Black lives still matter.
Sorry this update has been so delayed - I've been feeling a little uninspired recently and it's gotten in the way. This has been some bloody year, both personally and globally, and if anyone else is feeling down and drained and shitty, know that you're not alone and I hope we all feel better soon.
Hope you enjoy the chapter.
A Little Company
Jessica steps out of the cab onto the sidewalk, securing the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. The sun beats down on the street and the pedestrians bustling past each other, tourists clumped in static groups staring up the street towards Stark Tower, chattering and pointing at the remnants of the Battle of New York. The majority of the damaged buildings are under repair still, but most of the dangerous parts were cleaned up within a few days with Stark's funding. The memory of the battle sits uncomfortably in her mind when she glances around at the remnants, and she rolls her shoulders in a preventative motion against the threat of whispers on her neck.
Jessica's attention drifts to the Tower up the street, and she squints against the sunlight with a reluctant curl of her lip. She hasn't had a reply from the billionaire since she asked if he was at the Tower this morning, and it's now nearly 4pm. She had watched her mysterious client go into work around 9am, and had kept an eye on him there while she continued to swipe her way through the dating app she downloaded to catch Rick Harper, and all through that time, Stark never replied. When her new client seemed painfully normal and not at all suspicious - save for the job he gave her - she had hailed a cab and directed the driver towards Stark Tower.
It's now been two days since Stark should have texted her his morning nonsense, if he was sticking to his routine, and she probably would have been able to go about her business without much guilt if that was all that was wrong. But, no, she decided to text him this morning, and now she knows that he's not replying to her text, which makes things slightly more disconcerting and hard to ignore. So, here she is, stomping her way along the sidewalk to his Tower, keeping her head ducked and hair in her face to avoid the tourists that have covered themselves in merch that has somehow already been created for the Avengers. The last thing Jessica Jones needs is for some stupid civilian to recognise her, hound her, and then tell everyone that she's gone into Stark Tower again.
Luckily, they're distracted enough by the exploded buildings and massive "A" at the top of Stark Tower and whether that means it's now Avengers Tower to notice Jessica slipping right under their noses. She glances up at the building as she heads towards the sliding doors at the entrance, squinting as if she'll be able to spot Stark's face pressed up against a window.
The lobby is a little quieter than it was the last time she was here. Most of the bodies marching around are workmen of some sort, presumably still fixing the upper floors damaged in the Battle. Other people seem to be employees of Stark Industries, wearing suits and skirts and lab coats, or important visitors with identification badges and briefcases. Jessica winces to herself - it's painful how little she fits in here.
"Good afternoon, ma'am! How can I help you?" the twenty-something man at the reception desk greets politely. He glances over her face, his back straightening as she approaches, but if he recognises her from the news, he gives no sign of it.
Jessica lifts a hand to lean on the top of the desk. "Yeah, uh, is Stark here today?" she asks quietly.
"I'm not actually sure, at the moment. He comes and goes, I think," the young man replies, turning his gaze to his computer.
Jessica lifts a doubtful eyebrow. "You think?" she repeats. Surely the billionaire with the massive personality is easier to keep track of than that.
"Do you have an appointment?" he asks.
"Uh, no, I don't," she answers flatly, glancing around. Nobody is watching her, but her lips purse.
"Usually, you need to make an appointment to see Mr Stark," the young man says, giving her an empathetic wince. "And that was before all the drama with the, uh- with the, um-"
"Aliens?" she mutters, striving not to roll her eyes.
"Uh, yeah. Those."
She has half a mind to turn away and give up. But she sighs. "Alright, how do I make an appointment, then?"
"Well, you need to-" the young man begins cheerfully, but his computer pings and his gaze snaps to the monitor instantly. "Oh," he blurts, eyebrows lifting. "Mr Stark is indeed in the Tower today. If you go into the second elevator along, I'll have it take you up to him."
