Thursday finally rolls around, and it turns out Jessica just wants Peter to tag along with her while she works one of her cases. Apparently, knowing how to ask questions and get straight answers without either a) breaking bones or b) being a human lie-detector is a necessary skill for street-level heroes, such as themselves. While it doesn't sound like it'll be anywhere near as entertaining as beating up the criminal element with Matt, Peter's betting it'll be a fair amount more entertaining than breathing exercises on a scuffed wooden floor (no offense, Danny).
Since Jessica's office/apartment is in Hell's Kitchen and she doesn't need him to join her until 5:30, Peter decides to swing by the offices of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, since Matt's business partners have finally allowed him to leave his apartment, for the express purposes of either going to work, or getting alcohol. Peter isn't quite sure why the second option was approved by whoever Matt's main handler is, but he figures that there's a reason for it, however convoluted that reason may be. Regardless, he owes Foggy and Matt both a big thank you for rescuing him from the police and getting shot for him respectively. Then there's the whole matter of Matt getting him a new suit made. Peter's not the world's best chef, but baking is pretty easy, considering it consists of numbered steps and a basic practical application of beginner's chemistry. When he was baking the chocolate chip cookies, he made absolutely sure to wash his hands, and the counters, and everything that even touched the food multiple times, before using them, since Matt had mentioned to him in one of his rambling text rants that he can taste everything that food has touched anywhere along the process of being made.
The office is pretty empty when he shows up, and Karen's not at the front desk. Instead, there's a young woman, probably in her early twenties, sitting at the receptionist's desk. There's a little temporary name card on the desk that reads 'Danielle', in what's probably the woman's handwriting. It's pretty and full of loops and swirls, with a small flower drawn in the corner.
She looks up quickly when she hears the door open, clearly a little surprised that someone's actually entered the rinky-dink law firm/PI office.
"Welcome to Nelson, Murdock, and Page, how can I help you?" she says pleasantly, a nice customer service smile on her face.
"Oh, my name's Peter! I'm a friend of Matt's. I'm just here to see him and Mr. Nelson," Peter explains, earning himself a slightly strange look. He doesn't blame Danielle for finding it odd that a teenager who, on a good day, looks to be 14 years old, is claiming to be friends with her employer, a moderately successful lawyer in his thirties. Actually, Peter isn't even sure how old Matt is. He's going to guess thirties.
"I'll get Mr. Murdock for you, then," she says with another smile, as she picks up the phone on her desk and presses the extension for Matt's office. It's just a tad unnecessary, considering the guy's office is literally six feet to her left, and Matt's abilities have definitely allowed him to hear everything both of them have said- or even thought, Peter thinks. He hopes Matt didn't hear him think that. In fact, the only reason Matt hasn't come out is probably because Danielle doesn't know about the superpowers thing.
A second later, Matt's office door opens, and he has a bright smile on his face- despite the fact that it's definitely pulling slightly at his still-healing split lip to do so. He's still wearing the damn sunglasses. Did he just listen to that eighties song too many times and can't get over wearing sunglasses? Peter is entranced by them, and wonders why Matt chose red, of all colors.
"Peter! It's so nice to see you!" Matt greets. Peter's too busy glaring at Matt's sunglasses to notice the funny look that Matt's phrasing gets from Danielle.
"Hi, Matt. Good to see you too," Peter replies, walking closer to Matt. "Is Mr. Nelson in his office? I definitely owe him a thank you too."
"Yeah, he should be in there," Matt says, running his hand along the edge of Danielle's desk as he walks around it to let himself and Peter into Foggy's office.
Foggy's got his headphones on, and he clearly can't hear a damn thing, since he doesn't even look up at the two new people who have entered the room. Matt shuts the door softly behind him and Peter, before grabbing a piece of paper from the recycling bin on the floor and balling it up. He throws it at Foggy and hits him right in the center of his forehead.
"Wha—" Foggy startles and pulls his headphones off as he lifts his head up abruptly, and the confused look on his face switches for a smile when he sees Peter. "Peter! Long time no see!"
"Hi, Mr. Nelson," Peter says with a small wave.
"Ew no, don't call me Mr. Nelson. That makes me feel old. Call me Foggy."
