Right lads we're getting some Tony and Jessica back and forth in this chapter and I'm just praying it flows well and doesn't seem OOC x it's so hard trying to believably establish connections between two already existing characters that have never interacted on-screen together before! (Although some of the back and forth literally ran ahead of me in my brain like I couldn't keep up with them so hopefully that's a good thing..)
Shawarma
"Mr Stark would like me to remind you that the team is going for shawarma soon," an English voice says. The voice is carrying through the air, as if emanating from the building itself, and the tone is the most polite and patient that Jessica has ever been addressed with.
She scowls in confusion, lifting the bottle to her lips again, and continues to walk down the stairs. She actually picks up her pace a little.
She makes it down another couple of flights before the voice speaks again. "Mr Stark has asked that I repeat my reminder about the team's plan, and to also inform you that the bottle you are drinking from is his property."
Jessica rolls her eyes, spots a camera in the corner of the stairwell, and pauses her descent to take a particularly healthy swig of the liquor, refusing to wince at the painful burn blazing down her throat. She glances over the railing at her side, groaning quietly to herself at the amount of flights she still needs to walk down.
"I feel I must warn you that Mr Stark is a very persistent man," the voice says after another few flights of stairs. "Might I suggest simply giving in to save yourself the bother?"
"Nice change in tactic," Jessica retorts dryly, lifting the bottle to her mouth again.
She's getting very bored of walking down stairs. Even looking up at Stark Tower from street level didn't prepare her for how many goddamn flights of stairs there'd be. She supposes after everything she's done in her life, she deserves this day of bizarre punishment.
When it feels like she should really be close to the bottom floor now, she peeks over the railing again. She blinks, turning to lean her chest against the railing, her head cocking as she tries to analyse the distance between her level and the ground floor she can make out clearly below. When she glances at the set of stairs beside her, waiting for her to continue trudging down, she decides she'll take the risk and vaults over the railing, tucking the bottle of liquor close to her chest.
Air surges past her body, lifting her hair above her head, setting the lapels of her jacket flapping, and then her feet slam into the concrete at the bottom, her knees bending, hair and jacket slapping back down again. And she straightens up to look into the smirking face of Tony Stark, his hand holding the door open.
Jessica glares at him, watching his eyes twinkle with humour, the corner of his mouth pulling further into his cheek the longer she doesn't say anything. Then his hand slips off the door, moving to lean his shoulder against it instead, crossing his arms over his chest.
"If you were going for cinematic, you nailed it," he says, lifting a fist from his crossed arms to lean his chin on.
Jessica grits her teeth, exhaling through her nose, and stalks forward to push past him into the lobby.
"I wouldn't go left," Stark says at her back. "Bunch of grumpy, demanding suits over there."
Jessica notices the group he's referring to, eyes quickly scanning the military stances and outfits, and the older suited man whose gaze has swung to land on her and Stark, his eyes narrowing.
She turns right and stomps away, eager to get herself out of this building and away from this situation.
"Is it the shawarma? Have you had it before and not enjoyed it particularly?" Stark asks, clearly following her along the lobby.
Jessica glares at the people milling around, sending her and the man curious looks. She lifts the bottle to her mouth again, taking an extra large drink, smirking to herself when the people avert their gazes, uncomfortable at the possibility that a drunk is walking past them in the middle of the day.
"I know Barton technically took that off the top shelf after I told him not to, but what you're doing feels more like stealing."
Jessica sends him a flat glance when he falls into step beside her. "I didn't wanna be up there," she retorts. "I'm owed this."
His eyebrows lift, meeting her gaze, his hands now slipped into his pockets. "I think you're underestimating how much that bottle's worth," he counters, taking a hand out of his pocket to point at it.
"I sincerely doubt that you spared the price tag a second thought when you bought it," she scoffs.
"It was actually a gift from the Prince of-"
"Tell him 'Thanks' from me," she interrupts, taking another drink.
They're getting close to the doors now - finally she can leave this place and these people behind her.
And go where?
"Seriously, though, is shawarma not good? Should we not get some?" Stark asks, giving her a questioning look.
Jessica's face scrunches with irritation. "Oh my god, I don't give a damn about your shawarma," she tells him.
"Our shawarma," he retorts, glancing at her with a barely concealed smirk. "You're still coming."
"I'm definitely not," she says, giving him a humourless smile.