Jessica lifts an eyebrow, glancing at the ceiling to try and find a camera, but the lobby must have some fancy ones that are more subtle than your average bodega's CCTV system. "Great, thanks," she intones, following the direction he's indicated with his left arm.
She finds the second elevator open and waiting for her, and she takes a moment to allow herself the opportunity to turn around and walk out. But she just ends up getting into the elevator and leaning her back against the railing on the side wall, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. The doors chime softly as they close over the gap and one of the buttons on the panel next to them glows a warm yellow.
"Hello, Miss Jones," JARVIS' voice emanates from the metal box. "It is a pleasure to see you again."
Jessica grimaces at the uneasiness the voice triggers in her chest. "Wish I could say the same," she mutters. Her fingers slip into her satchel, reaching for her flask of whiskey, and she pulls it out to take a drink.
"Mr Stark will be pleased to see you," JARVIS continues. "It has been over a week since he last had a visitor."
Jessica swallows some whiskey down, eyeing the opposite wall of the elevator as if JARVIS is in it. She's not really sure what the programme expects her to say or feel in response to that statement. It just kind of rolls off of her without much thought, and she refuses to wonder if that makes her a shitty person - she knows she's a shitty person. Deciding it's not worth her time to think about, Jessica screws the lid back on her flask and redeposits it in her satchel again just as the elevator slows its ascent.
The doors chime softly again and slide open, revealing a hallway she's actually familiar with. It's the one that leads to the smaller back-up lab Stark had brought her to the last time she had been here. Apparently his main lab had been damaged in the Battle and he'd had to relocate while they redesigned and rebuilt the upper floors.
Jessica steps out of the elevator and walks down the hallway, eyes searching through the glass walls into the lab for Stark. She only spots him hunched over one of his desks when she opens the door to the lab and slips in.
He's wearing a long-sleeved tee, the cuffs rolled up to just under his elbows, and a pair of jogging bottoms, by the looks of things. He's also only wearing socks on his feet, and they're an odd pair. She can see his left hand holding something on the desk, but she can only tell his right hand is doing something because of his shoulder blade shifting under his t-shirt. The left side of his head is just slightly angled towards her so that she can make out the hint of a curl in his hair around his ear - she can't say she's ever even seen a picture of him with his hair so long it exposed itself as curly, but there it is.
And it all just makes her feel ever-so-slightly wary.
"Hey, Stark," she says, loud enough to break his attention away from whatever he's working on.
She doesn't miss the tension that jumps across his shoulders at her voice, his chin swinging over his shoulder to look round at her. And his eyes, for a moment so quick she almost misses it, flash with panic above the dark bags on his skin.
"Jones," he replies, and his voice is steady and upbeat despite his appearance. "And here I thought you were cutting all ties with us 'nerds'."
She glances at the easy smile he wears, but his skin is pale and he looks exhausted. He swivels his chair round to face her straight-on, his fingers loosely grasping a small tool that he begins to bounce softly on his thigh.
Something in Jessica's heart urges her to ask how he's doing. "This isn't a social call, don't get your hopes up," she intones, pushing her guilt aside.
He gives her a flat smile that feels false and forced. "Do you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go?" he quips.
She smirks. "Try bones."
He sucks in a breath, eyes narrowing at her. "Ooh, spooky," he teases.
Jessica rolls her eyes and casts her gaze down to her hip, her fingers opening her satchel. "I've got something to show you," she tells him.
"Better not be bones, 'cause it's too early for serial-killer show and tell."
Jessica lifts her gaze to throw him a brief glare before redirecting her attention to retrieving her camera. "It's 4pm, Stark. It's not early."
"Uh, time is a manmade construct and I will interpret it however I see fit, thank you," he mutters. When she glances over at him, she catches the confused scowl on his face as he checks his watch. He gives a small shake of his head and drops his hand into his lap, lifting his gaze to meet hers again. A quick smile pulls at his lips as he cocks his head at her. "What've you got to show me? Is it why you look so exhausted?" he asks.