"Hi, Foggy," Peter says instead, slightly awkwardly, getting a nod of approval from him.
"Much better. Now, may I ask what brings you to our humble offices?" Foggy says, leaning back in his desk chair, to the point that Peter's a little worried it might tip over.
"I brought 'thank you' cookies," Peter says, setting his backpack down on one of the chairs across from Foggy's desk and digging through it to grab two bags of chocolate chip cookies. He sets one on Foggy's desk and hands the other to Matt. "Thanks for making sure I don't end up in prison, and thanks for taking a bullet for me. And for introducing me to your suit guy!"
Foggy immediately opens the bag and takes a bite of one of the cookies. "Oh my God. These are heavenly," he moans, before pointing a deliberate finger at Matt. "Get shot more often, so your child will bake for us again." Peter beams from the praise.
Matt sighs. "If Peter was my child, then I would've had him when I was like… 14 or 15. And trust me, 14-year-old Matt was appealing to no one, aside from one creepy priest we had for like, three months while Father Lantom was on a mission trip."
Peter looks absolutely horrified at that, and Foggy looks fairly disturbed as well. Matt seems to not be affected, and instead takes a bite of one of his own cookies, nodding in appreciation while the other two process what he's just said.
"Oh my God, that's horrible, " Peter blurts out.
Matt just shrugs in response. "It happens."
"Okay, Saint Matthew, what we're not gonna do right now is give this child the impression that that is a thing that 'just happens'," Foggy says, narrowing his eyes at Matt. "That's a very bad thing, which we are going to talk about later. Peter, that isn't a thing that you should just brush off as normal."
"Catholic orphanage. Nineties, two-thousands," Matt says simply. "Easy target," he adds, gesturing to himself. "Wasn't exactly a rare occurrence."
Peter gives Matt a funny look, he can't imagine Matt ever having been an easy target.
"That really doesn't make it any better," Foggy replies.
"Why were you in an orphanage?" Peter asks. It's something he's been wondering since the off-hand mention in one of Matt's texts, and now seems like as good a time to find out as any.
"I was an orphan," Matt replies, blasé.
Both Peter and Foggy give him flat looks.
Matt sighs. "My dad got murdered by the mob, my mom was never in the picture."
"Do all super-people have dead parents?" Peter asks with a frown.
Matt considers this for a moment. "Jessica and Danny's parents are dead too."
"And mine. And Mr. Stark's," Peter adds helpfully.
"You should conduct a survey," Foggy suggests. "Maybe then, someone can finally figure out the psychology behind you caped-crusader types."
"And what? I just go up to whoever I find and say 'excuse me, but did one or both of your parents happen to die in an incident that traumatized you as a child?', I'm sure that would blow over well with the psychos of the group." Matt shakes his head, taking Foggy much too seriously.
"I'll ask the Avengers about it next time I see them," Peter offers. "I gotta go meet Ms. Jones to do something now, though. Enjoy the cookies, and don't get shot again," he adds, after glancing at the clock on Foggy's wall and noticing the time.
"Don't get arrested," Foggy calls after Peter, as he leaves the office.
When Peter arrives at the address Jessica sent him, he double checks the text just to make sure it's the right building. It's not a bad building per se, just a bit dingy. For some reason, when he gets in the elevator, the Spidey-sense goes off hardcore. Peter's actually a little worried that the elevator might try and plummet him to his death, but he gets off on Jessica's floor without a hitch, and Peter knows her apartment is at the end of the hall. There's a glass panel in the door reading 'Alias Investigations', and Peter knocks on it carefully.
There's the sound of someone getting up from a desk after a second, and the door swings open a moment later to reveal a young black man, who is most definitely not Jessica Jones.
"Umm, hi," the man says, looking Peter over.
"Is Jessica here?" Peter asks. He's really hoping he didn't somehow manage to go to the wrong place.
"She should be back in just a couple minutes. You wanna come in and wait for her?" he asks, stepping aside to let Peter in.
"Alright." He walks into the apartment, and the first thing he notices is that the walls have been through hell. They have bullet holes that have been filled in poorly with spackle, along with a big chunk of the drywall that's just gone. There are a few places where paint covers what Peter assumes are bloodstains, judging by the way his skin tingles when he looks at them.
