you're not the only one | darcy/luke cage
Luke didn’t bother looking up when the door opened, keeping his head down as he said, “We’re closed.”
“Ten-thirty on a Thursday night?” The drawl wasn’t her – but it was so, so dry that he couldn’t help but think of the woman he’d tried to kill only months earlier. “Might make some people think you’re trying to hide something, Mr. Cage.”
He tensed. Eight months since losing his bar, since Kilgrave, since… since Jessica. He’d kept his head down and his cards close to his chest, moving back to Harlem to keep his distance. He had made sure to break ties, covering his trail with a slew of fake names and cash payments, working at a dingy bar that paid him way too little for all the work he did – only Roy and Claire knew where he was, and neither of them were the types to snitch. Someone had to have…
No. He bristled at the idea of it, raising his gaze to spew out a couple threats of his own, but a single look at the woman had his breath catching in his chest.
Pale skin, dark hair, dark clothes – for a second, he thought he was back in his old bar, back before… – but he blinked, and the illusion was gone. The woman in front of him was all soft curves and heart, wrapped in a soft blue sweater with a knitted cap settled in her hair. Jessica was just layers of hard lines and sharp edges, the tiniest spark of vulnerability buried underneath her armor of leather jackets and steel-toed boots.
“And who are you, exactly?” he demanded brusquely. He crossed his arms over his chest, something in him smug and satisfied at the way her eyes trailed over his arms appreciatively.
The woman smiled – red lips, full and pouty, and for a moment he wondered what they’d taste like. “Darcy Lewis.” She dug a hand beneath the soft sweater, pulling out a business card and sliding it over the bar counter. He snatched it up, squinting at the fine print on the card, only pausing to scowl as she reached over the counter for two glasses and a bottle of rum.
It wasn’t whiskey or scotch or bourbon, and for that he thanked God for small mercies as she poured out two shots, before dumping both down her throat with a grimace.
“Nelson and Murdock?” He looked up at her with a frown. “What does a law firm want with me?”
“Glad you asked.” She hummed, taking the bottle and refilling both glasses before nudging one over in his direction. “We’ve been representing all the victims of Kilgrave ever since Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz dropped the cases a couple months ago – someone told us about you and your bar.”
He snorted. He had a pretty good idea of who might’ve given out his name – Jessica was a lot of things, but she was damn good at her job when she wanted to be. “Did that person tell you how I tried to kill a woman?”
“Yes.” Darcy’s eyes softened. “It’s not your fault.”
He scoffed, taking the glass she’d poured and tossing it back. “You telling me you actually believe that Kilgrave exists? That someone can control minds?”
“You’ve got aliens falling from the sky, gods and monsters and men all walking the same steps.” She looked at him, eyes oddly bright, and said, “Do you think we can afford to pretend like these things aren’t real?”
At that, he paused, and this time, he really looked at her.
She smiled. “Sometimes, it helps to know you’re not the only one out there.” And at that, he realized she knew – but how? “You don’t have to be an Avenger to do something good.”
“If you want to talk, give me a call.” She nodded at the card in his hand. “You’re not the only one lying low in this city.”
She swept out of the door before he could say much else, and Luke was left staring after her, two crumpled twenties tucked into her empty shot glass.