Jessica and Malcolm sat across from one another in a downtown Manhattan coffee shop. He was nursing a green tea with a splash of nut milk; she was slurping a black coffee spiked with a dollop of liquor from her pocket flask. The coffee had cost $3.00 - three whole dollars for black coffee - and the barista turned her nose to Jessica when she fished a sweat stained 50 from her bra and demanded change.
Fucking Manhattan, she thought.
But Jessica knew she was looking for six missing businessmen - or suspected businessmen - and their files probably wouldn't reside in the precincts she was most familiar with.
"What's the plan?" Malcolm asked, his hands wrapped tightly around his to-go cup, an errant finger tapping against the cardboard sleeve.
"The plan is the plan; same plan as always."
"These are cops, Jess. You can't just beat them up for information," he reminded her.
Jessica scoffed. "Um, yeah, I can. But I brought you so we could start with a Q&A and then see how it goes."
She peered out the large window before them and watched as her target came into view: Detective Tom Harbour. He was in his late 30s, tall with broad shoulders tucked tightly beneath a long, tan trench coat. His red tie was blowing in the wind; his thick, brown hair bristling under the same strong breeze. Jessica had met him during a case - a rich socialite thought her husband was cheating. Spoiler alert, he was. But he'd been cheating with a known con woman; she stole things like real sterling silverware and the jewellery wives only bring out on special occasions in between fucking the husbands on their marital beds.
Jessica didn't care about the theft, in fact, she'd figured they'd all had it coming… the con woman was almost to be admired if you blocked out the endless string of old white men she'd been forced to sleep with. Ugh. But the case brought her to the attention of Detective Harbour and vice versa. He was a robbery cop, but he was also the only one she knew who worked so far from her home borough.
"Isn't that the cop from the VanderWest case?" Malcolm asked, as Jessica swallowed the last of her coffee.
"Mm-hmm."
"Didn't you sleep with him?"
"Mm-hmm."
As Jessica made her way to the exit, Malcolm understood why she'd brought him along - there was nothing she hated more than talking to a one-night stand. Hell, she barely liked talking to them during the one night.
It had been hard after Midland Circle, after Matt's death. Jessica had busied herself first with copious amounts of alcohol, then with subpar cases - anything that was quick to come by and simple to solve. The VanderWest case had been one, as had The Case of the Missing Rolex, The Case of the Runaway Bride, The Case of the Security Guard Thieves, and The Case of the Babies Switched at Birth (although that one turned out to be a non-starter; just a wealthy family unhappy with a preteen who wouldn't fall in line, convinced his parentage must have lied elsewhere. Jessica relished telling them he was blood kin, but not before she overcharged them for miscellaneous expenses).
As she was thinking about the sham her P.I. endeavours had become, she mindlessly followed Malcolm across the street, stopping just ahead of Detective Harbour. He was texting, his thumbs frantically clacking against the screen of his iPhone, but when Malcolm cleared his throat the detective looked up. A sly smile crossed his face as soon as Jessica came into view.
"Well, well. Miss Jones," he began. Jessica could hear the amusement in his voice. "What brings you all the way uptown?"
"We were wondering if you had a few minutes to help us with a case," Malcolm offered, but Detective Harbour ignored him and strode straight to Jessica.
He whispered, "I thought you said you never wanted to see me again."
"I stand by that," Jessica scoffed. She looked over the detective's shoulder and caught Malcolm's eye. She shrugged her shoulders in reply, knowing that antagonizing her former lover wasn't going to get them anywhere. "But I need your help."
Detective Harbour chuckled. "How did those words taste?"
"I don't think you want to know what I'd compare them to," she told him, while peering down at his crotch, implying exactly what all three knew she was implying.
The detective stepped back and straightened his posture, almost as if he was trying to regain a bit of his ego - an ego Jessica Jones was an expert at chipping away. "And if I refuse? You're not going to punch me, are you?"
Malcolm cut in. "No, of course she won't." He again looked to Jessica. She again shrugged her shoulders. "Right?"
Jessica sighed heavily. "Yep, no punching. Scout's honour."
