So, yeah, we've gone a teensy bit AU for AoS. I'm thinking post-Framework, pre-diner. Or post-post-post diner? Whatever works for you. Fun train!
One shot, one kill.
Sometimes a kill wasn't all you wanted. Sometimes, you had to set bait.
The stun grenade blew as the target barrelled through the window. He'd twisted like he'd known it was there - hell of a thing - but he had nowhere to go, thrown into the wall like so much meat.
He was fast, and strong, and he could take hits like he wasn't even human, so Frank had seconds - and not a lot of them. He bent to seal the gas mask over the spider's mouth and nose. The mask under his fingers wasn't some spandex shit, but no way it wasn't porous.
And if it was, he had a plan for that too.
The spider jerked his head to the side, chest hitching to avoid taking a breath. Frank dropped a knee in his sternum, heard the wheeze, the gasp. Knockout gas met lungs and, with some minor struggling, the fight was over before it ever started.
A slow thirty-count later, Frank stood cautiously. Nudged the ribs with the toe of his boot. Nothing.
Good.
Stage two.
-o o-
"No." Ross stood, arms crossed, in the hangar of the New Avengers Facility. "The council has not given permission to engage."
"This is an internal matter," Tony snarled. "Get out of my way."
"Internal how, exactly?" Ross looked smug. "Spider-man, whoever he is, isn't part of the Avengers Initiative. If this - what are they calling him? Punisher? - can resolve the situation, we will allow him to do so. It's quiet and it's neat. I like quiet. I like neat."
"Even if there were any evidence to support that whatsoever, I would respectfully disagree. Get out of my way before you wish you had."
The many hands of Ross' entourage moved towards their many guns. Tony looked beyond them, smirked and relaxed.
Ross frowned, suspicious. "Something funny?"
"Little bit." Tony shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I mean, do I look like a distraction to you? I'm trying it out, but honestly, it feels a little weird." He smiled beatifically. "You know who else never signed the Accords, Ross? Three guesses, and the first two don't count."
Ross spun, just in time to catch the flash of a suit of armor, disappearing at speed into the dark horizon.
"People keep telling me I don't deserve her. It would be a little insulting, but obviously they're right. Hey, what do you know about flower arranging?"
-o o-
Jessica tried Parker's cell. Nothing, except a stuttered suggestion to leave a message; she didn't. It gave her a moment of unease. If he really was Spider-man - and after an informative few minutes on YouTube, she was almost a hundred percent certain he was - she couldn't imagine he wouldn't be waiting for her call.
Which meant something was wrong.
On the other hand, the guy was at least as strong as she and Luke, faster than that Elektra chick had been, and he could take a hell of a beating. And nothing had appeared in her news alerts to suggest he was in trouble - no sightings.
So maybe he was - yeah, there she drew a blank. Homework?
She'd already been cooling her heels in the shelter's huge community room for an hour, waiting for the night manager to have a moment free. She decided to give it another ten minutes, then throw it in and go looking for her damn client instead.
The place was as Mahoney described: nice enough, for what it was. But what it was was an emergency shelter turned permanent address for twice as many people as it was ever equipped to handle. She could see how it would be easy to get involved - for Parker to want to do something. New York was his city, but this was his neighborhood - his people - and she had begun to understand how important that was. If you were an idiot. Like Luke. Like Matt. (Goddammit, Matt.)
Not her, she decided, roughly half a second before one of the huge produce shelves lining the walls gave an alarming creak and buckled under the added weight of a couple kids who'd decided to take up climbing.
A jumping dive took her the full length of the room and then she was there, one hand raised to firmly brace the shelf and the other steadying the kids. And, bonus, the angle of the shelf was shallow enough to avoid everything sliding onto her head. Her luck had had to change some time.
In the shocked silence, she look back over her shoulder, about to suggest someone might want to do something useful. A gray-haired, matronly looking woman with rolled up sleeves and air of brisk efficiency was already coming forward.
"You two get on to bed now!" The woman waved the younger boys off, and then beckoned a few older ones forward. "Let's get this stuff down, we'll set it over there."
A minute later and Jessica was standing to the side again, out from underfoot, and completely ignored. Compared to Spider-man, Jessica guessed she wasn't anything to blog home about. Or whatever kids did now.
After the shelves were fixed, and rapidly restocked, the woman bustled towards her with a smile. She smelled like flowers and fresh tobacco.
"I'm Marlene Adams - the night manager. Thank you for your help, Ms Jones - Jamal and Louie are good boys, but I swear they don't have a single shred of common sense between them."
"Yeah, I'm a real big hero." Jessica shrugged. "I need to talk to someone about Elle Iwamura."
The woman's expression chilled. "You and half the city, it seems."
"Look, my client wants to help. You don't have to talk to me, but maybe if you do we can get Ellie back safe."