His amusement slips from his face and he rolls his eyes, stopping a couple of metres from the doors and extending a hand in front of her to force her to stop too. Jessica grits her teeth, turning an impassive glare on him, shoving her free hand into her jacket pocket.
"Listen, I get that you're aggressively avoiding associating yourself with us, for whatever reason," he says, slipping his hands back into his jeans' pockets. "But the fact is, we fought against an alien invasion today and I think we all deserve a little moment to just sit and process that and-" he pauses, blinking as his gaze averts, a shoulder shrugging up to his jaw, and Jessica notices the wave of tension that jumps through his movements. "And everything else," he rushes out, meeting her eyes again when he moves quickly to his next point. "Besides, Barton says your building got blown up?"
The falsity of his suddenly curious tone is not lost on Jessica. She works her jaw as she watches him, sees the way he moves his face to an expression of polite, concerned curiosity to cover up the momentary exposure of his fresh trauma. And she hates noticing it, because she'd much rather be oblivious to the processing that he's having to do, or at least she'd rather not feel the teeny, tiny, miniscule sliver of empathy for the man.
"I've got other places to go," is all she says, deciding to keep her observations and empathy to herself.
Stark narrows his eyes at her, head tilting. "Alright, I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that was a total lie and everything about your life was in the building that got destroyed," he counters. "In which case, you'll be eligible to receive compensation from a fund I've got my CEO setting up right now."
"A fund?" she repeats, frowning at him, her chin tilting upwards slightly.
"Can't just destroy Midtown Manhattan and not contribute to the repairs," he shrugs.
"So, what, everyone whose home was destroyed-"
"Will receive a donation from Stark Industries to help them get back on their feet, with a couple grand leftover, yeah. And every shop owner, business owner, building owner, yada-yada," he rattles off dismissively, looking away from her.
Jessica's eyebrows lift of their own accord, regarding the man with a newfound respect that seems to just keep growing today. She clears her throat, glancing at the doors leading to her freedom. "Well, that seems fair," she replies. "I'd tell you to give me it in cash but that'd require more interactions, so you can just send it to my bank, which I'm sure you've got the resources to find."
She turns her eyes back to meet his for a moment to give him a nod, and then continues on towards the doors, taking another drink.
"You still don't have anywhere to go," he calls to her from where he remains unmoving.
"I'll sleep on a bench 'til your money comes in," she shrugs.
"Shit, that's actually a good point," he says, more to himself than to her. She hears him jog after her, already rolling her eyes when he moves in front of her to stop her again. She glances down at the finger pointing at her, eyes narrowing. "I could use your, uh, situation to help us figure out what we need to do for these people."
Jessica's face scrunches. "Pick literally anyone else," she says, going to walk away again.
His hand reaches out, his fingers closing around her upper arm, pulling on her limb to keep her rooted to the spot. Jessica's jaw clenches, blinking harshly, rage and fear bubbling in her stomach.
To his credit, his brow pulls downwards a little when she glares at him, his brown eyes softening suddenly as his fingers loosen and slip away from her arm. He tucks his hands back into his pockets, even going so far as to take a small step back - which actually lets Jessica's chest loosen off a little, her lungs operating in a calmer fashion with the returning space in her ribcage.
"We blew up your building and you helped us fight off an alien invasion," he says, his tone serious but soft and undemanding. "That bottle is the least we can do. I'd like to get you and the team some shawarma to help us all unwind and settle down, and I'd like to offer you a place to stay for tonight." He sees her eyes narrow, her teeth grinding, and he lifts a defensive hand. "It's not charity. I'm doing it in exchange for what you've done today and for helping me understand how my company needs to help the people affected by the destruction."
Jessica sighs, looking away from him as she runs through her options - of which there aren't really many. All she really cares about is that she has somewhere to crash tonight when she finally can't keep her eyes open any more, and the weeks of gathering evidence she did before everything was destroyed. Finding a bed for the night probably wouldn't be too hard, but she needs somewhere to try to start building her evidence back up.
"I'll need two other things," she says reluctantly, turning her irritated gaze back to him. Stark's mouth twitches, eyes widening slightly, and she can read the smugness hidden in the lines of his face. "I'm gonna need a laptop," she says, and she shifts on her feet, working her jaw, glancing away from him again.
"Alright, and?" he prompts, eyeing her curiously.
"Uh," she mutters, her cheek twitching under her eye as she frowns. "I need you to check if Trish Walker's okay."