Incredulity contorts her face. She trudges over to him at his desk, noticing just how dark and drained his eyes are, noticing the untidy - but not unappealing - stubble along his jaw and cheeks, the unintentional unruliness of his curling hair, the faltering of his smile. She licks her lips, frowning down at him, irritated by the state of him but nowhere near interested in sitting down and having a heart-to-heart with him.
"Yeah, actually, it is," she answers flatly. "But I can promise you I don't look half as shitty as you do."
Stark's eyebrows push inwards, his lips pouting a little, the perfect image of a wounded ego. "I didn't say you look shitty," he retorts. "In fact, I'd say you look fant-"
"I have something to show you," Jessica says again, her voice firm and loud to cut through whatever nonsense he was about to throw at her. He gives her a disapproving look, but closes his mouth to smirk. She turns her camera on and brings up the photos she took of her latest client, twirling the device on her palm to show him the screen. "Know him?" she asks.
Stark holds her gaze for another moment, lifting an eyebrow at her, until he finally rolls his eyes and directs his attention to the man in the photos. He sighs, blinks, and narrows his eyes as he leans in closer. Jessica watches him and tilts her head to get a better view of his face, even though she can already see it clearly enough. She's hoping that Stark will recognise the man as someone he once pissed off or ran out of business, or someone with known bad-guy connections or something. If he doesn't recognise him, she knows she's going to have to investigate properly, and the thought of that pisses her off.
Her tongue pushes against the inside of her lower lip when Stark makes a lost expression and leans back in his chair, shaking his head. "Am I supposed to know who he is? Or have I ruined a punchline?" he asks, cocking his head at her.
Jessica sighs and turns her camera off again, moving to go slump in a chair at a desk opposite his. She stuffs the camera back in her satchel with more force than necessary and stretches her legs out, crossing them at the ankles. "It would have saved me some annoyance," she mutters. She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her head away to look around the lab, debating whether she'll actually start investigating this mysterious man to figure out why exactly he'd want dirt on Stark.
The lab is messier than the last time she was in it, with even more drawings and designs littered on the desks and floor. There are a multitude of monitors in the room and they each appear to be displaying something different, but they all look as though they're related to the Iron Man suit - or, at least, variations of it. She frowns at the screen closest to her, trying to make out the design of this suit, wondering how many different designs Stark's working on at the moment. She didn't even realise there would be a suit that wasn't his iconic gold and red look.
"Are you just not gonna explain this man and why you wanted me to know him?" Stark asks pointedly across from her.
Jessica pushes aside her wonderings about Stark's sudden multitude of suit designs and turns her head to meet his expectant gaze. "He came to me with a job yesterday," she answers. "Wanted me to find dirt on you."
Stark rolls his eyes and turns his chair back to his desk, resuming his tinkering. "How original," he mutters.
Jessica narrows her eyes at him, a small, disbelieving smile pulling at her mouth. "You don't wanna know why?" she asks.
Stark lowers his tools suddenly and turns to look at her, cocking his head with a confused expression. "Is this what you lost sleep over? Wondering why some guy wants dirt on a billionaire?"
Jessica scowls, her head physically recoiling in her defensiveness. "I thought that you'd want to know more than the fact that he'd given me the job. So I staked out his apartment last night."
Stark gives her a tiny smirk before he resumes with his tool. "You could've just called and I'd have told you to ignore it."
"Would you have picked up?" she challenges, irritated by the situation. "You've been a little MIA."
She sees his eyebrow lift from her side-on view of his face. His tool sparks a little as he prods it into the chunk of tech in his other hand. "You gonna tell me you've been keeping tabs on me while you were purposefully avoiding my messages?"
"You're not gonna make me feel bad, if that's what you're trying to do," she intones.
"I know I'm talented, but I am aware there are some things in life that really are impossible."
There's a sharp edge to his tone that has her hackles rising further, and the whispers tickle smugly across the back of her neck at the implications of his words. She wants to snap back at him, insult him, take a stab at his morals, but he shifts in his seat and the light of the lamp on his desk catches one of the dark bags under his eyes again, and Jessica grinds her teeth together to trap any retorts in her throat.