"Sorry about the mess," the man says, shutting the door behind Peter and returning to a smaller desk, off to the side of the desk that Peter assumes is Jessica's. "I'm Malcolm, by the way. I'm Jessica's business associate."
"I'm Peter."
A few minutes pass by in awkward silence, as Malcolm tries to type something at his computer, but keeps getting distracted since he feels the need to supervise the child in the office. Knowing Jessica, there's probably a lot of broken glass somewhere, and they really don't need a lawsuit from an angry parent.
"So," Malcolm says eventually, having given up on doing his work. "How do you know Jess?"
"We have some mutual acquaintances," Peter answers. This Malcolm guy seems nice enough, but Peter's not about to blurt out that he's Spider-Man. No, thank you.
"Ah." Peter's grateful that he leaves it at that.
The silence settles back over them, only interrupted a few minutes later, when Jessica comes through the front door with a brown paper bag under each arm. Both Peter and Malcolm breathe a sigh of relief upon seeing her; the awkwardness in the air had been suffocating them both slowly but surely.
"Hi, Ms. Jones," Peter greets cheerfully.
Jessica looks hungover and pissed off; but then again, she always looks like that. She smiles when she sees Peter.
"Hey, kid. Hope Malcolm didn't bother you too much," she says as she sets the bags down on her desk. She pulls out a jar of peanut butter and throws it at Malcolm, before emptying the rest of the bags.
They contain nothing but cheap liquor, which Jessica puts on a shelf by the wall (Malcolm looks oddly pleased by this) aside from one bottle, which she leaves on the desk.
"Nah, he didn't bother me," Peter assures, as he watches Jessica pull out her flask and fill it with the bottle that she'd left out. As soon as it's full, she puts the bottle in the bottom drawer of her desk, and Malcolm loses his pleased look when he sees this.
"I do my best. But, I am a little confused as to why a kid you 'have some mutual acquaintances with' is at your office," Malcolm supplies, from where he's watching Jessica, while he turns the jar of peanut butter over in his hands.
"I'm on babysitting duty," Jessica replies. "His usual after-school program's temporarily closed for maintenance."
Peter really hopes that Jessica can help him learn how to come up with convincing lies on the spot like that.
"No one would ever entrust a child to you," Malcolm replies.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't that believable.
"Why not? I'd never let the kid drink. Booze is all for me."
"That is exactly why not."
They stare each other down for about thirty seconds. Peter fidgets, feeling even more awkward.
"Fair point," Jessica concedes with a shrug, as she puts her flask back in her pocket and grabs her camera bag off the desk. "Peter, let's go."
"Okay, bye Malcolm," Peter says, waving goodbye as Jessica herds him out of the apartment.
"Bye, Peter," Peter hears being called back, as the door shuts behind him and Jessica.
Jessica starts to lead him to the elevator, but Peter pauses. "Um. Can we take the stairs?" he asks.
She gives him a look that he doesn't quite understand, but nods anyway, and opens the door to the stairwell.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
Once they're on the sidewalk, Jessica finally gets to explaining the details of what they're doing.
"It's a missing person case. My client's fiancé just up and disappeared about a week ago."
"Don't you call the police for that sort of thing?" Peter asks with a frown.
"Usually. She did go to the police, but her fiancé has a record that includes drug charges, and the cops made it pretty obvious they think he's just on a coke bender, and that he'll pop back up again in a few days, so they're treating it as low priority."
"What do you think?"
"I'm not sure yet. Some of his things were gone from the apartment, and his credit card hasn't been used. But he also withdrew a large amount of cash the day he disappeared, so he really could just be living it up in a shitty motel with hookers and crack. But I'm getting paid to find him, so I'm gonna find him. And you're gonna help me."
"Wait, how am I gonna help?" Peter asks.
"Simple," Jessica replies as they come to a stop outside a shitty bar. "You're gonna put on some teary eyes and go ask the bartender if he's seen your step-dad." She hands Peter a picture of a couple. The woman is white with blonde hair and brown eyes, and the man is fairly light-skinned but possibly Latino with shoulder length, curly hair. Both look to be in their late thirties.
