Jessica wasn't sure why Trish still bothered to knock on her apartment door. She ought to know by now that as often as its glass window had been broken, Jessica had gotten in the habit of not bothering to lock the door, regardless of whether or not she was home. It wasn't like she had anything of value (other than booze) for anyone to steal, and she had long ago resigned herself to the fact that anyone who wanted to come in would break the door down, pick the cheap lock, or otherwise intrude on her desired solitude, like it or not.
Besides, Malcolm had let it slip yesterday that he had already made a copy of Jessica's lock and given it to Trish. He was irritatingly sneaky and intrusive like that.
But Trish being Trish, bred to show good manners even if she wanted to hiss "fuck you" to the people she graced with her pretty smile, couldn't show up at Jessica's office/apartment and just walk in without knocking first. And since she was the only person who bothered with that much semblance of respect, Jessica dragged herself out of her office chair, slouched across the room, and opened the door for her, wordlessly standing aside to let her come in.
She could feel Trish's quick scan of the apartment interior, checking for the intensity of damage, before turning her blue gaze back to Jessica herself. Jessica was suddenly conscious of the fact that she had only showered once (for hours, unable to stand the lingering feel of Kilgrave's breaking neck on her hands) since her release from jail three days ago. She had not brushed her teeth since yesterday, and her hair was likely tangled in disheveled knots at her neck.
But the apartment was reasonably clean; Malcolm must have straightened up overturned furniture and picked up empty bottles when she passed out in a combination of too much alcohol and too little sleep. Jessica supposed she should thank him, but gratitude actually expressed in words had never been a thing she could bring herself to do.
"You repaired the glass again," Jessica said, when Trish didn't immediately speak. She nodded towards the door, where Alias Investigations once more was etched across the opague window. "Almost looks the same."
Trish smiled, taking the words as the low key thank you they were meant as. "Seems to have a habit of breaking. Maybe next time we should go for steel."
Jessica's lips quirked in acknowledgement as Trish cleared her throat, shifting her weight in a gesture Jessica recognized as a lead in to a question. The years had made Trish's little "tells" nearly as familiar to her as her own gestures, maybe more.
"You busy, Jess? Malcolm says you've had a lot of calls, a lot of people wanting help."
Jessica huffed, rolling her eyes. "I wouldn't know. I unplugged the phone."
She sank down onto her sagging couch, leaving space for Trish to sit beside her. The other woman did, somewhat gingerly, as though she were concerned she could stain her expensive pants by doing so. Jessica could hardly blame her; the possibility was a good one, given how often the couch and coffee table doubled as kitchen table and chair.
"That bad, huh?" Trish asked, some concern in her voice. "Malcolm said it was people wanting your services, but I guess some of them would be journalists or people who have it out for powered people, huh? Are people harassing you?"
"People speaking to me in general right now feels like people harassing me," Jessica deadpanned, but she wasn't entirely joking. "I don't want to talk to anyone for at least another week. And definitely not until I've finished a few more of these."
She held up a half empty bottle of whiskey that was still securely wedged into the side of the couch, taking a long swallow as punctuation. She didn't miss Trish's eyes shift aside guiltily, her shoulders rounding forward before she spoke in a softer, more tentative tone.
"Including me? Do you want me to go?"
Jessica paused, hearing the vulnerability in Trish's voice, and realized when she thought about it for a moment that she did not. Truthfully, any time that she pulled back from Trish or pushed her away, she had done so with confliction, out of a desire to protect Trish or spare her pain. But there had never been a time where she truly did not want her presence.
"No," she said honestly, letting her eyes meet Trish's over her nearly depleted bottle. "Not you."
Trish's eyes softened, and Jessica's chest warmed with affection mingled with something more ambiguous, more uncomfortable, as a low stirring awakened within her. She covered this with another gulp from her bottle, letting her eyes fall away from Trish. When she set the emptied bottle on the floor and sat back up, a pair of slender arms encircled her waist and shoulders, pulling her in with fierce emotion, if not strength.
Jessica stiffened, startled and momentarily on the verge of panic before breathing in Trish's familiar scent and mentally registering the arms as hers. Anxiety quickly shifted to mere awkwardness with affection that had once been routine and expected and had over time become unusual, nearly always shrugged off. Still, Jessica's arms were faster to drift up to enclose Trish in a loose returning hug than they had been outside the police station, and when Trish tightened the embrace, she didn't try to back away.
Trish wasn't crying or breathing unsteadily, and she gave off no intense emotional vibes, despite the fierceness of the hug. In fact, her heartbeat was a strong, steady thrum that felt oddly comforting to Jessica against her own heart's far less rhythmic pace. Still, Jessica felt the need to deflect any emotion of the moment that might threaten.
"I thought we did the hug thing after they dropped the charges on me. We're doing this again already?"
"Yes," Trish responded firmly, giving her another emphatic squeeze and hooking her chin over Jessica's shoulder, securing her even more closely against her chest. "You're getting these whenever I feel like giving them, for the rest of our lives. Whether you like it or not."
"Guess I better make sure I go first and fast then," Jessica quipped.
Trish ignored that, although Jessica thought she heard her make a somewhat irritated huff under her breath. The other woman gave her another quick squeeze, still not releasing her from the hug; she seemed determined to either drain all the sarcasm out of Jessica by force, or else to break some emotional wall by sheer, determined physical contact.
