A/N: Hi, there - this was initially planned as a two-shot, but has grown into a four-shot because the flashback prologue I planned out got longer than I'd intended. It's essentially completed and just needs some brushing up, so I should be able to post the rest of it in a couple of days. After the first three chapters, there will be a significant time-jump from Trish and Jessica's teenage years to the finale of the show. This first part takes place after Trish has become aware of Jessica's powers, but before Jessica has intervened to save her from her mother. I found it so interesting that after such a turbulent beginning to their relationship, they went on to become so beautifully close - and I guess this is my way of trying to explore how that happened and what it leads to after the show.

Thanks for checking it out!

Jessica Jones had always been something of an insomniac, but ever since the accident, it had gotten much worse.

She could not just lie down when she was tired and hope to doze off; sleep had to drag her from consciousness. Often she would sit on her bed with only a dim lamp on to give her enough light to doodle or read by – usually with her door closed, but if she forgot to get to it, she was often too lazy to get up and remedy it. She had learned to recognize the tread of Mrs. Walker (often accompanied by a date) and her daughter. No words were ever exchanged.

Until tonight, when Jessica had decided to watch an episode of Patsy for the first time. It was a rerun of the second season's finale, broadcast while everyone was hard at work shooting season three. Trish usually didn't make it home until quite late. It was just past 11:30 at night when Jessica heard her footsteps coming down the hall, and she timed the asking of her question to coincide when Trish would just be walking past her open door.

"So what is it like, is it weird?"

A pause; Jessica sensed Trish was weighing the benefits of pretending she hadn't heard the question and just walking on. But after a few moments, Trish backtracked, not quite stepping into the room. "What?"

"Kissing. On TV, I mean."

That got her attention, and Trish warily stepped inside. "Why're you so curious all of a sudden?"

Jessica offered a half-hearted shrug. When it seemed Trish was going to leave, she threw out – in the most bored voice she could muster – "I dunno. I was just flipping channels tonight and I saw one of—part of one of the episodes of your show, when you kissed that guy."

"Red hair or blonde?"

"Blondie."

"Oh, yeah."

"Given your total lack of enthusiasm, I have to assume the actual act of kissing on set isn't as titillating as the glitz and glamor of TV would like us to believe."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" Trish asked, her tone not quite mean but very sarcastic. She ventured further inside the room, arms folded. "It sucks, yeah. You've got to do multiple takes, first of all. And there's dozens of crew members, most of whom you've never met, all sitting around watching you. The first take we did, I closed my eyes and kinda missed and only got, like, half of his lip," she admitted with a small laugh, and she was bolstered to see that got a tiny grin—the first she'd seen—out of Jessica. Trish braved a few more steps closer as she got somber once again. "The director can make it pretty horrible, though. Sometimes they're nice and don't want to push you when you're uncomfortable, but they can be total tyrants, too."

"They? You've had more than one?"

"Sure; lots of directors work on TV shows. That kiss you saw—ugh, the director was the worst. After each take he kept telling Gordon that he was doing a fantastic job, but then he'd just lay into me. Kept telling me I had to be more seductive, or not pull back so quick, or look more excited, or touch Gordon's face, or whatever."

"He sounds like an asshole."

"He could be kinda gross, yeah." When Jessica didn't ask any follow-up questions (though she was desperately trying to think of one so Trish wouldn't leave), Trish wondered if she could stay longer. After a few moments, she figured that Jessica was upfront enough that if she wanted to be alone, she'd have told Trish to get out. So, she took the opportunity to get a couple more things off her chest. "Um. The first time I had an on-screen kiss, I was twelve. The guy I kissed was sixteen."

"Ew, what? Is that even legal?" Jessica asked, her voice thick with disgust.

Trish shrugged, arms still folded. "Technically, sure. We were both minors and our parents signed off on everything. And besides, it was my first movie—my first anything—so I didn't feel like I could complain, and my mother sure as hell wasn't going to."

"Was that your first kiss ever?"

Trish's immediate instinct was to say yes, but after giving it a moment's thought, she realized that wasn't the case. She hesitated, then sat down on the foot of the bed, far away from Jessica. "Sort of."

"What's that mean?"

"It means, um…" Trish laughed self-consciously. "You're gonna think it's dumb."