"I don't know if I'll be too good at it…"
"That's okay. Think of it as practice. Someday you might need to be able to act like a scared, upset kid, and you'll be able to look back on this moment for guidance." Jessica pauses and takes a smaller than usual sip from her flask. "Alright, so, I'm gonna go in there now and sit at the bar. I want you to wait either five minutes, or until two other people have entered before you come in, got it?"
"Got it. Five minutes or two people," Peter repeats, looking down at the picture. "Don't get drunk," he adds with a smile.
Jessica rolls her eyes so hard Peter's a little surprised they don't pop out of her head. "I promise not to get drunk."
Jessica enters the bar after that, and Peter ends up entering after a third person, because he was pretty focused on getting his eyes to get right to the point of being watery by staring at the headlights of a taxi parked outside the bar.
When he does finally go inside, the strange looks he gets from everyone are more than enough to make him hunch his shoulders as he walks up to where the bartender is standing. Jessica's just a few feet away, which Peter is grateful for; it's not a very welcoming atmosphere.
"You must think I'm either blind or stupid, if you think I'm gonna serve you," the bartender says, as he casually polishes a glass that looks like it hasn't been truly clean in years.
"I—" Peter bites his tongue hard enough to make tears well up in his eyes, as he sets the picture he'd been clutching to his chest down on the bar. He does his best to make his voice shake as he says, "I'm looking for my step-dad. He hasn't been home in a week, and my mom's really worried, and I know he comes here sometimes, and I just want him to come home," he says, looking up at the bartender with the saddest eyes he can manage. It's one of the few times that looking so young has really come in handy.
The bartender's expression softens slightly, as he picks up the photograph and looks over it for a minute. "Sorry kid, haven't seen him for a couple weeks." He looks like he wants to say something else, but he just passes the picture back.
"Do you know if there's anywhere else he might go? I know he has problems with drinking, and I just want him to come home…" Peter tries again, as he finally gets a couple of tears out.
The bartender looks conflicted again but sets down the glass and rag finally to look at Peter. "Mouthful. Down on ninth," he says finally. "But, kid, don't go askin' around there by yourself."
"Thank you— I won't," Peter assures, hugging the picture to his chest for a moment, before he slips it back into his pocket and walks out of the bar.
He stands just out of view of the front windows, and Jessica joins him two minutes later.
"You did good," she says sincerely.
"Really?"
"Bartender went and called his son after you left. Just to check up on him."
"Wow."
"Yep, and I thank you for your help with that. Now we're going to Mouthful, and you're going to stay very close to me," Jessica replies, as she turns and heads down the street with Peter at her side.
"Wait, why? What's Mouthful?"
"It advertises itself as a gay bar, but in reality it's a homing beacon for all sorts of creeps, gay, straight, whatever. Owner's a registered sex offender, and they're pretty notorious for not IDing. Which attracts dumb kids, who don't know better. Which is exactly the point of the place."
"Oh," Peter says. That's why the bartender hadn't wanted to tell him where his 'step-dad' might be. He didn't want to ruin the happy family with the fact that the guy might be either gay and oblivious, or a complete sicko.
It takes them about ten minutes to get there, and it's definitely the seediest looking bar on the street, cushioned between a vape shop, and a tattoo parlor that looks like it's had to pay off every health inspector that set foot inside it for the last decade, at least. Jessica winds her arm tightly around Peter's as they enter the bar, and Peter stops dead in the doorway from the way the whole place makes the Spidey-sense flip. Out. Peter's not sure if it's upset because of the sticky, wet floors or the people popping pills, or the loud bass of the music, or the predatory look one guy gives him until Jessica pretty much bares her teeth at the guy and he slinks off. They make their way to the bar by pushing through the crowd, even if that means that Jessica has to break a wandering hand, that definitely didn't touch her simply by accident.
One more person sets his hand on Jessica's shoulder. "How much?" he shouts over the loud music.
"I'm not for sale!" she snarls, shoving him back.
"Not you, bitch- the kid!"
Peter tenses up because a fucking grown man just asked how much he cost, and Jessica just pulls him closer, as she drags him towards the bar even quicker.