"Come on," Detective Harbour offered, motioning to the west. He walked away and Malcolm and Jessica followed.
A few minutes later, they found themselves sitting on the edge of a large planter that stood as decoration to the side entrance of the police station. Jessica didn't like being so exposed, but she knew Tom Harbour wouldn't walk into a shadowed alleyway with her. He had no reason to trust her. After their tryst, she had opened his iPhone, checked his emails regarding the VanderWest case, and then kicked him out of her apartment before he'd even had time to put on his boots. She didn't feel bad about it. What kind of police officer doesn't have a password on their phone? And what kind of man orgasms first, rolls over onto their side and then asks his hostess for a beer? Fucking asshole, she thought as Malcolm questioned him.
"I don't know. To be honest, when high-powered guys like that turn up missing, it's usually because they've hit the booze too hard or wanted to spend a few more days at their vacation home," the detective suggested.
"But eventually someone notices they're gone," Malcolm said, prodding Detective Harbour to continue.
"And when that happens, these families call in people like you guys-" Harbour stopped himself, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Well, maybe not like you, but, you know, P.I.s that know what they're doing. These rich fucks don't want their names in the paper, you know?"
Jessica slid closer to the detective, placing her leg up on the planter, the roughness of her jeans rubbing up against the softness of his dark brown dress pants. She leaned in close, not close enough so Malcolm couldn't hear her, stationed on the other side of Detective Harbour, but just close enough to justify a husky whisper.
"Since we both know you like to fuck P.I.s why don't we cut the shit. You have contacts the same as me, and I'm sure someone would be talking if a rich CEO or tech entrepreneur suddenly stopped attending shareholder meetings," Jessica purred into his ear. The detective smiled and Jessica leaned closer, the heat of her breath tickling the hairs on the side of his neck. "So, come on, Harbour. Tell me what you've heard."
"I might have something, but it's not about a big shot CEO," Harbour said. Jessica could see the glimmer in his eye. He might not trust her, but she could tell he wanted to sleep with her again. "A contact inside the New York DA's office let me know that a lawyer there up and quit about three months ago. He didn't do it in person; just sent an email that he was going into private practice."
"Doesn't that happen all the time?" Malcolm asked.
"I guess," the detective replied. "But it turns out he never opened his own firm, or joined anyone else's as far as my contact could tell."
"What kind of cases did he handle?" Jessica questioned.
"How the fuck should I know?" Detective Harbour exclaimed. "Look, nobody reported him missing, at least not officially. I think the New York District Attorney's office was a little pissed he'd just left, you know? So, maybe that means whatever he worked on was big. I only found out because..." he let the sentence trail away from him.
Jessica laughed. "Because you're fucking another lawyer there. It's okay."
"It is?" the detective asked. "I mean, she is kind of kinky, so if you were interested-"
"Let me stop you right there," Jessica told him, standing up. Malcolm followed suit, realizing the Q&A portion of their interview was over. "I have no interest in sleeping with you again. I barely slept with you the first time."
"Give me another chance?" Harbour asked, his voice coated in seduction. Jessica laughed to herself, because seduction never worked on her. She didn't need a man to play nice, to tell her she was pretty, to promise her things - or even to promise her a good time. And she knew Detective Harbour's idea of a good time would last five minutes and force her to wash her sheets.
"I'd rather... well, do anything else," she said. Turning to Malcolm, she added, "I thought I had something witty for that, you know?"
"Maybe you're tired," he offered sympathetically.
"Maybe this fuck isn't worth it," Jessica said.
As the detective opened his mouth to protest, Jessica turned away. She had gotten what they came for, and she wasn't about to stay a minute longer in a borough that didn't have at least one place to buy a bottle of whiskey this early in the morning. Fucking Manhattan.
Malcolm quickly strode behind her, trying to catch up, but was sure to call over his shoulder: "Thanks, Detective!"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By the time Colleen and Danny had returned, Jessica had already finished off another bottle from the cabinet in the safehouse. Her heart had been set on whiskey, but all she could find was gin and it didn't taste nearly as good as Jessica had hoped.