There were few things Jessica loathed more than being baited – a habit most of the kids at her school seemed to enjoy, whether they were fishing for compliments or sympathy, or trying to tempt someone with a juicy piece of gossip. But Trish's vulnerability was so obvious and her sudden timidity so out of character that Jessica could not bring herself to scoff.

"Try me."

Trish nodded, staring at a spot on the bed. "When I was really little, like five or six, we had the neighbors over for a barbecue. They had a son my age; his name was Cody." She took a deep breath to steady herself, embarrassed to find that tears were stinging her eyes. "We were playing house. I had this beautiful playhouse I loved, that was maybe five feet high and four or five wide. There was a little table and kitchenette thing in there, so I told him to sit down and we'd pretend to be married. I put a little plastic plate in front of him and he grabbed my wrist and he said if we were married, we should kiss, because married people kiss. I said okay, but then he kept saying 'one more' and I—I hated it. I guess that doesn't really count as kissing, but he kept putting his mouth on mine even though I didn't want him to. Now that I'm saying it out loud, I'm realizing I should've just pushed him and run away, but I was afraid he'd tell my mother and that she'd get upset with me, and since the days I started to understand speech, I have learned that upsetting my mother is the fastest way to an early grave."

This was the longest conversation they'd ever had, and certainly the most Trish had ever said to her at once. Jessica fidgeted. She'd never been very good at comforting people, and after losing her family, she'd especially become hostile to the idea of vacant, automatic apologies. She didn't want to just hand one of those along, but she had to say something.

"This Cody kid. Is he in Westchester?"

"No, this was back when we were in L.A."

"Oh." Jessica snorted. Otherwise I'd kick his ass. "You know what, though? If your guys' parents had seen what was going on, they'd have probably just laughed. Probably encouraged him, thought it was cute that he was trying to be all affectionate. It's sick."

"You wouldn't have stood for it, would you?" Trish asked with a sad smile. "You'd have shoved him right off you."

Jessica shrugged, an action Trish was starting to notice seemed to be her default reaction to most things. "Sure, maybe. My mom always told me I should never let anyone touch me if I didn't want them to."

This contrast to Mrs. Walker wasn't spoken, but Trish could hear the words rattling around inside Jessica: your mother's livelihood is selling your body to other people, letting them touch you whenever THEY want to, even especially when you don't want them to. That's sick. She made you sick. But then Trish was immediately struck with the realization that this was the first thing she had ever heard Jessica say about anyone in her family.

"She sounds smart, your mom."

"Yeah. She was." There was yet another shrug, and Jessica cast about for a way to divert the conversation back to Trish. "So, um. Was that it, then? Aside from that little jerk-face Cody and your TV hunks, have you ever been kissed?"

"No."

Jessica was surprised by the immediate honesty. "How come? There must be loads of guys who'd like to kiss you."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to kiss them," came the terse reply.

"Oh. Well, um…" (Is she blushing? Trish wondered.) "I actually haven't, either. In real life, and definitely not on television. So uh, solidarity?" She held out her fist for a bump.

Mrs. Walker's voice came floating down the hall: "Patricia! Are you in bed yet? Your light's still on! You need your beauty sleep, young lady! If you're still up in two minutes, you'll be doing promos through Christmas!"

Trish abruptly got to her feet, but she still bumped her fist against Jessica's. "Goodnight, Jessica Jones."

And so began a pattern: Jessica started leaving her door open a little wider at night, and Trish would come by to talk. At first, she'd knock on the doorframe and one of them would try to come up with a good ice breaker before she walked into the room. But as time passed, Trish would get ready for bed first and then just come right in, sitting on Jessica's bed. Sometimes they would talk, but they'd often do other things like listen to each other's favorite music, or read. Jessica would often moan about how lucky Trish was to just have an on-set tutor as Trish would help her work her way through an English assignment.

"Are there any subjects you do like?"

"I dunno. It's more like which subjects suck the least, y'know? Like, chemistry isn't always horrible. Or math. I like equations; they're like mysteries. It's something you get to figure out, and the answer's always different. It's not like history, where the outcome of the War of 1812 is always the same, or English, where The Great Gatsby always ends the same."

"Okay, I will give you a hundred dollars if you can tell me what happened during the War of 1812, or what happens in The Great Gatsby."

"Um…" Jessica started to laugh, and that got Trish going as well. "Someone wrote an overture? Come on!" she cackled. "That's gotta be worth something? A ten-spot, at least."

"I'll give you five if you can hum it."