Once they get to the counter, Jessica flags down the bartender and reaches into Peter's pocket to grab the picture, and slap it down on the counter- which very well may be stickier than the floor.
"You seen the guy?" she asks abruptly.
"Maybe."
"I'm not playing your damn game. Tell me if you've seen him, and I promise not to get a cop who isn't in your boss's pocket down here," she snaps.
The guy rolls his eyes and just flips Jessica off, before wandering away to help some paying customers.
Thankfully, a girl who looks maybe seventeen is standing near enough by to see the picture, and she speaks up.
"He was in here a few days ago. Had a seizure after he did some bad coke in the bathroom. A big white guy put him in a cab to the hospital," she says, sipping on some obnoxiously colored, fruity drink.
"You remember what day?" Jessica asks.
"Tuesday, I think."
"Alright," Jessica replies before looking over the girl carefully and noticing just how young she is. "What's your name?"
"Prija. Why?" the girl answers hesitantly.
"Prija, take my advice and get the hell out of here. You wanna know how many times Daredevil's had to beat the shit out of guys in the alley behind this place because they drug girls your age and drag 'em out there? More times than I can count. And nobody's seen Daredevil in a week."
Prija looks a little more anxious at the mention of that. People have been speculating recently about whether Daredevil's on vacation, or if this is another one of his multiple-month disappearances starting up.
"Come on, we'll walk you home," Jessica says, and for the first time the girl notices Peter over on Jessica's other side.
"I don't have a home," she tries to whisper, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the music. As she does, she finishes setting her drink down on the bar and stepping closer to Jessica's side.
"Then let me take you to a shelter or something," Jessica replies.
"I can't go. He won't let me," she whispers in an even lower tone, inclining her head towards a big guy, who looks either drunk or stoned out of his mind. "He owns me."
Those words send a chill through Peter's whole body, and he stares between the man and the girl whom he apparently owns. He hasn't been around the gritty crimes enough that he feels anger reflexively at the mention of human traffickers or pedophiles; instead, he just feels shock. He's sure the anger will come later, though.
"Come on. We're getting you out of here." There's a harsher tone to her voice, as Jessica glares at the man. Jessica still has her arm as tightly around Peter as she possibly can, and now she has her other hand on the girl's shoulder. As she starts to lead them both out, the man grabs Prija's arm hard enough to almost yank her out of Jessica's grasp.
"Hey! Where d'ya think you're goin'? Haven't even finished the drink I jus' boughtcha," he slurs, before gesturing to where Prija had set the glass on the counter.
The girl is absolutely frozen and doesn't say a word, as the man tugs on her arm again.
"Back off," Jessica warns, pulling the girl even closer back to herself.
"Or what?" When the guy stands as he says this, it becomes pretty obvious that he isn't someone who loses fights. He has to be nearing 6'4", and looks like he does manual labor for a living, even if all the drugs and alcohol pumping through his system make him a bit wobbly on his feet.
"Or I'll knock your slimy ass the fuck out," Jessica growls, looking up at the man.
He just laughs at that and reaches for Prija again. Jessica pushes Prija behind her, and closer to Peter. The barbarian is clearly unhappy with this, but before he can do anything, Jessica punches him so hard that he breaks the barstool he falls against. Peter desperately wants to help, but Jessica seems to have it under control, so he just tries to keep Prija away from any of the other patrons.
Prija and a few other patrons are staring in shock as Jessica grabs her and Peter again, and walks them quickly toward the exit while people are distracted. They manage to get out to the street before any of the guy's friends think to go after them, and by the time three other men pile out of the bar, Jessica has already shoved both children into a cab and is getting in with them.
"Fifteenth precinct," she orders the driver, who nods and immediately throws the car into drive.
"We can't go to the cops," Prija blurts out, biting at her nail out of stress. "They don't give a fuck about it. They'll take me back to him- or sell me to someone else!"
"I'm taking you to a good cop, Prija. I know him, and I know he'll help you," Jessica soothes in a voice that's a lot more gentle than anything Peter's heard from her before.
The girl just shakes her head and starts repeating 'they'll give me back' over and over under her breath.