"What did you find out?" Jessica asked just as they stepped inside. Malcolm was sitting on the couch, his hands calmly folded in his lap. Jessica knew he felt uncomfortable being there, being the newest member of her ramshackle team, but she had no choice but to include him. Jessica hated to admit it, but there were times he was just better at being a P.I. than she was - brief, barely discernible times.
"Um, who's this?" Danny questioned, his hand already outstretched for a handshake.
"Oh, Danny Rand, Malcolm-" Jessica caught herself. Shit, what was Malcolm's last name?
"Malcolm Ducasse," Malcolm replied. If he had been upset with Jessica's apparent memory lapse, he didn't show it. He took Danny's hand firmly, a smile on his face.
"Malcolm," Colleen said. "It's great to finally meet you."
"I think we might have seen one another at the police station after-" Malcolm started, but Jessica stepped forward to cut him off.
"So what did you find out?"
The room stood silent for a moment as they each thought of Midland Circle, of those hours after Matt was presumed dead. Finally, Colleen spoke up. "The building was empty; the whole damn thing."
"Just like the warehouse," Jessica said, mostly to herself. It had been a long shot to send them back to the place Danny and Jessica had fought Matt on the rooftop - but she needed to be sure they were checking off all the boxes that needed checking.
"So, I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask around," Colleen continued. "Turns out some of the neighbours saw a black van out front about a month ago. There were guys moving stuff from the van to the building, or the other way. The neighbours couldn't be sure."
"What kind of stuff? Laboratory equipment?"
"No, carpets," Danny replied. "Three carpets."
"Fuck," Jessica muttered. They all knew what "carpet" meant - they knew the neighbours had actually seen three wrapped up bodies.
"Well, after Malcolm and I had a chat with a police contact in Manhattan we scoured the personnel files for the DA's office down at City Hall," Jessica offered. Malcolm cleared his throat. "Okay, okay. He scoured the files. I figure with Jeri Hogarth's warning and all the shit we've been through I probably shouldn't be seen at City Hall."
Danny and Colleen looked confused, so Malcolm tried to fill in the blanks. "I cross referenced the names of those hired with the names on recent cases. Dennis Shriver hasn't worked a case in almost four months and he looks like this."
Malcolm took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was a print out from The Bulletin website showing the DA's dream team - they had triumphantly prosecuted a human trafficking ring the year before - and standing in the middle was Dennis Shriver. He was young, maybe in his early 30s, with thick brown hair and a tan that screamed money and success.
"Oh my god," Colleen gasped.
"One down, five to go." Jessica flopped down on the couch in the space Malcolm had once occupied. She was upset. She felt more should have been accomplished, more should have been uncovered during such a long day's work.
"Maybe two," Danny said, finding his place beside her on the sofa. Jessica tried to push herself away, move further down the couch to have her own space, but Colleen filled the cushion on her other side. Jessica sighed. She was trapped.
"When we came up nearly empty handed at the building, we figured checking Rand Enterprises couldn't hurt," Colleen declared. "I mean, it worked before."
Of course it had. Why hadn't Jessica thought of asking Danny to use his connections to help? Perhaps it was because she kept forgetting he was a millionaire - his wardrobe alone screamed yoga teacher, not CEO of an international corporation.
"William Morrison, a Rand Enterprises CFO in the early 2000s; the youngest one in company history. He took a job with the Bank of New York - I'm not sure what his title was, but according to the people we spoke with, he dealt with big clients and big dollar figures," Danny told them, as Colleen pulled the laptop across the coffee table towards herself. "He was part of a monthly poker game with some old timers at Rand, but no one's heard from him in months. He didn't cancel the games or anything, just stopped showing up."
"No one at the bank would talk," Colleen offered. "But this is definitely William Morrison."
Colleen turned the laptop to face the other three. There on the screen were side by side images of the same man. One was an image from Google, an old employee picnic at Rand Enterprises that featured William Morrison in a three-legged race. Colleen had zoomed-in on his smiling face. The other picture was a PDF from the medical files. That same face was ashen and small, the life sucked out of it forever.
