Takes place between the end of Defenders season 1 and Daredevil season 3. Tag drabble.
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"For me, the vast marvel is to be alive. For man, or for flowers or beast or bird, the supreme triumph is to be most vividly and perfectly alive."
-Al Purdy
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Detail
Jessica Jones
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I twist the string of the hoodie beneath my leather jacket restlessly.
Same time, same place. When it's dark and the city block comes to life in devil red and hazardous, neon yellow lights above doors. Music pounds deeply behind walls.
The Puerto Rican woman, Daphne, has had her highlights recently done, wearing a pair of buckle bunny jeans with sparkles on the ass. Her hoop earrings are large enough for circus animals.
She is missing a wedding ring, but the tan line remains.
I lift the camera to my eye as she walks up to the tavern. Click.
She opens the door and goes inside, without hesitation, walks up to a table where a man is already waiting. Click.
They embrace, kiss.
Click, click.
I pull the camera down, check it, lift it again, looking past the tavern door at someone approaching on the sidewalk.
No way.
No fucking way.
I slip out from behind the hedge and walk purposefully right up to the approaching man, who stops dead in his tracks, eyes trailed down at the ground behind red tinted glasses, and a cane paused in-hand.
"What the hell, Matt." I say.
"Excuse me," he responds lightly. Still playing the blind card.
"It's Jessica Jones, shithead," I answer. "Were you planning on telling anyone you were alive?" I glance over him. He looks pained, bruised, and there's cuts and on his face, neck. "Or at least not buried under the rubble of a hundred stories?"
"It was better this way…"
"Oh, screw you."
"What?" he replies calmly. "Never played dead before?"
"I don't pretend to be a martyr," I say. "So what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm going to a laundromat," he says cryptically.
"Oh yeah?" I ask lightly.
"Yeah."
"Where's your laundry?"
He takes a deep breath. "I know there's not a lot of detail that escapes you, but I never intended for you to believe that I was going there to do laundry."
"Oh," I reply sarcastically, "So you're going there to ask for a job. Since the lawyer thing didn't pan out. Right?"
"I'm already working." He shakes his head. "I am working. And it's important. So if you don't mind…"
"Isn't Fisk the one who usually gets you all hot and bothered like this?"
"Fisk is still a problem."
"Why? Is your arch enemy bothering you from behind bars?"
"His corruption remains. It put down roots. Like a fungus."
"I heard he got shanked."
"Doesn't matter. He has to be stopped." He pauses, amends. "Again."
"He can take a number."
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm working. It's called having a job." I gesture to the street behind me. "How are you even here, anyway? Last I checked, you still didn't clarify the whole building coming down on your head." I pause. "Did CLAIRE patch you up? Have you been living with her this whole time?"
"No… I found help elsewhere."
"Oh, good, well, I'm glad you found some help. Did you at least tell Page and Nelson you were alive?"
I would say that he looks away and avoids eye contact, but that's a little redundant. Even if he can't see, he reflexively turns his face towards the direction of the street.
"Shit," I mutter. "You haven't told them."
He doesn't answer.
"You have to tell them."
He shakes his head.
I jab my finger into his collarbone, and he winces. "You fucking tell them," I say, "Or I will."
He lifts his chin at me, his voice dangerously low. "Don't."
I lift my camera up to his face.
Click.
"Don't make me break your camera," he warns quietly.
"Tell your friends that you're alive," I threaten, "Or I send this picture to little miss pencil skirt." I turn and start to walk away, anger boiling in my chest.
"Jessica," he begins.
"No, you know what, screw you," I whirl back. "You know what this is? Pathetic. You let a building fall on you and you get to be the dead hero and there's nothing left but that - that sick admiration and grief. Danny told us what you said. Take care of my city? REALLY? What a load of bullshit."
"I meant it. I didn't know I would… live. I thought I was dead. I was out for a long time."
"Would have been nice to send a text. An email. I have a fucking landline, for Chrissakes. Anything to bring you off that goddamn pedestal you fashioned for yourself. Fallen hero my ass. You're a douche-bag."
He doesn't disagree.
"And the worst part of it is, is that you believe it, too," I snap. "I hate guys with low-self-esteem."
"Sorry to disappoint you."
I sigh tiredly. "Fuck you, Matt Murdock. You're not my goddamn friend." I turn to walk away again, but I pause and look over my shoulder. "For what it's worth, which is likely very little for you, I'm glad you're alive."
He considers the cane in his hand, and for a beat, seems to be questioning where to go. I know that he knows exactly where to go, but he sells it.
"It was good to see you again, Jess," he sighs.
"What? Did the falling building give you your eyesight back?"
There is a small, ghost of a smile glimmering at the edge of his mouth, but he puts it away. "It's nice to run into you again. You know what I mean."
I roll my eyes, and regret my next sentence even as I say it. "Just… let me know if you need… back up or something. I'll be there."
"Won't need it. I can do this on my own."
"That's what I was afraid you'd say." I point at him, even if I'm not certain he can sense the gesture or not. "Tell Page and Nelson."
"I'll handle it."
Daphne comes out of the tavern, sans lover. She looks worried and sneaky, like her date got cut short. Maybe my client texted her and told her he'd be home early, and now she's panicking.
"Hey, listen," I say. "This blind guy needs directions to 48 and 11th but I don't know where that is. Can you help him out?"
Daphne sees Matt standing there looking confused by my words, and rushes to his side and touches his arm. "Hello," she says way too loudly. "I'm happy to help you! Now what you're going to do is come STRAIGHT down this sidewalk here, and you're going to want to turn LEFT…"
I see Matt shaking his head over Daphne's shoulder. He knows he deserves way more than an eagerly helpful woman who can turn 5 minute directions into twenty minutes of chatter. Like a good punch in the face, which I'd be happy to deliver. Name a time and place.
"Good luck," I say dryly, pulling my hood over my head and tucking my hands in my pockets. Matt stands helplessly trapped by Daphne's good samaritan lecture on where to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk and the heaviest traffic. There's a drain to be avoided at the crosswalk, and there's a small gravel lot where sometimes the pebbles get onto the sidewalk, he might trip on those. He should take great care that people usually run the red light turning right, just because it's a one way, but they don't yield to the oncoming traffic coming from the western waterfront.
The devil is in the details.
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Author's Note
I'm totally watching out of order on the Netflix series. I watched all three seasons of Daredevil, and then season 1 of Jessica Jones. Now I'm onto Luke Cage. I know I did it all wrong but I'm trying to go back and watch all the origins so that my brother and I can then binge the Defenders and season 2 of the Punisher. If some of this feels off, it's because I haven't actually seen the Defenders yet, I'm only using what I know from the recap at the beginning of Daredevil season 3, haha.
Thanks for reading!
Love,
Pip