She has a sudden, horrible realisation that she and Stark might actually have some common qualities - namely, the tendency to lash out at someone as a defense and distraction from topics that even vaguely reference emotions.
"Look, something felt off to me about the guy," she says, unable to keep the bite from her voice. "Normally I wouldn't have given a shit if someone wanted to blackmail a little money out of a billionaire's pocket."
"So, you do care," Stark comments in a fluffy voice stuffed with sarcasm.
Jessica takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders. The whispers on her neck taunt her. "I'm just saying he seemed more suspicious than you'd expect for a blackmailer."
"Well, I wouldn't lose any more sleep over it, if I were you," Stark responds, his voice suddenly tired. "JARVIS shuts down twenty blackmail cases a week. This guy won't be any different."
Jessica tongues the inside of her cheek, irritated by her reluctance to just drop the investigation. It's not that she's concerned for Stark's wellbeing, or that of his reputation; she's just been known to draw a line in the dirt with some cases and turn it round on the client, and she knows from experience that this case is likely one that's going to cross that line.
But maybe Stark's right, and JARVIS will be able to stop any blackmailing before her client does damage.
Frowning curiously, Jessica draws her feet back towards the chair, shuffling herself to sit straighter against its back. She takes the strap of her satchel off her torso and dumps the bag on the desk, drawing a quick glance from Stark; but she ignores him and pulls the chair closer to the desk, leaning in to the monitors in front of her.
"Uh," she mutters, grimacing awkwardly. "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Jones?" the programme answers, his voice emanating quietly from the monitor.
"Can you run some kind of facial-recognition programme on one of these photos?"
Stark tuts at the desk across from hers and pushes to his feet. Jessica watches silently as he drags himself further into his lab, tossing the chunk of machinery in his hand onto a nearby table as if he's suddenly lost interest in it.
"Of course. Please insert the camera's memory card in the back of this monitor," JARVIS instructs.
Jessica retrieves her camera and takes the memory card out. The base of the monitor squeaks slightly when she turns it around to find the appropriate slot in the back, and it squeaks again when she turns it back once the card has been inserted. She goes to open the files, but JARVIS immediately launches into the card and starts sifting through the photos.
"Which photographs would you like the software to analyse?" he asks.
"Uh, any of the ones I took last night," she replies, leaning back in the chair a little awkwardly.
"Certainly."
Jessica's eyes narrow, her teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek while she watches JARVIS choose a photograph, highlight her client's face, and display the search in the facial-recognition software on the other monitor on the desk. She glances over the monitor at Stark when he starts to move around again, running a hand through his hair as he stares down at a pile of papers in his other hand, and she frowns. He almost looks drunk, the way he's stumbling around and allowing his attention to jump from one thing to the next without ever really committing to anything. She has a sneaking suspicion that it's actually unusual for him to be so blatant and unrestrained in his obvious exhaustion, which just makes the state of him even worse. She can imagine he usually deflects and distracts and pretends whenever he's around other people - so what does it say about how drained he is that he's not really trying to hide it from her?
Her mouth opens before she can stop herself, words jumping up her throat before her mind can process and approve them, and she asks-
"The man in the photograph is Thomas King. He is a sales person at an ecommerce company, earning $33,000 a year. His mother and father live in Trenton, New Jersey, and he has a sister, Rowena King, who lives in Philadelphia. None of the King family appear to be in any financial peril. Thomas King appears to live a happy life, judging by his social media, and has shown no previous dislike for Mr Stark. I cannot see a reason for his sudden interest in blackmail."
Jessica slumps in the chair, mouth still ajar after JARVIS had thankfully interrupted her near-sentimental mishap. She stares at the screen as the programme shows a profile for this Thomas King, even referencing his sharing of a post supporting the efforts of the Avengers in protecting the city from the alien invasion. It makes absolutely no sense that he would come to her office and ask for dirt on Stark, and she can see from tagged videos that his usual persona is completely different from the stiff, suspicious man she met yesterday.
