AUTHOR NOTE: Apologies for my inability to update for the past month or so. As some of you know there was a death in my family and while I initially thought I could keep writing and posting, the grieving process (and everything that entails) proved too large.

But I am happy to say that after much thought and family-time I am back. The chapters will still be short (sorry, I know some of you guys hate that), but the story is large-ish in scope. And, trust me, I have a complete ending in mind.

So if you are still out there and are still reading please, please, please review so I know. And for those of you who have been asking where I've been I want to say, "Thanks for waiting. I hope this will have been worth it."

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"They said you would come, but I didn't believe them," Wilson Fisk told Jessica Jones.

He was standing in the doorway surveying the damage his men had left behind and the woman who stood among it all, her leather clad arms crossed in defiance.

Without missing a beat, without showing surprise or even fury Jessica asked, "Who's they?"

"My associates, Miss Jones," he told her, holding his ground. "It seems you've made quite an impression on a few, shall we say, undesirables in Hell's Kitchen."

"Not too undesirable, though. Or the great, innocent, Wilson Fisk wouldn't be working with them, right?" she quipped.

"Sadly, that was the old me. The man who wanted nothing more than to help this neighbourhood, help this city," Fisk sighed and Jessica wondered if he actually bought his own bull. "They said you would come," he continued. "But I thought you were much too clever to fall for such an obvious trap."

Jessica scoffed. "I know it's a trap."

She tilted her head, trying to peer around him. She wondered who was in the hall. She knew Wilson Fisk travelled nowhere alone.

"She's not with me," he told her without following her gaze.

"You're stupid, but not that stupid," she assured him. "I didn't think she'd be with you. I'm here because I want you to take me to her."

"Good. Because as I understand it Mr. Kilgrave used to parade your losses in front of you. I just wanted to be sure you knew that wasn't my style."

Jessica couldn't help but take a step back at the casual mention of Kilgrave, glass crunching under her boots.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Fisk told her and for a moment she almost believed him. Maybe it was the distinct measure of his voice, level and soft, juxtaposed against his massive, intimidating frame. She could see how he moved people to follow him, even without Kilgrave's mind control abilities.

"What do you want?" Jessica finally asked as she collected herself, stepping away from the broken coffee table and one more foot closer to Fisk.

"I think you know-"

Jessica cut him off. "Let's not do that. Let's not be polite, okay? You have Trish. You know about Matt. You want me… for some reason. Let's put it out all out there."

Fisk gave her a half smile and Jessica knew she'd captured his interest.

"Alright, Miss Jones. Let's put it all out there."

He walked into the room, and as his body left the doorway two henchmen popped their heads in. They were prepared to follow him, but Fisk waved them back to the perimeter.

Using his brown leather dress shoe, Fisk pushed aside the glass and broken bits of wood and metal that littered the floor, clearing a path for the stool he set upright. He motioned for Jessica to sit, but she stepped back, taking a tentative seat on the couch armrest, her eyes never leaving him.

With a shrug, Fisk poured himself onto the stool, squaring his shoulders, his serious face returning.

"I have Trish Walker. She's safe. Bruised, but safe. I took her to not only lure you here, but to ensure that once we met you would do as you were told. If not… well, I don't want to think about if not just yet."

Jessica squirmed, a cold shiver travelling up her back.

"And yes, I know Matt Murdock is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. It wasn't really my intention to uncover such sensitive secrets, but he threatened something… someone I love. He shouldn't have come to the prison. He shouldn't have questioned me. He shouldn't have uttered her name." Fisk's voice began to rise, the vein in his neck, just under the collar of his expensive navy blue button up, bulging. "I warned him!"

Fisk exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, collecting himself. "You see, Miss Jones," he finally said. "I have a network of lawyers and bankers and investigators and criminals. I put them all to work on pulling apart Matt Murdock's life. And thread after thread led to only one conclusion. You know, if only you hadn't been branded a hero by the press, I might have hired you, too."

"You couldn't afford me," Jessica growled.

"I believe I could work a few bottles of whiskey into my budget," he said, showing her he knew about her; maybe he was having her followed, pulling at the threads of her life too.

"So, will you come with me now, Miss Jones? Or do I need some of my associates to help you?"

"You only answered two out of three questions," Jessica snapped.

"There were no questions, only assumptions on your part," he reminded her as she sighed. Fisk shook his head, as if giving in to her exhaustion and let part of his plan unfurl. "I think you know I am in possession of something very precious, something that once had a hold on you. Until it didn't. I want to know how that came to be. How you were able to fight off-"

"Kilgrave's control," Jessica finished.

"Yes."

She chuckled, realizing now how obvious it had been. "You want to experiment on me."

"I want to discover the catalyst to your resistance," he explained.

"I punched a woman so hard in the chest that she died," Jessica told him matter of factly, feeling dirty as the words passed her lips.

"I know that."