Jessica told her to shut up and hand back her English homework.

She continued to work on her essay while Trish continued going over a script. The next time Jessica glanced up, she saw that Trish had fallen asleep, leaning against the wall. With no idea how long she'd been that way, Jessica gave Trish's leg a nudge with her foot. "Hey, yo, Trish." Trish's only response to this was to sigh a little dreamily, then slide off the wall and fully onto the bed.

"Trish, c'mon, go to bed."

"I like that," came a throaty, very tired-sounding response.

"Like…what? Getting nudged?"

"No." She sighed again, very deeply, with her eyes closed. "I like that you call me Trish. Sounds so much better than freaking Patsy…that name is dumb. And Patricia makes me sound like an old lady."

"Um…okay, well, glad I could help." Jessica glanced at the door. "But come on, you can't fall asleep in here. If you're not in your own room by the time your mom gets home from—"

"Not coming home," Trish mumbled. "Didn't you see the note Roseanne left on the fridge? Mom's gonna stay over at her sister's in New Canaan tonight. She must've phoned earlier."

"Huh. Teenage TV star is home alone, and doesn't throw a kegger? That must be one for the tabloids."

"Half the staff is here, genius," Trish chuckled. "Roseanne went home, but the cook, the chauffer, and whoever the hell else are in their place on the grounds."

"Bet if you gave 'em some hush money, they wouldn't say anything. Bet you could even get them to do the dry cleaning afterwards, too."

Trish laughed again, half-burying her face into the pillow she was snuggling. "I wouldn't have taken you for a party girl type."

"I'm not. Quiet evening at home's plenty good enough for me."

She said nothing more, and Trish asked nothing more. It had only recently occurred to Trish to wonder about Jessica's friends – where they were, if she had any. It seemed like she spent all her spare time at home in her room, and she never had any friends over. To be fair, it wasn't as though Mrs. Walker had openly invited her to do so, but still, Trish would've expected it to at least come up. For her part, Jessica didn't like to talk about it. She used to have a small group she'd hang out with at school, but none of them were people she'd consider close friends. None of them had really tried to comfort her after the accident, never going beyond the staple "I'm so sorry for your loss" remarks; and besides, she wasn't sure what she'd have said if they did. She had made a habit of self-isolation, and nobody had tried to even peek through the curtains she'd drawn around herself.

That is, they hadn't until now. An international television star was curled up on her bed, fast asleep.

Not having attended a sleepover since she was ten years old, Jessica wasn't sure of the protocol here. Should I wake her up? I should wake her up, right? Tell her to go to her own room…? How much is she going to freak out if she wakes up and realizes what happened? Is she gonna think it's weird if I go to bed while she's asleep in here?

These contemplations kept cycling in her mind for several minutes, getting her to no conclusion fast. Finally she turned off her light, wondering if that might somehow jar Trish awake. Nothing happened. Jessica shifted her legs under the covers, tugging the blanket up to cover herself. Trish—lying on top of the blankets—stirred a little, but didn't seem to wake. She was hugging a pillow close to herself as if it were a teddy bear, and Jessica couldn't bring herself to wake her up.

She looks so cute like that.

Around the time this thought floated across her mind, Jessica realized a wide smile had somehow made its way onto her face. Of course no one else had seen it, but she instinctively replaced it with a scowl all the same and turned on her side, away from Trish.

It's not that weird if she sleeps here. It'll be fine.

When Jessica woke up the next morning, Trish was gone. She wasn't sure if this was a huge relief or disappointment; surely there would've been some awkwardness? Maybe Trish even woke up in the middle of the night and went back to her own room then. But that seemed like an unlikely scenario, given that Jessica was a very light sleeper, and that she'd been a little on edge last night in particular. Sharing a bed with Trish had been nerve-wracking, and it hadn't lead to the best night's sleep.

It was going to be awkward when they saw each other next, and Jessica wished it would come sooner rather than later so it could just be gotten over with – but whenever Patsy was shooting, they never saw each other before nighttime. Trish had to be on set early for hair and makeup, and Jessica liked to sleep in to the last possible moment before she had to get up for school. Trish was often on set for ten hours a day, which included her tutoring sessions. By the time they'd gotten dinner, eluded Trish's many legions of fans, and driven thirty miles home, it was quite late.

