"I don't understand," Trish told her over the phone. "I thought this was what you wanted."
Jessica grumbled something incoherent as she fumbled with her newly acquired bottle, this time a nice heavy one. One she knew she would smash against her wall once the contents ran dry.
"Maybe you should have heard him out. I mean, he did survive something terrible, something life altering," Trish continued. "I think you know what that's like."
Jessica didn't want to hear the truth. Not yet. "Trish, I gotta go."
She clicked her cell phone off before Trish could protest.
What is wrong with me? She wondered for what must have been the hundredth time that day.
Immediately following her heavy footed flight from Claire's apartment Jessica had regretted it all. She had barely let him speak. She had steamrolled, like always. She had played defensive despite the fact that Matt was offering nothing but a helping hand. Or at least that's what he said.
Could he really be trusted? She wasn't sure. The not knowing was killing her.
Her cell phone rang. It was Trish again. Jessica swiped left to ignore.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Matt sat on the roof of Jessica's apartment building, crouched, his suit pants wrinkling with every shift of his position.
He knew he shouldn't have worn a suit. Why did he think slipping back into his old clothes would somehow mean slipping back into his old self? He wasn't the same.
Lying on his back in the company of those nuns, wounds covering his body, Matt hadn't been thinking about Elektra. He had been thinking about his team. Once he realized he was in danger, again, securing them had been his top priority. But it was bound to go sideways. Jessica Jones didn't like to be told what to do.
Should he have come home sooner, even though he was weak? Should he have gone to Jessica first? Would that have calmed her anger? Or should he have stayed away all together? Maybe staying away is what would keep them safe.
Dammit. Everything he did was wrong. Everyone he loved was or would get hurt.
Jessica had been right. It was deja vu.
The only difference had been her. She was warm somehow, her body, her energy. She seemed to care about him more. Her heartbeat betrayed any indifference she may have wanted to maintain.
She had smelled of whiskey, wafting from her pores in waves, surrounding him in her sadness. And when he had taken her arm, even for just an instant, he had felt how rigid she was forcing herself to be. He thought she wanted him to hold her, but when she'd ripped away he wasn't sure what to think.
"Something tells me you're not here for the view," Jessica said, startling him. He was rarely startled.
"How did you do that?" he asked her, his back to her, still too ashamed to turn around.
"You couldn't hear me coming, could you?" she said, her voice rolling cheekily. He could tell she was more drunk than before and for a woman of Jessica's abilities true intoxication was a feat rarely achieved.
"No. I couldn't hear you."
"Why won't you look at me?" she asked him, her boots scraping across the rotted tar that covered the roof.
"I don't really look," he told her.
Jessica laughed. "Fuck that. You see more than most. You see me… when you want to."
He stood and turned to face her. "I'm sorry about today, about before. I came to explain everything. No more lies."
"Don't you want to know why you couldn't hear me?" she questioned, slowly walking towards him, towards the edge of the building.
Confused, Matt stayed silent, sensing her closeness. When she was only inches away he felt the rigidness return, but she leaned into his ear anyway. He knew she was tamping down her anger just to be near him.
"Tell me you want to know," she commanded.
"I want to know."
Whispering in his ear, Jessica said, "I can fly."
Laughing heartily, Matt knew she was more than drunk. She was drowning.
She pushed back from him and stepped to the edge. Matt grabbed her hand.
"Don't."
"You don't have to worry. I told you I can fly. Well, jump. Whatever. I'm a big girl, counselor. I'm alright."
She pulled her hand back, but he refused to let go.
"I'm ashamed of the choices I've made," he told her. "Please let me apologize."
"Which choices, Matt? The choice to stay and die for a woman who tried to kill us all, who killed your mentor? The choice to stay gone even after you were saved? Or how about the choice to get us all involved in some bullshit cat and mouse game… again?"
She was still standing on the edge. He was still holding her hand, keeping her in place.
"I don't understand why you're so angry, Jessica. I'm the one who died, not you."
"There's more than one way to die, Matt. And if you knew anything about me you'd know I've died before too."
They stood together in silence for far too long. His grip on her palm slowly became a curling of fingers, her smooth skin grazing his bruised hands. He could feel her pulse quicken and suddenly realized his was matching pace.
"Are you mad that I died or are you mad that I left you and the team?" As soon as the words escaped his lips he couldn't believe he had said it, but something about her made him feel raw and exposed.
"That's the same question, genius," she replied sarcastically.
"So there's only one answer," Matt slyly replied. His mouth curled into a smile.
"I'm mad you died. I'm mad you left me… not the team."
Matt let go of her hand, surprised by her honesty.
"Did I already mention that I can fly?" she asked before jumping from the rooftop.
Matt felt the rush of her tight frame cut through the sky and land on the sidewalk below.
His pulse began to race out of control.