"Okay, two down, four to go."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By 9 o'clock Claire and Luke still hadn't returned, but Jessica wasn't worried, despite Danny's fretting. She knew they would want to speak to as many regulars at the halfway house as possible, and she knew some of them would have jobs and day passes that allowed them to be out until sunset.
When she could wait no longer, Jessica told Colleen and Danny that spending the night in her own bed was a necessity. They tried to talk her out of it; even Malcolm had. The push and pull between being a potential victim of Wilson Fisk and being her own, independent self was taking its toll. She had wanted the team to take the threats seriously, she had wanted them to recognize the danger - but now she had to justify everywhere she went so they wouldn't worry. Jessica hated it.
30 minutes later, Malcolm and Jessica had made it to their shared hallway. The walk back from the safehouse had been a quiet one. Malcolm had kept looking over his shoulder. It was a smart move, one Jessica would have employed if she weren't so desperate to prove that everything was alright, they were safe at least for one night. She couldn't properly explain it, but she just needed to feel the solitude of her own apartment and the warmth of her own bed.
Before she left, Danny had commented that there was strength in numbers - he was right, and Jessica had just been convincing herself that teamwork was necessary for their success - but then he and Colleen sat on the couch with her and she couldn't stop her skin from crawling. It was too much, too soon. No matter their good intentions, she needed a night off from the super friends.
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Malcolm asked. Jessica knew he was aware her answer would be a resounding "yes", but asked all the same.
"Of course I will," she told him.
Malcolm bowed his head once they got to his front door, just one door down from her own. Jessica kept walking, her keys already in hand, although she was sure the door would be unlocked. Turning back, Jessica spied Malcolm - he was just waiting there, waiting for something Jessica couldn't provide. The assurance that death wasn't around the corner where Wilson Fisk was concerned - where Kilgrave was concerned - was something Jessica couldn't offer.
"Hey," she called down the hall to him, even though he was close enough that the elevated pitch in her voice wasn't necessary. Malcolm looked up and met her eye. "I'll be fine."
He scoffed. "I know that."
"Then what's the problem?"
Malcolm shook his head, his posture slumping as he leaned against his own apartment door. Jessica felt he was almost embarrassed about what he wanted to say. "Would it be cowardly of me to wonder…" but he didn't finish - he couldn't.
"Wonder what will happen to you?" Jessica replied. She was now leaning against her own door. They stood like that, feet from one another, resting against opposite walls in the grimy hallway, their heads hung low.
"Never mind," Malcolm finally said.
"No, not never mind." Jessica looked up, bringing her free hand to her forehead to brush away a thick lock of black hair. "You're not a coward. I know I give you shit, but you're not a coward - never have been. I guess I just always thought you lived for this stuff. I mean, I tell you to back off all the time, and you never do."
"Well, ignoring the fact that you need me-" Malcolm began. He pretended not to hear Jessica when she cracked: Do I? "-I guess after Kilgrave died it felt easier to be here. There wasn't a fear someone would take over my mind."
"And now there is," Jessica finished. She groaned, frustration oozing from her pores. She wasn't frustrated with Malcolm, and she knew he understood that. Instead she was frustrated she couldn't make things better for the people who cared about her the most: Trish, Matt, and now Malcolm. "If you want to take a pass, maybe get out of town, I'd understand."
"No," Malcolm replied in a gravelly voice. Jessica wondered if he was stifling a wave of angry tears. "I'll stay; I want to help."
He turned around and pressed his key into the lock of his door.
"Malcolm…" Jessica started, but he was already inside his apartment, the door clicking closed behind him. She sighed again - it felt like all she ever did was sigh, but there was just so much to sigh about.
Jessica reached for her own doorknob and turned; it was unlocked, just as she thought it would be. Stepping inside and flicking the light switch up, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen came into view. Jessica couldn't help but gasp.
"You should really lock your door," Matt told her.
He was sitting on her desk, dressed in his full Daredevil uniform, the red rubber gleaming under the hot, white light of her office. Jessica pushed back on her door, just to make sure it was tightly closed, then flipped the lock, engaging the scant amount of protection it provided.
