Matt found himself seated across from Jessica's desk, hunched over, head in hands. He was waiting for her. She'd jumped off the roof with nothing but the clothes on her back, and walked coldly into the setting sun. That was two hours ago.

He had wanted to follow, but he also knew she needed space. Lots and lots of space. And while he wanted to keep her safe, he also wanted to keep himself from getting punched and too much too soon seemed counterproductive to his goal.

Footsteps down the hall alerted him to someone's presence and he sat up. But Matt knew by their gait that it wasn't her.

"Can I help you?" Malcolm asked as he stepped inside the apartment, the floorboard creaking under his Converse.

"I'm waiting for Jessica Jones," Matt replied.

"Yeah, I figured. But you might be waiting a long time."

"And who are you?"

Malcolm chuckled. "I'm the only one of the two us with keys. I belong here, buddy. I think you better go."

"Look, I appreciate that you're her friend or whatever, but I'm not leaving until I talk to her."

Matt looked up at Malcolm, his eyes unresponsive under the glasses sliding down his nose. Suddenly, Malcolm knew exactly who was waiting for her Jessica exactly why she fled.

"You're the guy."

"The guy?" Matt asked.

"The guy who died," Malcolm told him matter of factly.

Shit.

Matt immediately stiffened. What had Jessica told this guy? Was he really a friend? Maybe a partner? A lover? The last thought made him shake, but he wasn't exactly sure why.

What could the sneaker wearing stranger know? Not that he was Daredevil. Jessica would never divulge that secret. She was too good to hurt him like that. But she had figured it out within a day of meeting him and if the man standing before him was a PI too maybe he figured it out as well.

Matt stood, jerking upward as the chair scraped back on the hardwood floor. The man in the sneakers was startled, but he didn't leave.

Matt knew he cared for Jessica. He could smell her on him.

Shit.

"Are you calculating the odds?" Malcolm asked him.

"What?" Matt questioned incredulously.

"I've been with Jessica long enough to know what thinking about the pros and cons looks like. Mostly because she never does it, so when I see it in you it stands out."

Matt let out a soft chuckle. This guy was no PI, but he and Jessica definitely knew one another. The stranger wasn't lying.

"Been with her?" Matt asked, feeling his fist clench.

"Yeah. We work together. She works the case and I take the notes or patch up the walls after a fight or patch her up after a fight. Depends really."

Matt relaxed.

"You're turn," Malcolm continued. "Who are you?"

Matt felt behind him for the discarded chair and slide it beneath him once again. "Like you said, I'm the guy."

"I'm going to need more than that if you plan on staying here."

Matt sighed. "Let's just say I'm a client."

"Oh," Malcolm laughed. He grabbed a pad and pen from the kitchen table and walked behind Jessica's desk, sitting in the chair Matt assumed was reserved for her. Getting comfortable, he tossed the scarf from the back of the chair, the one that was crumpling into his back, onto the desk before Matt. Even without sight, Matt immediately recognized it and smiled.

"Well I take the notes, so tell me why you need her services."

Malcolm flipped the notebook open, pen poised to write

"This is cute and all, but I just-"

"Talk or leave," Malcolm told him and Matt knew he was serious. He felt the air vibrate around him when he walked. He could sense the man in the sneakers was no fighter. But he was just as sure he wouldn't let up. Perhaps he instead planned to annoy Matt into submission.

Shit. It was working.

"Fine. I came to Jessica because I have a friend who-"

"Man or woman?" Malcolm interjected.

"My friend? She's a woman. And she basically… flew away."

"Flew or jumped really high."

Matt smiled again. He was starting to like this stranger. "The latter."

Matt could hear a flurry of swishes, the pen scribbling on back and forth on the paper. The stranger wasn't writing words. He was doodling.

"Anyway, she could be in danger and I want to tell my friend that. I have a lot of things I want to tell her, but I'm not sure where she is. Can you help me that, Mr…?"

"Just Malcolm," he replied. "And you are definitely the guy. Matt Murdock. The one whose funeral she attended from across the street. She's tough, but she still gets the occasional cold and standing outside a derelict bodega staring at your empty coffin in the rain was bound to do it."

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but Malcolm plowed on. "She's been messed up for a while now, anyone would be if they'd been through what she's been through. I think you might have been the last straw."

"She's got abandonment issues. I get it," Matt said. "Believe me, I do too."

"Oh man, you really don't know Jessica Jones at all do you?"

Matt's voice cracked under the confusion. "Why do people keep saying that to me?"

"Because it's true," Malcolm replied.

"Well I don't know what she told you, but she told me she was mad I died. Mad I left."

"She's always mad. That's her permanent state not an insight. She doesn't have abandonment issues. She has hero issues."

Matt stood again, as if standing somehow made it easier to digest what was coming.

"You know what happened to her, right? Not the whole story but you know there was was a time a man made her do things beyond her control. Control is important to her. She lives in a mess, hell, she is a mess, but she wants to control things. Because if she's in control people can't hurt her, people won't die."

Matt felt his head swelling as Malcolm's words penetrating the ignorance he had been surrounded in.

"She wanted to save you. She thinks she could have saved you. And I'm not going to ask what a blind lawyer was doing at Midland Circle. And I'm not going to ask why he decided to stay behind knowing the whole thing was coming down. And I'm definitely not going to ask why or how you're here now because that answer seems more complicated than it's worth. But I will say that when she loves someone she loves hard. She'll do anything. She'll kick your ass and cuff you to the toilet to make you stop getting high. She'll jump into the lion's den again, let herself get played by evil if she thinks that same evil will leave innocent people alone. And she'll fight alongside people who lie to her, people who know how to kick and punch like she never will, people who have cause to be there when all she has is a bogus case. She'll fight with them. She'll die with them. Or at least she would have."

Malcolm sighed when he realized he was standing too. It seemed talking about Jessica Jones made men defensive.

"So it's not about me leaving," Matt repeated.

"Leaving seems like a shit explanation for what you did, but yeah, it's not about that."

Matt reached for his cane and began fanning it out before him, working his way out of the room.

"Do you want me to tell her you were here?" Malcolm asked.

"No," Matt said without turning back to face him. "I know where she is now. Thank you."

Matt followed the path of the hall to the creaky elevator, his cane tap, tap, tapping out of earshot of Malcolm.

"You're welcome," Malcolm called out, but the elevator doors were already closing. The blind lawyer was already gone, having gotten what he needed, information and a well worn grey scarf.