The van carrying Jessica Jones' pulled into a warehouse on the edge of Hell's Kitchen, coming to a stop just inside. Three men roughly dragged her from the back, depositing her violently on the cracked concrete below.
Jessica stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips. She was regaining consciousness and she knew she was in bad shape. Broken ribs, broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder and too many oozing cuts to count. It would heal, but as she took in her surroundings Jessica worried the healing would not come soon enough.
Three men around her, three more exiting the van. Distant voices and maybe a television in a room to her left. Without Matt's ridiculously good hearing, his super scent, she wasn't sure what other dangers lingered within the warehouse, but knowing bad guys as she did she was sure there were more.
Asshole Number One, a greasy haired, earring wearing lackey grabbed her by the shoulders and stood her up. Jessica couldn't help but grunt in response.
"Shut up!" Asshole Number Two growled from behind her, pulling a dirty chair up under her knees and forcing her down.
"Make me," she told him, her snark met with a fist to her face.
Blood flew from a fresh cut on her cheek and sprayed across the pants of Asshole Number Three.
Jessica laughed, her voice cracking.
"That's all you got?" she barked. "You punch like a… well, I was going to say girl, but any girl in New York could kick your ass. Especially me."
"Not today, sweetheart," Number One told her, grabbing her arms and pulling them behind her. She groaned as her shoulder muscle tore anew. The thug wrapped a thick rope around her wrists, the broken one crunching under the weight of a double knot.
"You know this won't hold me, right? I mean, you must after all the fucking news and blogs and bullshit. You know who I am."
"Yes," one of the men replied. She wasn't sure which one as the blood from her cut forehead began to run into her eyes. "We know exactly who you are."
"Then you know what I'll do once I'm free," Jessica told him.
The man pressed his hand into her side, her broken ribs pressing inward, her core straining. "You're never getting free," he told her.
Jessica coughed up blood and spit. It landed with a splat on the steel toed boot of Number One. He kicked her leg in response. It barely fazed her.
"You know, I'm the wrong girl to use as bait. He has plenty of pretty girlfriends who would have cried and begged for mercy, waiting for him to save them. Instead, you picked me and when he gets here together we're going to put you all down."
Shaking the blood from her eyes she looked up at her captors, defiant. But they seemed confused. Too confused. Suddenly she knew she wasn't bait at all.
Number Two leaned close. "I don't know what you're talking about and it really doesn't matter. This is for Kilgrave."
The name forced her heart to skip a beat, as if it had been strangled momentarily by an unseen hand.
Kilgrave? How? Before she could really think about it, press down her overwhelming fear and bite into the case at hand, the three assholes began to attack. Brass knuckles on each hand they punched her face and arms and stomach. Their swings were sadly inadequate and if the first van hadn't hit her, a van she realized must have been reinforced with more steel to ensure more pain, or if the second van had not run her over, she would be able to snap free of her binds and pummel every last bad guy.
Instead, the pain shooting through her stomach and her head combined with the name of a man she was sure was dead caused her to sit limp, taking punch after punch after punch.
As Asshole Number One reeled his arm back, preparing to punch her square on the jaw, his earring caught on something and in one quick jerk it was ripped from his lobe. The thug screamed in pain, blood spurting into the air as he turned to reveal his assailant: Matt Murdock, his eyes covered by Jessica's grey scarf.
The arrival of a new player caused the men from the other room to join and within seconds machine gun fire lit up the air. Matt flipped and kicked his way to each man, rushing them and punching them. Without the aid of his suit and his sticks he used anything he could find: chains, a crowbar, a empty toolbox smashed across Asshole Number Two's face.
Periodically, through the sensory overload that was the brawl, Matt could sense thugs running to Jessica. They were trying to drag her and the chair she was tied to further from the action. He knew that she was the target, not him. The men who fought him exposed in the street may have been surprised he was such a formidable opponent, but they didn't know he was Matt Murdock. More importantly, they didn't know Matt Murdock was Daredevil.
That knowledge quieted the fear in his mind, fear that these men were somewhere attacking Foggy or kidnapping Karen. Instead this was about Jessica Jones. Matt resolved to save her; the one time she couldn't save herself.
As her chair scraped backward, two sets of heavy hands dragging her to the exit, Jessica looked down and saw the trail of blood she was leaving behind. Inhaling deep a sharp pain shot through her and she groaned loudly, her bruised lips cresting open in a semi-permanent grimace. Sacrificing her own ribs, she thrust herself back, the force sending the chair to the ground, her body with it. Jessica's actions startled her captors and as both reeled back they found themselves at the mercy of Matt. In an instant, the one on the left was taken out by a car jack, scrounged from the back of the van and now implanted in his face. The man on the right, shocked and confused, didn't see the swift series of kicks Matt showered on him, and before he knew it his face met the floor.
In a flurry of movement, Matt straightened Jessica's chair and looked down to where he knew she was sitting. He could hear her struggling to breathe.
"Jessica," Matt said, his voice cracking. "Oh Jesus, Jessica."
He waited for her to reply, but silence strangled him.
Matt knelt beside her. She was still tied, her head hung low. He could hear the gentle flow of her raven hued hair swaying back and forth and the pat, pat, pat of the blood that dripped from her split ends.
Matt cupped her face, his fingers touching the warmth of her wounds.
"Jessica?"
He could feel her raised skin, a lump under her left eye. He could feel a cut on her forehead, open and oozing. He could feel her fat lip and the soft touch of her laboured breath on his palm.
"Jessica we have to get out of here," he told her as he worked on the ropes that shouldn't have held a woman as strong as her. "Jessica… please."
As her binds loosened Jessica's nearly unconscious body fell forward into his arms.
He caught her, shaking her, trying desperately to wake her.
"Jessica?"
She stirred and looked up at him. Through blood soaked eyes she could see he was still wearing her scarf and she smiled, then instantly regretted it. Matt had wanted to protect her, protect them all from danger. He had thought his past was fast catching up and that he needed to ensure everyone was safe. But it was her past that had won the race; her past that was putting him in danger.
From behind Matt, picking himself off the floor, Asshole Number One, his earlobe ripped and hanging loose, pulled a knife and ran full force toward them. Before Matt could react, Jessica thrust out her foot, her boot connecting with the thug's crotch. Even in her weakened state, Jessica's kick sent Number One flying through the air, his screams diminishing as he flew further away, ending with a violent crash into the brick wall.
"Nice," Matt told her, but she had already passed out, her body slumped over his shoulder.
Matt groaned as he stood, trying to keep her steady as he limped from the warehouse carrying her.
On his journey through the night, Matt made sure to focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out. As long as it kept pace he knew everything would be alright.