."

"I've gotta go."

Malcolm's next words fell from his lips in small, empty puffs. Without another glance or word, Jessica left. His eyes fixed on the front door's broken glass. It was pretty unlikely she was ever going to change and the hard truth of that sunk inside him like a rock. Sighing, Malcolm decided he may as well be useful. Jessica sure as hell wasn't going to clean the place up.

§

She didn't know where she was headed, didn't really care. Wherever her feet took her. It felt like furry caterpillars had taken up residence in her mouth, turning it into their own personal toilet. Hair in matted tangles, breath sour enough to curdle cream, Jessica knew she should have cleaned up but Malcolm's humanitarian compulsions were just too much to handle in the aftermath. It was finally over. Kilgrave was dead, at least for the moment. He had come back once. She had never known him not to have a contingency plan or several for that matter. The paranoia got to her. After months of failing to save the anyone from his grasp, Jessica couldn't quite believe there wouldn't be more victims. Guilt no longer gnawed on the bones of her conscience—Kilgrave was the one that forced those unwilling people—yet everyone around her got hurt. What kind of 'hero' was she?

It was getting colder. Jessica stopped at a corner and looked up before leaving the curb. Not that it mattered if a car ran into her. Just the other day a food truck had sent her flying twenty feet when she followed a man that looked like Kilgrave: pointy dress shoes, pleated trousers, a purple jacket and short brown hair. She had been awake for over a day, on a quest to visit every morgue in the city to look for clues when she spotted the man. It never occurred to her to look both ways before crossing the street after him. Shaken and bruised, she managed to stand up and leave before the police arrived. The ability to resist physical injury was another 'quirk' of the 'gift' which, unfortunately, didn't translate into the absence of pain. The recovery rate, however, would be like light travel.

The street was deserted, lined with parked vehicles. She kept her feet moving, arms crossed over her small breasts. Steam rose from the gutter grates. It smelled of garbage and exhaust. A movement off in the distance to the right captured her attention. Jessica lifted her chin, eyes scanning up ahead. Two men, bundled in army jackets and knit caps were rapidly walking toward her. They could have been two guys out for a beer, meeting their wives or girlfriends, coming home from work but her body was on alert. She didn't fear normal people, no matter how big. Yet she had never been shot point-blank and wasn't particularly interested in testing just how well her body would tolerate it. If they wanted to rob her, even with a gun, Jessica wasn't overly concerned. They would pause long enough to tell her to hand over a wallet which was long enough to disarm them. Shoulders hunched against the icy wind, scarf tails fanning behind her, Jessica kept her eyes up. They were ten feet away. Eight. Five.

Then, mercifully, past her. She resisted the urge to look back right away. Ears straining for the sound of rapid footsteps, body taut and ready, Jessica casually looked over her shoulder. The two men disappeared around the corner. Jessica walked on, aimlessly. She pulled the hoodie more tightly around her face, rewrapped the scarf around her neck. Traffic sounds got louder. The air changed, not as cutting but still chilly. She was in a small pocket of the city, shielded from the frigid wind by structures of varying stories. Trish's building was a block away. It wasn't surprising Jessica's subconscious led her in that direction. Finally, a destination revealed itself and Jessica hurried her steps, suddenly eager.

The doorman nodded to her as she stepped through the revolving door. It was warm inside the building. Jessica hadn't known exactly how cold she was until she was no longer outside. With impatience, she slipped the hoodie from her head, assuming her appearance suggested homelessness. After all, she hadn't even bothered to wash her face. God knows what was still clinging to her skin after the last twenty-four hours. While riding up the elevator Jessica decided she'd take a shower at Trish's, maybe ask her best friend to cook something. She stood in front of Trish's door, rapping her knuckles against it. A soft click announced she had unlocked the door.

Trish grabbed her arm and gently pulled her into the apartment, locking the metal door and checking the video screen that showed the foyer.

"Jesus, have you slept at all?"

Jessica sloughed off her friend's hold then walked down the hallway, intent upon reaching the refrigerator. "Do you have anything to eat in here?"

Trish rolled her eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. "What do you think?"

"I need something to drink."

"There's a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet above the fridge."

Jessica turned, concern in her eyes. "Why do you have that here?"

"For you. I'm still clean." Trish shrugged then began to get out the stuff to make a peanut butter sandwich.

Bottle already opened and tilted, Jessica watched her friend with one eye. When she wiped her mouth, she asked, "Has your boyfriend called?"

Without looking up, the blonde answered, "I told you he's not my boyfriend."

"I didn't mean—I'm sorry, Trish."

"I've got some more information about IGH."

Grudgingly Jessica accepted the sandwich, shoved nearly half of it into her mouth. One cheek bulging with a wad of bread, she asked, "Where are you getting all this information about this dummy corporation?"

Something dark flitted across Trish's face like a cockroach across linoleum once the light was turned on. Jessica's eyes narrowed but she couldn't voice the question whispering in her head. She knew better than anyone that some secrets should never be revealed. In any case, Trish ignored that question and opted to answer the other one.

"I don't expect Simpson will contact me again."

Thoughts of Luke popped into her head. "Yeah there's a lot of that going around."