Tonight they were later than usual. Jessica had dozed off while drawing in bed, but she snapped wide awake when she heard Mrs. Walker's voice bursting down the hallway. Yelling was par for the course, and normally Jessica would've just put on some headphones and played some Nirvana through it all, but this time she could hear Trish crying and she sat up at once. At first she thought Trish was just being frog-marched to her bedroom, but they stopped in the bathroom first. Jessica stood up, walking slowly to the door as she tried to think of what she should do.

"No, please!" Trish cried.

"Shouldn't have eaten all that pizza, should you?" asked Mrs. Walker. "Then we wouldn't have to do this! You know the camera adds ten pounds, Patricia! Want them to call you Fatsy?"

There was a gagging sound, and Jessica snapped. She pushed the bathroom door open. "Stop it!"

Mrs. Walker looked aghast at the interruption—not that Jessica was seeing what she was doing, but that she would dare assert herself like this. "Get out! This is private!"

"Let. Her. Go."

"Jess, get out," Trish said.

Jessica paid her no mind as Mrs. Walker straightened up. "This is family business. You're not part of any family, least of all this one."

"You promised not to save me," Trish whimpered.

The reply was terse, and Jessica didn't take her eyes off her adoptive mother: "Can't help it."

Mrs. Walker took Jessica's arm in a tight grip, and that was it. Without a second thought, Jessica shoved her as hard as she could into the hallway, where she crashed against the wall hard enough to bring down several picture frames with her. Fear was evident in her eyes as she stared up at Jessica, and she scampered off when the girl flexed like she'd come at her again.

Jessica turned around, offering a hand of assistance to Trish. "Are you okay? Did she hurt you?"

Trish stared up at her, not moving. "Now she knows."

"Good."

When two more seconds passed and Trish still hadn't taken her hand, Jessica self-consciously withdrew it and walked out. She shut off her light and threw herself into bed, listening to her Walkman. After a while she closed her eyes, feeling tired but—as always—unable to fall asleep. When she opened her eyes again, it was to see a shadowy figure next to her bed. Imagining for a moment that Mrs. Walker had come to try and surprise-attack her in revenge, Jessica shot up, but swore in annoyance when she realized it was Trish.

"Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack," she muttered, taking off her headphones. She wondered if she'd actually rather have a heart attack than the conversation they were surely about to get into.

But Trish only asked, "Was that weird? I mean…my sleeping in here the other night."

"Um…I dunno, was it?"

"Could I…" Trish sounded a little breathless, and she wiped her eyes. "Could I sleep in here again? I guess you wouldn't like that, sorry. It's just—lately when I close my eyes, I just see my mom trying to make me throw me up, and it's like I can taste the bile in my throat. Or she's stuffing those weight-loss pills down my throat till I can't breathe. I know, that must sound dumb. But sleeping in here, it kinda helped to feel like I wasn't alone."

Their circumstances might've been somewhat different, but Jessica was all too familiar with the horror of recurring nightmares.

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled, pulling the blanket back. "Guess your mom was trying to make some kind of statement to the media when she bought this big-ass bed for me, huh? Sure looked nice and luxurious in the photo shoot. Get in if you want."

Jessica's eyes hadn't adjusted enough to the dark yet to see that Trish was smiling as she did so. "Just tonight," Trish said. "I promise."

But of course, "just tonight" stretched into two nights, then three, then four, then five. It seemed that Mrs. Walker had been sufficiently cowed by Jessica, and although she still barked orders around the set, she laid off at home. This meant Trish was able to stay up later than usual, which in turn meant that her mother—fearful of going down that hallway, lest Jessica decide to do something—had no idea the girls were sharing a bed at night.

"Are you drawing?" Trish asked one night. Jessica was sitting up by the headboard with a notebook while Trish was laid out with a script, her feet by the pillow. "What do you draw, can I see?"

"Nothing, and no."

"Draw me," Trish laughed, striking an over-the-top glamorous pose and causing Jessica to laugh as well. "Draw me like one of your French girls." When the only response this got was an expression of confused disgust, she added, "Come on! That was a quote. Didn't you see Titanic? Or is Leonardo DiCaprio not your dreamboat of choice?"

"Oh. Sure, I saw it. I just didn't memorize the whole damn script is all."

"I saw it six times. We even got to go to the premiere," Trish said. "I'm kind of surprised you saw it, actually. I'd think it'd be too romantic for you."

