Morning, Sunshine
“Listen to me. As much as I appreciate your committed work ethic, I did not need bullets up my ass that night! I do not need that any night!”
“How was I supposed to know there was a risk of you getting bullets up your ass? That’s too kinky, even for me.”
“Just… would you just shut the fuck up for a minute? Shut up, Jessica. Shut. Up.”
Jessica was… more of a business partner than a friend to you. Well, no, she was a friend, just not the type of friend you always liked.
You’d first met her at a party when you were in university. She got tipsy, sure, but you ended up horribly, ridiculously wasted. She shoved a few handsy frat boys away from you, held your hair back when you inevitably puked your guts out in a frat house toilet, and did complain the entire time about you not being able to hold your alcohol - but she was still kind enough to look out for you. You and Jessica ended up sitting in that disgusting bathroom until three in the morning as you sobered up, bonding about being adopted, loving and hating school, and talking about everything under the sun. It was one of the quickest, most real connections you’d ever made with another person.
After she dropped out of college, though, things changed. You caught up once in a while, sure, but she could find you too pleasant for her liking, and as much as Jessica’s brutal honesty made you like her at first, it was difficult for you to be around it too often.
In other words - she could be a kind, foul-mouthed, screaming pain in the ass. And apparently, your ass was her favorite subject this morning as the two of you walked briskly down a crowded sidewalk.
“I mean, it’s been forever, hasn’t it? Maybe you could use a bullet up your ass.” Jessica smirked and sipped at her coffee. You watched steam float up from your frothy latte, not ready to risk a burn on your tongue and not ready to give Jessica any room to speak without a chance of a response from you.
“I don’t want anything near my ass-“
“Not even near? I mean, a bullet vibrator at least-“
“See, this was the line.” You stopped walking and held your arm out to the side, straight as a rod. Jessica tilted her head back, impatient and irritated, and you dropped your arm and ran past her, skating around people and pets galore. You ran until you had to turn around and stand on your tippy-toes for the two of you to see each other. She just stared, entirely done with you, like a mother waiting for her kid to stop crying and go the fuck to sleep.
Standing still on your tippy-toes in the middle of a crowded New York sidewalk? Yeah, that got you a few looks and many more incensed grunts from busybodies who were anything but morning people.
You had to raise your voice over all the morning commotion for her to hear you well. That, and you just wanted to yell at her. “This is how far you’ve gone past the line! Before I’ve even started on my coffee!”
“I can do better than that!” Jessica called out to you dryly. “It’s not even eight!”
You huffed, waiting for her to complete her slow strut over to where you stood. “Yeah. I’m well aware,” you grumbled.
“So, now that I know to never, ever, ever call you in the middle of the night for absolutely any reason, for the sake of your ass,” Jessica began, ignoring your pained groan, “I’ve got some info for you. Something that could really help you out.”
Along with sharing a bond from your university days, Jessica was pretty much the only person you’d confided in about your situation. It was more out of necessity than anything else. When you approached her about utilizing the services of Alias Investigations, she vehemently denied any possibility of helping you unless you’d spit out some details. So, you gave a few, then you gave more, and before you knew it, she had a very incomplete but still functional picture of what you’d been through - and what you planned to do about it. She didn’t know everything, not even close. If anyone was going to figure you out eventually, though, you were sure she’d be the first.
She was more sympathetic than you’d expected, which was highly unusual for Jessica Jones. Losing her parents at a young age had been difficult for her, and of course, everything she'd experienced was nothing short of life-altering. Sometimes, though, you wondered if she’d been through something bigger, something more recent than childhood and college - something even more painful. You weren’t going to pry, and Jessica was never one to get all open and gushy about her feelings, anyway.
“Yeah?” You took a quick sip of your latte, only catching sweet foam between your lips. “Like what?”
Apparently, Jessica’s incessant calling that fateful night had little purpose. She wanted to let you know she’d found something, but since you guys had agreed not to discuss such information over the phone, there were no details she could actually share until she could see you in person.