The faint, crooked smile on Trish's lips wasn't formed from humor as much as kinship. "Anyway, IGH is a dead end so far. These invoices don't list a method of payment. There's a letterhead but it's not a registered trademark—at least that I can find. Fake address and telephone number, no webpage, no individual signatures on any of the forms either."

"Your resolve is a little scary, you know."

Trish smiled.

Popping the last of the sandwich into her mouth, Jessica walked into the living room and sank down onto the plush couch.

"Luke will come back."

She would have given anything not to have heard Trish utter those words because there was no good reason for him to return. The hope swelling in her throat was false, capable of hurting Jessica. Slowly she blinked.

"That's history."

"If you say so." Trish didn't sound in the least bit convinced but she knew there was no advantage to be gained pushing Jessica further. The last thing she wanted to do was exert more pressure on her adopted sister's wound.

"Do you want to sleep here tonight? I don't imagine you had time to fix up your apartment."

Jessica took another swig from the bottle, more of a taste. "Malcolm's been playing housewife."

"Lucky you."

"Trish…I'm sorry you had to go through that with Kilgrave."

"Which part?"

Jessica sighed, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. "When he—when I…when I let him kiss you."

They were both quiet for a minute, the memory like a block of ice between them. Trish shifted from one foot to the other.

"It was the only way to convince him that his power worked on you."

"Doesn't make me feel any better."

Trish sat down next to her and gently took Jessica's hand within the two of hers. "If you hadn't allowed it, he would have kept making people do horrible things."

Tears sprang to Jessica's dark eyes but didn't fall. They would never fall.

Trish scooted closer. Her voice was soft, expression tender when she said, "You did the right thing, Jess."

Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, the brunette remained silent. It was a long time before either one of them spoke again.

§

It wasn't even morning before Jessica came awake. So much for a restful sleep. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin, gathering in the creases and hollows. Her heart was beating as fast as the snare in a marching band during a bowl parade. Crusty from too little sleep, her eyelids reluctantly opened. Maybe she cried in her sleep. She hoped not. Trish had covered her with a blanket. Without regard, Jessica tossed it off as she swung her legs over and planted her bare feet on the floor. Using the heels of her hands, she scrubbed at her eyes in an attempt to separate the lashes. Behind her, the sliding glass doors gave way to a rectangular balcony. The drapes were pulled back, permitting Jessica a beautiful view of the city had she cared to turn around. Of course, she hadn't cared. Instead she shuffled into the bathroom, stripped then turned on the shower. She was so dirty even her hair was crunchy. The water temperature was as hot as she could stand which, given her unique abilities, was really damn hot. Trish kept the guest bathroom stocked with citrus scented toiletries, a recent obsession that Jessica rather liked but wouldn't admit. She took her time, allowing the heat to penetrate, to cleanse. Twice she washed her long hair, indifferent to the rusty color swirling in the drain. Since her scalp didn't hurt anywhere in particular, she had to assume someone had soiled her with their blood. As she lathered the lemon scented soap between her palms, Jessica supposed her hair had fallen victim to the crazy riot Kilgrave incited just before she broke his neck. No one survived unscathed.

A clean change of clothes hadn't occurred to her when she exited the shower. Wrapping herself in a huge towel that felt like a soft cloud, Jessica looked down on the tiled floor where her ratty jeans and top formed a misshaped pyramid. For the first time in a while she wasn't in a hurry to go somewhere, talk to someone. The luxury of that settled over her. There was no way Jessica was going to put those filthy clothes back onto her clean body. She decided to raid her sister's closet but, first, she checked the laundry room. If Trish had something appropriate in the dryer, there was no need for Jessica to risk waking her. Besides, it was a little fun to steal her sister's clothing. Permission was overrated. Luckily, she found a pair of skinny jeans and a sweatshirt in the dryer. More investigation revealed some cotton socks, inverted into tight little balls, inside a laundry basket. Not blessed with Marilyn Monroe cleavage, Jessica didn't worry about a bra. As far as panties, they didn't really matter either.

Sleep was always elusive although she had to admit that she slept hard tonight. Already she was eighty percent back to normal. By the couch, one of her boots stood at attention while the other had toppled over like a drunken sailor on leave. Unceremoniously Jessica tugged them on then checked her phone.

I need you to dig up some dirt on Warren J. Foster ASAP~Jeri

Something about the name was familiar. Jessica squinted into the darkness as she secured her hair in a ponytail. Confident she would figure it out quickly enough and it wasn't all that important anyway, she turned her attention to other things. Jeri was a client, a cold loathsome one that didn't, as far as Jessica could tell, have many lines she hadn't crossed. She was the best defense attorney in the city but it was hard to tell how she came by it. Was she naturally born shark or did the job, by its very nature, change Jeri? In the end Jessica granted the answer didn't matter. She had learned how deep Jeri's need to win ran when the woman made a deal with Kilgrave. Jeri would free him from the hermetically sealed chamber Jessica had managed to get him in, take him to her wife's townhouse and Kilgrave would make her sign the divorce papers. Kilgrave, forever self-interested, instead decided to renege for which Jeri paid dearly.

Jessica mentally shoved aside the thoughts. Everyone had problems. She had enough of her own to figure out. Like checking her bank account to see if Jeri's firm had deposited the money for serving some asshole process papers, hiring a handyman to repair the drywall in her apartment/office, and paying the rent before the landlord stored all her things in the basement. Not to mention…client appointments.