"So she can be taken away by someone else?" Marlene shook her head. "At least I know she's in good hands with Spider-man. He wouldn't harm a hair on a child's head, and anyone who says different is a fool or a liar."
Great, another true believer. Jessica huffed and raised her hands in surrender. "Okay. I'm going to lay this on the table, and I'd appreciate it if you don't call the cops. Spider-man's my client, and he's in way over his head with this. Help me help him," she added, in her very best impression of Trish.
Marlene's expression flickered guiltily. She knew, Jessica realized. Not who Spider-man was, maybe, but she'd figured out he wasn't much more than a kid himself. "What do you need to know?" She capitulated, after a beat.
"The feds wanted Ellie, no one's said why. I bet you've had more than one person come through here who might be of interest - they ever get pulled out?"
"No, absolutely not" Marlene shook her head firmly. "And no one said anything to those people about Ellie either. And even if they had, I have no idea why anyone from the government would be interested. The girl's just good at - at impressions." Marlene, apparently honestly to a fault, pursed her lips. "Very, very good at impressions."
Parker had mentioned that as well; Jessica filed it away. "Where was she before she came here?"
"We don't have her records. She came in on her own a month ago, she said her brother left her. Gave us her name, but she wouldn't give us his, or tell us anything else about herself. We've been running the usual searches, of course, but everything is so backed up and the quakes didn't make that any quicker."
They'd run Ellie's name, they'd run her photo, and the feds had come calling. Elle Iwamura was in someone's database, and Jessica was willing to lay odds it wasn't the registration act's.
Her 'brother' had probably been trying to hide her, and it wasn't a bad plan - it was easy to get lost in the system, fall through the cracks. He'd probably been planning to come back, but hadn't counted on dropping the kid at a shelter that actually gave a damn.
-o o-
"Now, that's interesting." Fitz leaned forward, intently studying the feed from the camera trained on the main entrance of the shelter. A woman was leaving the building; he tapped the screen twice on her face, surrounding her in a yellow box and initiating a live trace.
Jemma touched a hand to his shoulder and leaned closer. "Interesting-interesting, interesting-worrying or interesting-we're-being-surrounded?"
"Interesting. And a little worrying, admittedly." Fitz looked back and up. "That is one Ms Jessica Jones."
"Really?" Jemma squinted at the now-grainy footage, monitor having switched to an ATM feed as the trace followed the woman towards the subway. "No. Really ? You're sure? I thought she'd be taller."
Coulson wandered over from the mission table, May at his side. He studied the footage, now from the subway. "Huh."
"We can bring her in," May suggested.
"We could," Coulson nodded. "But we just got the place looking nice again."
"The jet can cope."
"Yeah, I meant New York. Let's not muss it up anymore than we have to." He watched as Jones entered the subway train, and the video momentarily cut out as the trace found a new feed. "But I admit I am a little curious why she's involved - this isn't her side of the river."
"We could ask nicely," Daisy suggested. "Maybe even without throwing a bag over her head."
"You need to let that go," May murmured.
"I really don't."
"It's a radical plan," Coulson said, after a moment. "But it has to work some time."
Jemma coughed delicately and half raised her hand. "Yes, but if I could suggest-"
Daisy stared in wide-eyed, if not entirely serious, betrayal. "You don't think I can ask nicely? It was my idea!"
"In fairness, you picked a fight with Tony Stark on live radio." Coulson grinned with a sudden enthusiasm. "Besides, I have something much more interesting for you and Mack to look into."
"I'll go," Fitz said into the sudden, deeply suspicious, silence. "Let me talk to her."
Coulson glanced around. Daisy was expressionless, while Jemma was torn between surprise and concern; May shrugged almost imperceptibly.
He nodded. "Okay. Fitz, May, go talk to the Kitchen's least private investigator."
-o o-
Her cell rang as she exited the subway; looking down she saw three missed calls. All Luke.
She considered declining the call, but answered with a huff of annoyance. "What?"
"Hey." Luke sounded hesitant, like he was picking his words, and that was even more annoying. "Hear you're looking into the missing kid."
She rolled her eyes and started walking for home. "Let me guess, your lawyer called you."
"Called Claire," Luke corrected. "You got this?"
"Yeah," she nodded, like he could even see her. "I got this."
"Because you know I'm here," he pressed. "Anytime."
They still couldn't quite find a rhythm, too careful or not careful enough; words right, tone wrong. At least they more or less understood all those things they didn't say.
"I know," she said at last, as awkwardly as she felt. "It's a kid, Luke. I'm not going risk a kid just because things between us are a little fucked."
"They're a little fucked? I didn't notice."
They both laughed. It didn't really help. But. It was better, she thought. Maybe.
"Call me," he said "Whenever. You know I'll be there."