She raised an eyebrow at Matt, before tossing her keys onto the floor and shedding her leather coat on top of them.
"Breaking and entering again, Murdock? This is definitely becoming an issue. You might have to see someone about it," she cracked, striding across the small space and into her kitchen.
"I'm seeing you about it," he told her. "And you're out of booze."
Jessica chuckled. "You checked my fridge for refreshments?"
"I checked your fridge to help determine how long it would take you to get here from the Harlem safehouse. I figured an extra stop at the liquor store would add a few minutes."
"Hmm," she mused. "So you're following me."
Matt didn't reply, but he did shift his position and the rubber suit squeaked against the wood of her desk.
"Why are you wearing that? And what the fuck are you doing here? And when you realized I didn't have booze why didn't you zip over to the store for me - save me a trip?"
"I'm technically on the clock for Fisk. I wanted to check in with you and find out what the team knows. And I can't very well walk into a store this way," he replied, answering her questions one by one.
"I thought we discussed the whole not blowing your cover thing?" She walked back to the door and grudgingly bent down to pick up her discarded coat.
"Where are you going?"
"Guess," she cracked. "Meet me on the roof." With that, Jessica scooped up her keys and stormed out the door.
Matt listened to her heavy boot steps clomp down the hallway. When the metal elevator doors screeched shut, Matt walked to the light switch and flicked it off, before slipping out her open window.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"We've got to stop meeting this way," Jessica joked as she made her way to the ledge, a whiskey bottle - finally - already open in her hand.
Matt noticed he was also carrying a plastic bag with two six-packs tucked inside, the bag straining against the weight. "Unfortunately, this is the only way we can meet."
"And here I was thinking we shouldn't be meeting at all," Jessica scoffed, before slumping down on the tar top roof, her back against the ledge.
"Jerry Comber, Ansel Nichols, Steven Sage, and Bruce O'Bryan."
"What?" Jessica said. She took another gulp of whiskey and pushed her weight into the ledge, trying to relax. It was nothing like her bed - the bed she told Colleen and Danny she was heading home to.
"The four other men," Matt replied,
Of course he knows about that, she thought as the ledge jutted out into the smoothness of her back, forcing her to sit up and look at him.
"So, when you said you came over to find out what the team knows you really meant you've been spying on us all, using your crazy good hearing to eavesdrop on our conversations, and there's nothing I can offer you that would be new information."
Jessica wasn't sure why she was mad at him. Maybe it was because he made an entire day of hitting the streets, an entire day of investigation seem worthless with one sentence. Maybe it was because she had wanted to do that investigating with him, not worrying about him. Or maybe it was because Matt's plan was working; he was getting information during his time with Fisk - and the more it worked, the longer he would have to stay.
Matt slipped from his perch above her, allowing himself to settle in next to her, the rubber of his suit scraping on the tar and pressing against her hip. "Fisk ordered me to follow your Mr. Miller."
"So, he works for The Hand. We were right," Jessica said.
"I can't confirm that. Nothing I've seen suggests The Hand is involved, but nothing suggests they're not."
"That's fucking lawyer speak if I ever heard it, Murdock."
"Let's just say Fisk wants to know what he's doing and who he meets," he told her. "And when I was following him, well, I saw you."
Matt cleared his throat, and Jessica turned to face him. She wondered if his white skin matched the shade of his suit underneath, if embarrassment and maybe even jealousy were peeking through. "And you saw me and Rand?"
"Kissing," he finished.
"You know we weren't kissing," Jessica replied - and she was sure that was true. Matt Murdock was super-powered, and she was certain he would have used those powers to discern the quickening of her heart was due to fear, not passion.
Matt squirmed against her, the same as he had done while sitting on her desk just 20 minutes before. Jessica wasn't sure if his suit was just uncomfortable - of course it is - or if she was having an effect on him.
"I know you weren't kissing, not for real; but Danny's pulse was racing. You'd think he'd never been touched by a girl," Matt finally joked.