And all of that just makes her feel even more uneasy. Because if this is out of character and without any obvious purpose for Thomas, why the hell is he so insistent on digging up dirt?
"Maybe he's gotten himself tangled with some bad people and they're using him, or something," she mutters to herself, still staring at the screen.
"Perhaps," JARVIS answers her, making her blink, "But I cannot see anything to suggest that Thomas King is living anything other than a happy, stable, healthy life."
She shifts a little uncomfortably in her chair, amazed by the capabilities of JARVIS, but still unnerved. She wouldn't be able to pass over all of the investigating to a programme like him - she enjoys the chase, the challenge, too much to not get her hands dirty. Besides, fancy gadgets aren't her style, or even something she can afford. It wouldn't suit her.
"Does he have any connections to the other blackmailers you've stopped recently?" she asks, lifting her chin.
Just because JARVIS unnerves her and she wouldn't want to use something like him on every case, doesn't mean she won't indulge herself when she's tired and cranky and feeling obligated to investigate this guy for Stark's sake.
"One moment - I shall cross-reference and search for any connections."
"Are you still wasting time on this asshole?" Stark mutters as he wanders past the desk, heading towards the back of the lab.
"Are you talking to JARVIS, or me?" she intones, quirking an eyebrow over her shoulder at him.
"Good question."
"Where are you going?" she frowns, watching him reach for the door.
"To the bathroom, Miss, is that alright with you?" he retorts snarkily, tossing an eye-roll at her when he twists to push the door open with his back.
Jessica glares through the glass at him until JARVIS regains her attention.
"I cannot find any connections between Thomas King or the rest of his family and the blackmailers I have stopped in the past month."
Jessica twirls her chair back to face the monitors, sighing harshly. "Damnit," she mutters. "Doesn't make him any less suspicious."
"I agree that this is something we should be taking seriously. Mr Stark is no stranger to enemies - and they can be dangerously cunning. He should not be so quick to dismiss Thomas King."
"Yeah, well, he doesn't look like he's in a state to care much about anything right now," she comments flatly.
"I believe Mr Stark is suffering from PTSD after the events in the city two weeks ago. His eating and sleeping habits have deteriorated past any poor standards he displayed before the Battle, and he has stopped seeking company in Dr Banner, Colonel Rhodes, and Miss Potts."
"There's only so much you can do," she says quietly, rolling her neck when the whispers tickle across her skin again. "It's not something that can be quickly fixed."
"It is helpful for Mr Stark to have friends who understand his struggle. Captain Rogers also recognised the symptoms in Mr Stark, and he has attempted to come by several times; though Mr Stark turns him away most days."
Jessica sighs through her nose, working her jaw. "Why does it feel like you're trying to guilt me into helping him?" she mutters.
JARVIS doesn't say anything.
Jessica lets her head drop back and lifts a hand to rub her face. She knows PTSD, and she knows it well. She can obviously see that Stark is suffering and, sure, she feels bad for the guy, but Jessica isn't exactly a role-model for overcoming PTSD, nor is she willing to sit around and talk about what she's been going through the last couple years in order to comfort Stark.
But, now, thanks to his fucking AI programme, she's going to feel guilty if she just gets up and leaves Stark to it.
"I'm not gonna be his damn therapist," she tells the room. "I'm not gonna be a shoulder to cry on. I'm not gonna talk about my shit to make him feel better." She grimaces and lifts her head up straight again, crossing her arms over her chest. "All I can offer is, I dunno, my company, I guess. Only when I want to, though. My job and my shit comes first."
"On behalf of my creator: thank you, Miss Jones," JARVIS replies. His voice is so earnest and emotive, she almost forgets he isn't a real person.
She shifts uncomfortably on her seat, tapping her fingers against her arm. "Are there any decent pizza joints around here?" she asks.