He really must be investigating me, she thought.

"Well, then you know that was it," she continued. "That was the day I said goodbye to him. Now, if you could just lead me to Trish I won't have to kick your ass and those of the boys on the other side of that door."

Fisk smiled again, his teeth showing for the first time, as if revealing a weapon to his enemy. Jessica felt as if he wanted to devour her whole.

"I have no doubt you could kill me, Miss Jones," he told her, but she sensed it was a lie aimed to put her at ease. "But I think you'll agree that you don't know everything there is to know yet. You don't know where Trish Walker is, you don't know who else is in possession of Mr. Kilgrave's abilities and how they will be used, and you don't know what I plan to do with Matt Murdock once we're done here. I would think after your encounter with The Hand you would want to be more informed before punching your way through a problem. I don't think you're interested in the body count rising even higher."

"You just said you wouldn't hurt her," Jessica snarled as she stood, her fist already clenched.

"I said I haven't hurt her, and that's true. Mostly. But I can and will if you don't come with me."

Jessica felt her body relax as the knowledge that she would follow him passed over her. There was nothing she could do.

"So, what? I help you figure out a way to stop… fuck, I don't know, other people like me from resisting your newfound abilities and you use them to take over the city?"

"It's not my intention to lead people who do not want to be led," he told her cryptically.

"Oh, wow. A noble psychopath. This is new," she quipped.

"Shall we go?" Fisk asked, standing and motioning to the door.

"Wait. Why did you call it a possession? A thing?"

Fisk ignored the question.

"Why are you making it sound like a pill you pop or something?"

Again Fisk ignored her, instead walking to the door, seemingly expecting her to silently follow.

"I'm not leaving until you-"

"You will leave with me!" Fisk growled as he whipped around to face her, his eyes black with a rage Jessica suspected was always just beneath the surface.

When she didn't move it became clear to them both that whatever power he possessed she was immune to it's effects.

Panting, trying to regain composure, Fisk grasped the kitchen island for support, as if the act of shouting physically exhausted him.

Jessica wasn't sure what that meant - yet - but she knew enough to know it was a weakness she could hopefully exploit.

"Madame Gao had a penchant for powerful things," Fisk said once his equilibrium had returned.

Jessica stared at him blankly.

He sighed. "The elderly woman you fought. A member of The Hand."

Jessica kept her face blank, but she was reminded of a woman with remarkable strength and telekinetic powers; a woman who refused to stay down when hit.

"You must have wondered how she came to be the way she was."

"Hm, nope," Jessica honestly replied. "I just figured it was an unfortunate side effect of being a member of some mystical asshole club."

"Well, maybe if you cared more to investigate the people you fight, examined their lives before breaking their necks, you would understand."

Breaking their necks. He was talking about Kilgrave. Suddenly she felt her hands around his head, tilting right, hearing bones snap and she shuddered in horror.

But she had studied Kilgrave; she had found out more about him than she had ever wanted to know. If Fisk was investigating her, surely he would know that. But Jessica sensed his double talk was part of a game - she'd seen it before. It was the windup before the lackluster release.

He's just trying to get under my skin, she told herself. Don't let him.

"So, if I had done my homework on this Gao I would have found a link between her and Kilgrave long before you busted yourself out of prison?"

"Something like that," Fisk told her. He again motioned for her to follow, and this time she relented, keeping her distance but still walking in his immense shadow as they left Trish's apartment.

Waiting for the elevator, his thug's on either side, Fisk, almost as afterthought, said, "Oh, and I walked out of prison."

XXXXXX

Less than 15 minutes later they were standing outside the same warehouse Jessica had been brought to only a few nights before. While the entirety of that evening was cast in a bloody haze, she remembered enough to instantly recognize a black van parked near the garage door entrance. It's front bumper was dented inward - the damage seemingly permanent, while Jessica's own shoulder and ribs had long since healed.

"You realize you can't keep me here," Jessica said as they stepped out of Fisk's SUV.

Fisk didn't respond and Jessica sighed knowing that while they might not be able to hold her, they were holding Trish. She needed to go inside and perhaps sit for a test or two, before breaking Trish out of whatever mess she'd gotten her into. Jessica shook her head. It was always Trish. She was always bearing the brunt of whatever force Jessica allowed into her life.

For a fleeting moment, Jessica resolved to ensure Trish was never caught up in her mistakes or missions again. But she quickly remembered Matt and how he had once tried the same thing with those in his life: the lawyer friend, the pretty blonde, that bitch with the blades crushed under Midland Circle. Matt hadn't been able to keep them safe from the evil he let into his life. What made her think she was any different?

"Matt's been here before. He's kicked the shit out of your men, even if they were hopped up on whatever mind control power you've got going on," Jessica said. "He's going to find us and when he does-"

"I know he will, Miss Jones," Fisk said, interrupting her. "I'm counting on it."