"I'll call Danny," she said, opening the front door to the lobby of her building and stepping aside for a woman she didn't recognize to leave. "He's got that glowing fist going for him."
She'd meant to tease, but Luke's tone didn't change. "I don't care who you call, Jess. Just call someone."
"I will, okay? Jesus. Definitely calling Iron Head now."
She closed her phone and tucked it back into her jeans without waiting for a reply, then exited the elevator. She stopped abruptly when she saw a man waiting outside her office.
Whoever it was stood away from the wall as she approached, hands loose and held harmlessly away from his sides. "Leo Fitz," he said, when she drew closer. "Can we talk?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. And they were familiar eyes, in a weird kind of way. Not naturally empty - he had too many laughter lines for that - so hollowed out by something, or someone, else. Like the people in the Kilgrave survivors group.
Like -
Fuck that.
"Depends which ID you show me," she snapped, more than ready to throw him head first into the elevator and take her chances with whatever spooks crawled out of the walls.
"I'd prefer to do that in your office, if you don't mind?" The faint smile had more life in it now. "There's a strong chance you'll throw me out a window, and I'd at least like it to be one of your own."
"I'm pretty sure my insurance would cover it." But he was right, there was less risk of collateral inside. She opened the door and ungraciously gestured for him to enter. Malcolm was long gone, but he'd left a small light on for her - thoughtful - and the stacks of paper on her desk were in neat, notated piles. She ran an eye over them, a general theme seemed to be requests for her signature.
After a disinterested glance around, and a slightly more lingering look at the spackled bullet holes, Fitz wandered over to the window.
"I'm going to say S.H.I.E.L.D.," Jessica hazarded, dropping into her chair and not remotely inclined to offer him one. She leaned back and propped her boots on the desk, displacing several piles of paper with no small satisfaction. "But you don't look like an agent. They let you out by yourself?"
"No. That is, yes . I'm S.H.I.E.L.D., but I'm science division." He showed her his ID perfunctorily. "So I'd appreciate it if we can have a civil conversation and not resort to fisticuffs. Frankly, any else would be embarrassing for us both.
"Fisticuffs," she repeated, mouthing the word slowly.
"Convinced that I'm harmless, yet? I can make the accent a little thicker, if you like."
"Yeah, please don't - I can barely understand you already. What does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with little old me? I'm not an Inhuman. I'm definitely not Hydra."
Fitz flinched, but kept smiling that hazy, meaningless smile. "Good to know - big relief. Really huge concern for us all," he added, not even aiming for sincerity. "Officially, I'm here to ask why you were at the shelter, but it's obvious to anyone with two braincells to rub together you were looking into Ellie. Not for us, I'm certain not for the federal government, which means either you got bored, or you're working with - or for - Spider-man."
Ellie, she noted. He called her Ellie.
"If you're that sure, why are you here?"
"I wanted to meet you," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jessica shook her head, and really wished Malcolm hadn't hidden her whiskey. "Maybe you're confusing me with my sister? She's the people person."
"I wanted to say I admire you. That's all." He shrugged offhandedly. "But if you can help us talk to Spider-man too, we'd appreciate it."
"Who is Elle Iwamura? Why is she so important?"
"That's classified. Which I'm sure you'd already begun to suspect."
Jessica straightened and let her boots drop back to the ground. "Spider-man wants to talk to you," she admitted, standing. "He hired me to find you, but I figured if I made enough noise, you'd find me. Especially after you crashed my sister's radio show. Spider-man, he's one of the good guys, you know? Real hero type. He hopes S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to protect Ellie. I'm not that naive, and I'm sure as hell not a hero. What do S.H.I.E.L.D. really want?"
Fitz didn't back away as she stalked towards him, she had to give him props for that. He raised his chin defiantly. "I can't say you're wrong, but 'classified' still means what it did twenty seconds ago. We do want to help her, but I can't prove that. So really, it comes down to trust them, or trust us. I hope you'll trust us."
"I'm sure you do." She pointed towards the door. "Time for the science division to leave."
"Of course." Fitz headed for the door; paused at its threshold. "I meant what I said."
"Yeah, you're a fan boy. Great."
"And I'm genuinely sorry there isn't a third option."
She narrowed her eyes; apparently the guy with more than two braincells to rub together hadn't figured it out yet. "There is," she said, as clearly as she could, so there could be no misunderstanding. "There's me."
Fitz blinked. "I'll let them know," he said, and carefully closed the door behind him.
Jessica stabbed a finger angrily at her phone as it clicked shut, trying to rein herself in when she heard the plastic creak in protest.
"Jess?"
"I need you," she said. "And Danny. And Colleen."
Luke was silent for a long moment, then. "Okay."
All those who guessed a Frank Castle appearance win a Frank Castle appearance! There'll be a whole lot more of him in the next part. And maybe a few more guest appearances. Any nominations? I'm here for the long haul.