Stark blinks at her. "Trish Walker? As in the radio host? As in Pat-"
"What's with all the goddamn questions?" she demands, her face curling with irritation. "Can you do it or not?"
Stark frowns at her, clearly a little taken aback. But he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone, fancier than any Jessica has ever seen. "Uh, JARVIS, run a check on Trish Walker's building and phone, let us know what we're dealing with, here."
Jessica's frown relaxes a little, but her eyes are still hard as she glances between his phone and his face. His eyes flick to hers briefly, somber and cautious, and then he twists and takes a step closer to her so that he's showing her the phone as well. The high-tech screen is showing a display of phone numbers, a red bar scrolling through screeds of them.
"I've got her number if-" Jessica begins awkwardly.
"Device located," the accented voice from before announces from Stark's phone as the red bar lands on a number Jessica recognises and turns green. The screen then changes to a map, a marker sitting in Trish's building. "Miss Walker's building was not affected by the battle. Audio scans suggest she is safe and unharmed. Do you wish to make contact?"
"No, don't," Jessica says quickly, frowning. Stark lifts his head to look at her, his eyes boring down into her own. He isn't much taller than her, she realises in this proximity, but his reputation and fame somehow add a few psychological inches. She takes a step away from him again. "It's fine. Thanks," she adds awkwardly.
Stark's expression is surprisingly unreadable as he slips his phone back into his pocket, his eyes still settled on hers. "Alright," he says, and he plasters a more cheerful look on his face. "You hungry?"
He leads her out into the street where Rogers is moving towards them, and they're soon joined by Barton and Romanoff. Thor appears a while later, his prisoner still in tow, and Banner awkwardly picks his way through the debris to round off the group, smiling a little sheepishly at them. Jessica sticks to the back of the group, one hand in her jacket pocket, the other still clutching the liquor bottle at her side, her worn boots scuffing through the debris on the ground. At the barriers blocking off the streets, she can see slowly growing crowds of people, many with cameras and microphones, all straining for a glimpse of the aftermath and a glimpse of the people who fought off the attack. She tilts her chin down, letting her hair slip from behind her ear to cover the side of her face.
The bottle slips out of her hand suddenly and she glances to her side, scowling, to find Barton walking beside her, lifting the bottle to his mouth. He takes a couple of swallows and passes the bottle back to her, letting out a short cough at the burn of the liquor. Jessica takes a drink when her fingers close around the bottle again, eyeing the man warily, waiting for him to start asking questions again. But he just glances at her and keeps walking, saying nothing. Even Romanoff, walking on his other side, decides not to say anything. Jessica rolls her shoulders back, frowning a little to herself, appreciating the silence but remaining somewhat cautious. She doesn't know these people, doesn't particularly want to know them either, but they sure keep going out of their way to keep her included in something she flat-out refused when the offer was made.
Stark calls out happily when they get to the shawarma joint, offering the two workers huddled in the corner an enormous sum of money to make the team and Jessica some food. Jessica watches the workers, observing the silent looks passing between them, figuring the place must be owned by the couple, and guilt twists her stomach that they're making the poor people make food for them in the ruin of their shop. Rogers seems to have a similar train of thought, Banner too, because the two men offer to clear and set up tables for the team, using the couple's cleaning supplies while they make the food.
Thor sets Loki down in the corner of the joint, threatening him quietly before coming to sit at the table. Barton and Romanoff pick a couple of seats opposite him and relax into the chairs, waiting quietly for the food. Banner moves to sit at the bottom of the table on Barton's right, Rogers going to the opposite end between Romanoff and Thor. Jessica is stood off to the side, taking another drink, watching the companionable silence between the team while the whispers itch up the back of her neck. Stark is talking quietly to the owners, patting a hand on the man's shoulder when his eyes widen and water, whispering enthusiastically to the billionaire. Jessica looks at Stark's face when he glances over his shoulder at them quickly, observing the tension in the man's shoulders, the slight pursing of his lips, the hollowness in his eyes that suggests nothing but guilt and remorse, and she wonders again at the difference between the man she's reading and the man plastered across newspapers and magazines.
"You should probably sit down before he comes back and makes it a whole thing," Banner's voice says from the table.