"Well, certainly not a girl like me," Jessica quipped back. She rolled the whiskey bottle in her hand, the bottom resting on the roof. The liquid sloshed inside, and the rhythmic splashing filled the silence between them.
Jessica rested her head back and waited for Matt to do the same. As if reading her, feeling her needs, Matt let his head fall back against the ledge.
"How did you know about the USB?" Jessica asked.
"Like you said, I've been eavesdropping." Matt slyly smiled.
"And you're not worried Fisk will find out you've been slipping out at night?"
"I was, at first. But he just recently met with Mr. Miller. I think maybe he got another dose of whatever they've been giving him."
"How can you be sure?"
"He sent Vanessa away for a few days. She's staying at the Plaza," Matt told her. "And he seems more confident. When he says sleep, I think he's sure I'm doing it."
Jessica took another swallow of whiskey, this one longer. She was using the drink to silence her worry. She wanted to scream: What if you're wrong? What if he knows? What if he's playing you the way you think you're playing him? What if he kills you?
But after the booze settled in her stomach, Jessica thought better of herself. There was no reason to yell at him, no reason to ruin what little time they had together.
Sensing her uneasiness, Matt continued, trying hard to keep their meeting about business. "I searched the condo this morning and found another USB. It was hiding in Fisk's office inside the fold of a fake book."
"How did you read it?" Jessica wondered.
Matt chuckled. "I didn't. I sent it to Foggy."
"You used Fisk's computer?"
"Trust me when I tell you he won't know," Matt said, trying to reassure her, but the quickening of her breathing was unmistakable. "I made sure to cover my tracks."
"You contacted Foggy. He's with Trish," Jessica said between staggered breaths. "You compromised her."
Matt turned to his right and grabbed Jessica's shoulders. He pulled her towards him, their eyes locked even though his were covered by a mask. He slowed his own breathing - in and out, in and out - and through the rise and fall of his chest he willed Jessica to follow suit. Soon she was breathing easier, the wave of anxiety subsiding.
"Jessica, I would never do anything to hurt Trish. Never. But she and Foggy were able to read the files," he said. "The names were there; everything was there. The two men you uncovered - a former CFO and a District Attorney - plus, an investment banker, a lobbyist, a former city councillor who worked in private practice, and a computer programmer."
Jessica nodded in the affirmative, but Matt kept his hands locked on her shoulders, the leather of her jacket wrinkling underneath his touch.
"I think I don't want to think about this anymore tonight," she finally told him quietly. Malcolm had been right, she was tired.
Matt could feel her body weakening under his hold, and he could tell it was all coming down on her. He wondered if she would have allowed herself to melt into the arms of Malcolm or Danny or even Luke. He wondered if she felt safe enough with him to really let herself go. But just as he prepared to pick her up and carry her back to the apartment, Jessica pulled herself from his grasp and stood up under her own power.
She walked to the door of the roof, leaving behind her alcohol. Matt followed, carrying the open bottle of whiskey in one hand and the bag of beer in the other.
Once they reached her apartment, Jessica repeated the same steps as before - dropping her keys and shedding her leather jacket. Then she kicked off her boots and pulled off her shirt. She dragged herself into the bedroom, her jeans and bra still on, before flopping down on her bed. Matt could feel the whoosh come at him in waves - first the flop, then the turning and twisting on top of the sheets, then the fluffing of pillows and finally the acceptance of her preferred sleeping position.
He walked to her kitchen and filled her fridge with booze, before preparing to slip out the window once more. But then he remembered that damn front door, the one that was never locked. He walked back to it and clicked the lock into place.
"Are you staying?" he heard her ask from the bedroom.
Matt stood motionless in the hall. "I can't," he quietly replied.
"I know," he heard Jessica say.
After a minute, her breathing deepened as sleep overtook her. Matt stalked back to the window, prepared to pull himself out into the night, but something stopped him - an invisible hand taking his own and leading him back to the bedroom.
Suddenly, he was standing at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep. Well, not watching, but sensing. He could hear the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and feel the gentle heat that escaped her pores.
"Maybe I can stay for just a minute," he said, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.