"It's the cop that Daredevil likes," Jessica tries softly, remembering the way Prija had reacted to the earlier mention of him. "He helped Daredevil with Fisk, and the Punisher, and all of the small guys too."
"Daredevil trusts him..?" she asks softly.
"I promise," Jessica assures.
The girl nods, but after that, the ride to the precinct is pretty much silent. Peter's pretty occupied with his own thoughts after that. It's a little startling to realize that the course of this girl's whole life was altered just because he played 'concerned step-son' well enough to get a bartender he'd never met before to tell him where a man might be. If he and Jessica hadn't been at the bar, if they'd come five minutes later, or five minutes earlier, or if Prija hadn't been standing there to see the picture Jessica intended to show just to the bartender- if so many thousands of things leading to that moment hadn't gone exactly right, then this girl would've been abused for rest of her life, which probably wouldn't have been all that long. He feels sick just thinking about it. How many other girls in that bar were like Prija? How many trafficked people has he seen this week without realizing?
Once they arrive at the precinct, Jessica throws some money at the driver, before helping Peter and Prija out of the cab. She keeps her arm around Prija but allows Peter to walk at her side untethered. When they enter the precinct, there's sort of a collective groan as the officers and detectives see Jessica. She just ignores all of that and walks straight to a desk where a man's too busy hunched over typing on his computer to notice her.
"Brett," she says.
Brett groans loudly. "What is it now, Jones?"
"She was trafficked," Jessica answers, tilting her head toward Prija.
That gets Brett's attention, and he sits up straight right away. He changes his expression to a kinder, more friendly one when he sees Prija standing there with her heavy, smudged makeup, that doesn't do anywhere near a good enough job of making her look older. In this light, she actually seems even closer to Peter's age than she had in the poorly lit bar. "Alright, don't worry, I'm gonna help you," Brett says to Prija. He looks back over to Jessica. "What happened?"
"I was working a case. Led me to Mouthful. Found her there," Jessica answers simply.
"The boy too?"
Peter waves awkwardly, shaking his head. He doesn't want to get in the way of Jessica, but he doesn't do well with being quiet when he's nervous.
"No. He's a friend's kid."
Brett looks slightly suspicious of that, giving Peter a hard look but nodding anyway. "Alright, can you tell me your name?" he asks the girl softly, as Jessica guides her to sit across from him.
"Prija Nguyen," the girl says softly.
As Prija begins to answer the questions the detective has for her, Jessica pulls Peter aside.
"You should probably head home. This is gonna take a while."
Peter glances back over at Prija before meeting Jessica's eyes again. She looks very, very tired, but there's a sort of anger beneath it that makes Peter think she's going to go back to Mouthful as soon as they're done here, and beat every man in there to death.
"What's gonna happen to her?" he asks.
Jessica shrugs. "That depends."
"On what?"
"If she's a US citizen, or if she was kidnapped and sold internationally. If she's a minor, or an adult. If she has family that's looking for her, or if her family sold her," Jessica answers, tossing a glance over to where Prija's now crying across from Brett, who hands her a tissue.
"Will she get deported if she was kidnapped and brought here?"
"I don't know; probably."
"Will they charge her with anything?"
"Probably not," Jessica answers after a second.
" Probably not?" Peter asks incredulously. "So they might. What would they charge her with?"
"Overstaying her visa. Possibly possession, if she has any drugs on her."
"But- that's not-" Peter looks up at Jessica, searching for some sort of answer. "That's not right."
"No, it's not. But it'll be a while before we know exactly what's gonna happen, and you don't need to stay for all of that."
"But-" Peter tries.
"There's nothing you can do. I'll stay with her, and I'll text you whenever something happens," Jessica replies. "Please, go home," she adds firmly.
"Okay," Peter replies quietly, wrapping his arms around himself and nodding.
Jessica sighs and pulls him into one of her very rare hugs. "It'll be alright. Text me as soon as you get home."
He nods, even if he doesn't really hear her, considering how much he's drawn back into his own head. He doesn't want to go home; he wants to do something. He wants someone to go back to the bar and help. When Peter ends up back on the sidewalk, he doesn't turn towards the way home; he turns to walk deeper into Hell's Kitchen.