Jessica turns to look at him, sighing at the apologetic smile on his face, watching his hand pat the back of the chair next to him at the corner of the table. She clears her throat, a little too loudly, her free hand reaching to scratch the back of her neck, goosebumps lining the skin from the whispers. But she walks forward and slumps into the chair, depositing the bottle of liquor on the table in front of her and shoving her hands into her jacket pockets.
Stark joins the table not long after, sighing tiredly as he takes the last empty seat on Jessica's right. She glances at him, meeting his gaze when his arm stretches over to snatch the bottle away, but he just takes a drink and puts it back down between them, his mouth twitching.
"Are you gonna tell us who you are yet?" Rogers asks, leaning back in his seat with a tired smile.
Jessica watches him, her teeth biting into each other, her toes twitching repeatedly in her boot. Romanoff shifts in her seat, drawing Jessica's attention. "I know who you are," the redhead says. "I'll tell them if you don't."
Jessica licks her lips, drawing her feet across the floor back towards her body. Her fists clench inside her pockets and she sighs through her nose, eyes glancing all around the shop before finally landing back on Rogers' patient expression. "Jessica Jones," she says flatly.
Rogers gives her a genuine smile. "Nice to meet you, Miss Jones."
"Yeah," she mutters, reaching for the liquor bottle.
"So, you, uh, you're strong?" Banner asks from her left, blinking at her awkwardly.
Jessica swallows the alcohol. "Yeah."
"How did you get up onto that thing?" Stark asks, drawing her gaze to her right. He has an arm slung across the back of his chair, his fingers hanging casually at her shoulder, almost within reach. "You obviously can't fly or I wouldn't have had to catch you, but that thing wouldn't have just let you climb on."
Jessica tries not to roll her eyes at all the questioning, shifting in her seat. "I can jump," she says uncomfortably. "Far."
Stark scoffs, frowning at her with an amused smirk. "Sounds pretty close to flying."
Jessica frowns into her lap, her hand itching to rub the back of her neck. "I don't fly."
"Were you born with your strength?" Rogers asks.
Jessica glances at Stark, noting the lack of amusement in his face now, replaced by solemn curiosity, before she looks at Rogers again. Her lips move apart, her tongue dropping from the roof of her mouth to shape the words in her throat, but the noise gets clogged up and she doesn't say anything. Her mouth closes again, her eyes dipping to the table as her forehead pulls inwards, the whispers on her neck crawling into her hairline towards her ears. All she can do is shake her head in reply as guilt twists her stomach.
"Grub's up," Stark says cheerfully, his chair scraping against the floor when he shuffles it back to let the owners in to lay out their food. "Thanks."
Jessica stares at the basket of food in front of her, mouth twisting a little. Her hand reaches instead for the liquor, taking three swallows of the fire in the hopes that it'll numb her paranoia, even though she knows it never has before.
"Here," Stark says quietly, and she turns to see him holding out a napkin. Her eyes narrow at him, frown deepening, confused by the completely unnecessary action. But he is watching her with those solemn eyes, the corner of his mouth pulled into his cheek just enough for her to notice, and she understands that he's reading her as much as she's reading him.
"Thanks," she mutters, taking the napkin and turning to the food in front of her.
After that, the team and Jessica eat the food in silence, simply enjoying the flavours and the inertia after a long, hard day of fighting aliens. The owners are moving quietly around the joint with their cleaning supplies to try and salvage the place, and Jessica watches them with a small frown, feeling a little sympathetic, and a little jealous, she has to admit. At least they can rebuild their business - she's only as good as the cases she works, and she might have lost some irretrievable evidence in today's attack that means life or death to her clients.
She managed to establish proof of a businessman who's dealing under the table to some shady parties, and she has no idea whether she'll manage to do it a second time - it took her weeks to establish codes and patterns and was almost privy to the meeting by sheer luck rather than skill, so who's to say that case isn't a complete dud now?
She's not entirely sure what the people around the table with her do on a day-to-day basis, but something tells her that none of them are having to pull long shifts and sit cramped on a fire escape waiting for a moment to photograph just so they can earn enough money to replenish their alcohol shelf and pay the landlord his steep rent. She wonders if Fury pays them a wage, being a part of this superhero team, and almost wonders if it's anything worth joining for. But, as much as she grumbles about the long hours and abysmal characters she comes into contact with, Jessica Jones still believes she's found her place in the world, and she still knows that she belongs there in the darkness making a living off of other people's paranoia and greed. It'll likely never change.