Jessica was about to gently squirm away from her when Trish loosened her grasp, pulling back just enough to be able to press a gentle kiss to Jessica's forehead. Jessica froze, her throat clogging with unshed tears as a long suppressed physical memory fought its way up. The last time she could recall someone having the desire or the balls to kiss her forehead had been when her mother was still alive, kissing her goodnight back when Jessica was still young enough to accept it.
Jessica pushed back the threatening tears with stubborn will, but let her head come forward enough to rest against Trish's shoulder, her body softening into the other woman's embrace. Trish's arms eased in response, gentling their hold, and when she whispered into Jessica's ear, her voice was low and surprisingly husky, sending a shiver down Jessica's spine.
"I'm proud of you, Jessica Jones. Proud enough to make up for any tendencies you have to question or dislike or even to hate yourself, whatever it is that makes you think you aren't worth someone's pride. And I love you too."
Jessica's head came up sharply as she registered her final words, almost knocking against Trish's as she tried to meet her eyes. Trish let her ease away, meeting her narrow eyed stare squarely and without flinching. Jessica couldn't seem to put into words that made sense the multitude of questions crowding her mind, but Trish answered without her having to put them forward.
"Breathe, Jess, and just listen. What you said, on the dock…with him."
She didn't say Kilgrave's name; it was unnecessary. They both knew which him she was referring to, and they both felt that the less his name was spoken, the less weight given to his former toxic presence, the better.
"What you said, when he asked you to," Trish continued, still watching Jessica steadily. "I know you really said it for me, not him. To me. And I know…I know you meant it, didn't you?"
If Jessica wanted to, now was the time where she could deflect the very serious moment Trish was inviting her to engage in. She could make a joke, shrug off the words that she had spoken aloud to Trish for the first time in fifteen years of knowing her as nothing more than a means to an end- Kilgrave's end. She could make the moment of intense meaning for them both into nothing more than a trick, a code, and continue to keep Trish at just enough distance that she could almost fool herself into believing that the action would keep them both from being hurt. She could do this knowing it would hurt Trish, knowing how many times before this she had deliberately chosen to protect Trish by simultaneously hurting her. And all the while, Jessica would know deep inside herself how this continued to both protect and damage her own heart.
She knew that she loved Trish, that Trish meant more to her than anyone or anything in this world. And she was beginning to think that Trish knew this now too. But it was her long established pattern to deny this, to avoid speaking it in words or even gestures that were too blatant to hide. The pattern of behavior had come to feel like a need, even a rule of sorts that Jessica could and should not cross.
She was tempted to continue it now. But as she let her eyes hold Trish's pensive gaze, taking in how the other woman managed to seem confident and vulnerable simultaneously as she waited for Jessica's response, Jessica realized that she did not want to. She had spent the last year hiding from a man she assumed to be dead, and the last month suspiciously scrutinizing every person who crossed her path, knowing they could each be programmed to bring her harm. Trish was the one person in her life she knew she could count on to just be there. Not perfect, not without her own dents and scars and history of trauma, but present, without expectation, knowing Jessica exactly for who she was and accepting it, no questions needed or asked. Trish was the only person Jessica knew loved her, and who would always love her. She was the only living person who always had.
Maybe it was time to stop protecting Trish, even from the threat of Jessica Jones herself. Jessica couldn't think of anyone else she respected as much- so maybe it was time to show Trish the respect of being honest, and of letting Trish decide for herself what she no longer wanted protection from.
Jessica tried and failed to suppress an anxious shiver, her eyes casting down to her lap. Her hand automatically twitched in the direction of her now empty bottle, and she cursed inwardly when she realized that she had no more liquid courage to boost herself with. This was down to her now, just her.
She lifted her head, seeing Trish's patient, if somewhat concerned, expression, and took an unsteady breath, finally answering the question she had asked of her.
"Yeah," she rasped, her head inclining in a jerky nod. "Yeah, I meant it, Trish. You have to know that."
Trish nodded thoughtfully, her gesture far more graceful than Jessica's. She put her hand lightly on Jessica's knee, giving just enough pressure for Jessica to feel somewhat more grounded.
"I do know, Jess. What I want to know, I guess, is…well, how did you mean it?"
It was a fair question. In fifteen years, Jessica and Trish's relationship had undergone considerable shifts in meaning, from resentment and dislike on both parts to pity and protectiveness, to admiration, respect, and seeing each other if not exactly as sisters, as best friends and some undefined form of family, the only family that mattered. They had been roommates and support, the person to pick each other up and give each other a boot in the ass when necessary. Trish had once been the only person Jessica trusted, and the only person she would let herself love.
The truth was that Jessica had loved Trish for most of the time that she had known her. Although the dynamics of their relationship had often changed, the way that Jessica loved her never had.
She could say those things to Trish out loud, stumble through voicing the knowledge and feelings that seemed clear to Jessica in her mind but would undoubtedly jumble up once spoken. But those were words, and Jessica had always been a person of action.
So Jessica took another uneven breath, then reached out, letting callused fingertips brush against the soft, smooth skin of Trish's cheek. She let the dark brooding of her eyes be overtaken, overshadowed into softness by the calm beauty of Trish's blue ones. And when they leaned into each other, lips meeting for the second time in fifteen years, Jessica let herself fall completely. Because the one thing she knew for certain was that in a life time of fucking up and falling down, Trish Walker was the only person she could trust to steady her, support her, and never let her stay huddled and hopeless on the ground.