"You don't know me," Jessica deadpanned. "Besides, it's a disaster movie. I dig movies where everyone dies."

"Oh, come on," Trish scoffed. "I've got your number, now. You try to act all tough and distant, but you're secretly a romantic at heart, aren't you?" There was no response to this, which seemed typical. Trish used her foot to nudge Jessica's hip. "Hey. If you really liked watching people suffer, you wouldn't have stepped in that day in the bathroom."

Jessica shoved Trish's foot away. "Watching it in the movies is different from seeing it in real life." Annoyed that she had to make that distinction, she shut her notebook and threw it in the drawer of her nightstand, then rolled off the bed to walk to the bathroom.

Once she heard the shower water going, Trish figured it was safe to check out the notebook, reasoning that if Jessica really hadn't wanted her to see it she would've taken it into the bathroom with her. There were some scattered history notes, but doodles took up most of the space. On some pages they were just tiny cartoons in the margins, but others were a bit more fully-formed, actual sketches. Towards the end of the notebook, Trish recognized some of the sketches – they looked like her. Her heartbeat sped up; she turned on the nightstand lamp and brought the book closer to her eyes.

This was very different from the fanart she received on a daily basis. Some of those portraits she found touching, like the ones from younger kids, but others were a tad more off-putting: they were accompanied by notes declaring undying, zealous love befitting that of a stalker, or completed with mediums beyond crayons such as what seemed to be actual human hair in an uncomfortable number of instances. The intention of most was surely innocent (at least, it helped her to think that), but she had to wonder if anybody bothered to consider for a moment how they might sound or the pictures might look to a complete stranger. Some drawings made it to her where she was posed sensually, sometimes only partially dressed (in scenes resembling nothing that had ever aired on Patsy). She was assured in writing that these were intended to be compliments, but surely they had to know how creepy it was?

Jessica's drawings weren't fantasies. None of them even appeared to have been done outside of Trish's presence, for they captured moments the two of them had shared together in this room: Trish laughing over some newspaper comic strips; listening to Nirvana for the first time, eyes closed, leaning against the wall with headphones on; brooding as she pored over a script. She was impressed with the amount of emotion Jessica was able to get through with relatively little detail, and wished she could discuss them with her. Compliment her on them. Tell her how nice it felt to be noticed in a low-key environment.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she realized the shower wasn't running anymore. She quickly returned the notebook to its drawer and resumed her former position, reading script revisions. Jessica had actually come out of the bathroom a couple of minutes ago and seen Trish looking at the drawings. Seeing Trish's face light up filled Jessica with a warmth she hadn't felt in months.

Wish I was good at talking about this stuff so she'd know.

"Is it cool if I turn this off, or do you need it?" Jessica asked, standing by the light switch.

Trish shut the script and tossed it onto the floor. "Oh, go ahead."

When the nightstand lamp had gone off as well, they were lying next to each other as usual, Jessica on her back and Trish on her side, facing the wall. When they'd been in the darkness only a couple of minutes, Jessica whispered an apology, prompting Trish to turn onto her other side and ask, "What?"

Jessica's voice was short and impatient, relaying how upset she was with herself for being unable to articulate herself in a more compassionate way. "I know you told me not to save you, but I should have done something sooner. About your mom, I mean. It shouldn't have taken…I mean, I should've done something about it. I'm sorry."

By contrast, Trish's voice was soft. "Don't be sorry. Even if we weren't friends like we are now, you'd have still stepped into that bathroom. We're friends, aren't we?" she added, sounding anxious.

"Huh. Yeah, I guess so," Jessica said thoughtfully.

Trish's hand found hers in the darkness. "Is this okay?"

Feeling safe—unexposed—in the dark, Jessica squeezed her hand. "Yeah."

Still on her side, Trish scooted a little closer. She took her hand out of Jessica's loose grasp in favor of resting her arm over the girl's stomach. This was likely pushing it, given the sharp inhale it produced from Jessica. Nobody touches you unless you want them to, I remember. I know. "Um, what about this?"

To her surprise, Jessica shifted so that her arm could snake under Trish's shoulders, her hand grazing her waist. "It's fine. It's good."

With her chin near Jessica's shoulder, Trish squeezed her a little closer. As it got later, she began to feel heavier, and Jessica was able to deduce that she'd fallen asleep. At some point in the middle of the night, she gave Trish's forehead a gentle kiss.

Don't worry. I'm here. I'll be here.