"That is a wonderful idea. I will get something ordered right away. Might I suggest playing a film on this computer as a distraction?"
Jessica's eyes twitch. "Uh, sure, okay," she says, shaking her head in disbelief at the situation unfolding before her.
JARVIS takes it upon himself to pick a film, and Jessica rolls her eyes when A New Hope starts playing on the small monitor. Apparently, he hit play just in time.
"Uh, what the hell are you doing?" Stark asks dully as he comes back into the lab, walking up behind her to see what's on the monitor.
"Passing the time," Jessica shrugs, kicking her feet up onto the desk.
Stark stops next to her and glares incredulously down at her face. "So, you're just gonna invite yourself to sit in my lab and watch a film, and you're gonna watch it on this tiny screen?" he demands, folding his arms grumpily.
She can't decide whether she's more impressed or infuriated that he manages to be so passionate in his stabs at her actions when he's so exhausted. "I ordered pizza, too," she shrugs.
He purses his lips, his head tilting, aggravation swimming in his eyes. But the corner of his mouth twitches. "No," he says simply, uncrossing an arm to push her feet off the desk.
Jessica scowls up at him, mouth gaping at his rudeness. "Excuse me?"
"Get up," he snaps. He turns and storms back towards the door to the lab - although, he doesn't manage to appear very intimidating in his mismatched socks and loose jogging bottoms. "C'mon," he urges impatiently over his shoulder when he sees she isn't following.
"Fine, jesus," she mutters quietly, pushing out of the chair. She barely notices the fact that she leaves her satchel on the desk when she gets up to walk after him.
He leads her silently and grumpily to the elevator, stands glaring at the doors as it takes them a couple floors up, then continues the silence as he marches out into the new corridor and heads along to a set of doors. He stops next to them and crosses his arms again, jerking his head to order her inside.
"You leading me to my death?" she asks boredly.
"TBD," he smirks sarcastically. "Hurry up, Jones."
She rolls her eyes and pushes into the room, eyebrows lifting at the sight that greets her. The room is about the size of her entire apartment, completely blacked out, with a humongous cinema screen on the far wall. Between the doors and the screen, there are five rows of recliner armchairs that stretch from one side of the room to the other. The armchairs sit in pairs, an armrest on each side, to make almost-sofas along the rows.
A moment later, A New Hope automatically starts playing on the giant screen.
"I'm onto you, J," Stark mutters as he stalks past Jessica, slipping into the second row from the back and wandering to the sofa in the middle.
Jessica isn't quite sure if he's talking to her or JARVIS, but she rolls her shoulders and follows the billionaire anyway, slumping down on the other side of the sofa from him.
"You can take your jacket off, you know," Stark comments. "If you're gonna make me do this, you might as well make yourself comfortable."
"Hey, if you'd rather wallow in total isolation with nothing but your gadgets to keep you company, all you need to do is tell me to piss off," she retorts, but she shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it on the sofa next to her.
"Maybe I like the isolation," he counters, lifting his chin stubbornly.
"Yeah, and I drink because it makes me feel all sunshine and rainbows inside," she mutters.
Stark scoffs quietly. "You must be doing it wrong."
Jessica leans back in the recliner and reaches her hand down to find the button to extend the footrest, sinking further into the cushion as the footrest lifts her legs to a comfortable position, the back of the chair tilting backwards simultaneously. She sees Stark doing the same out of the corner of her eye, and tilts her head to look around the room.
"How come this place wasn't damaged in the battle?" she asks.
Stark sniffs. "It's a couple levels below the chaos," he answers.
Jessica arches her chest upwards to crack her back, grunting understandingly. "Bet you're glad it survived."
Stark is quiet for a moment before answering. "I've never used it before, actually."
Jessica stares up at the screen, sighing quietly to herself. She's not completely surprised that a billionaire hasn't actually used all the things he's spent thousands of dollars on, but there's just something a little sad about Stark not using a room that's clearly intended to host an audience of people. JARVIS' comments about Stark's lack of social visits rings in her head, and she grits her teeth.
"Where's your assistant?" she asks, uncomfortable, before she remembers a headline she spotted on a tabloid someone was reading in a cafe before the battle. "Aren't you guys supposed to be dating?"
She hears Stark let out a small huff of air and turns her head to look over at him. "She'd be so lucky," he mutters, smirking. The smirk twitches, his gaze averting, and his expression takes on a more bitter display. "No, she, uh, wisely has higher standards than that."
"Ouch," Jessica intones, "Touchy subject?"
Stark plasters a quick smile on his face, one that has Jessica's eyes narrowing. "No, not at all. I'm not pining or anything of the sort. That'd be very off-brand," he quips, and while she can see honesty in his eyes, she can also see sadness. "Just, nobody's got standards low enough for me to reach."
Jessica rolls her eyes and drops her head back on the sofa, finding it very doubtful that someone would pass up the opportunity to be with the one and only Tony Stark. His comment borders on the self-pitying, and she doesn't have much patience for that. "Don't be so melodramatic," she says. Her gaze flicks to the screen and she tunes in somewhat to the movie, but she can feel her teeth grinding, her forehead twitching, and she realises that her body is actually itching to say something genuine and kind to the man who is so clearly burying a whole world of hurt under his shit-eating grins and humour, despite the wallowing and lashing out. "Also," she says, pursing her lips for a moment, reluctance clogging her throat, "I've met a lot of people who aren't half as okay as you are."
"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special."
Jessica takes a breath, tonguing her cheek, and turns to send him a glare. He looks back at her, the corner of his mouth pulling into his cheek with amusement, his forehead furrowed with caution, his eyes wary but curious.
"I mean you're acting like you're a bad person," she bites out. She chews on more words, considering them, considering the potential consequences, and eventually turns her gaze away again, her fingers tapping her arm anxiously. "I've met bad people. You're not one of them."
She can feel Stark's gaze on the side of her face, can sense him analysing the words, wondering at the story behind them, and the whispers seem to ghost up the back of her neck, stretching for her ear.
"Listen, Jones," Stark sighs, shifting in his seat. Jessica's hand clenches into a fist, her teeth grinding. "I know we're both tremendously attractive people, but I don't know if coming onto me when I'm-"
Jessica twists in her seat to punch him in the shoulder, biting back her relieved amusement in the hopes that he can't see it.
"Ow!" he yelps, slapping his hand to his arm, rubbing the sore spot with an indignant scowl on his face, but his eyes are bright and wide with humour.
"Wimp," she smirks.
His expression scrunches in disapproval, his head tilting as he purses his lips at her, his hand still massaging his bicep. "You put a little extra something-something in there, didn't you, you minx?" he says, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Jessica shrugs, looking away from his animated expression. "I don't know my own strength," she intones.
Stark scoffs quietly, and Jessica has to make a conscious effort to not grin.
They sit and watch the film together, an employee bringing up the pizzas when they arrive, Stark asking him to bring along a bottle of whiskey and a couple glasses, and Jessica has to begrudgingly admit to herself that the evening isn't as exhausting or boring as she thought it'd be. She and Stark manage to avoid discussing anything too heavy, instead skirting around the topics and only implying their existence when the other asks a question too close to home and they end up snapping something back at them - but, apart from that, the conversation is light and easy, taking good-natured jabs at each other and commenting on the movie playing on the giant screen. Jessica tells him about the case of the cheating Rick Harper, and Stark tells her a little about the different kinds of suits he's working on - it definitely sounds like he's putting everything he has into the designs in order to try and avoid his PTSD symptoms, but she isn't one to judge. Like she told JARVIS, all she can offer is her company.
So when she turns to look at Stark and realises he's fallen asleep, his head propped on his fist, his elbow leaning on the armrest, she figures she's done what she can for the night, and leaves him there with the film playing in the background and returns to her apartment, taking herself immediately to her own bed and passing out as soon as she hits the pillow.