Even this makeshift meeting was hard for you to fit into your schedule. It was less of a meeting and more of her joining you for the first half of a pre-work errand.
The good thing about having this kind of meeting out in the open was that it afforded you all the privacy in the world. Sidewalk chaos created a perfect buffer against anyone daring to listen in. No average New Yorker rushing hurriedly to the office in the early morning would care about what one random woman had to say to another random woman, anyway. Besides, most of them wore headphones.
“Like, that old man you wanted me to find? Totally got him.”
You squinted at her out of the corner of your eye. No way he was that easy to track down. “Did not.”
“Did. Well, I mean, I probably did,” Jessica shrugged. “Got photos of pretty much every elderly blind man in Hell’s Kitchen, which is very few aside from those in nursing homes and hospitals. He’s gotta be one of them.”
“And if he’s actually not in the Kitchen?”
“Well, one of the guys I got matched your description pretty well. To a T, actually.”
This man you were trying to track down was as important of a piece in your puzzle as James Wesley. A fleeting but impactful figure from your past, you’d only spoken with him a few times, relative to the rest of your life - but those few times changed you. Changed your entire path, your entire life. As ambitious as you were on your own, you needed his help. He possessed a wealth of knowledge you’d once passed by but now desperately needed. This knowledge was about you and, more importantly, those you’d been compelled to gain a grim respect for, at long last. To finally fear.
“Hell’s Kitchen is his landing spot, but he could be anywhere in the world,” you mused, more to yourself than to Jessica. You knew it was a long shot from the start, but it was just hitting you how impossible this crusade actually was. “The odds of you finding him here in a matter of months is just-“
“Trust me,” Jessica maintained after a gulp of coffee. “I’ve never seen an old guy move around the way this one does. And he’s blind, no less. Sneaking around, hitting the bar - maybe it’s practice from all those years of being unable to see, but I doubt it.”
“Jessica, if you’re being serious-“
“Are you sure he’s actually blind?”
The exhale that left your lips was nothing short of aggravated. “I look forward, with great anticipation, to the day you stop interrupting everything I say.”
She snorted. “Keep looking forward, then.”
You ignored her quip. Sometimes, that was just the best plan of action with Jessica. “I can assure you, the guy I’m looking for is very much blind.” You turned to your right, pushing open a glass door with a brightly-colored cartoon bagel decal on it. “I’m gonna need to see those photos.”
“You got it, boss.”
The door to the bakery opened smoothly, and a small bell twinkled its charming sound through the air. Even Jessica felt a fleeting moment of serenity stepping into the place. The scent of fresh pastries, bagels, cakes, and coffee twirled around your noses in a mouthwatering dance, drawing you both slowly, surely, further inside. It was brighter than any other business on the street, light and airy in a way that made you think you were in a cozy beach town instead of deep within the grit of this neighborhood.
Jessica shook herself out of that momentary calm. “Fucking gentrification,” she whispered under her breath. She had a point, but it was not the time.
“Shush.”
“Why didn’t you just grab some bagels from the cafe? It’s not like they saved your life or something.”
“Would you just let me do something nice?”
“Good morning, ladies!” A middle-aged woman called out from the counter, interrupting your chorus of hisses at each other. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually!” You marched past Jessica and up to the lady, whose lips were drawn up to her rosy cheeks in a warm smile. “I’m here to pick up an order.”
“Alright, dear. Your name?”
“Selena.”
You heard a grunt from behind you, and once the lady started sifting through her order slips, you turned back to glare at Jessica. Along with knowing some - but very few - details about your current plight, she was one of the few people in the world who knew your real name. When you were officially adopted, you’d gotten it changed legally, but for some reason, your legal name struck her funny every once in a while. Once she knew it wasn’t your real name, it almost became like an inside joke to her. Something about ‘classic’ you, ‘too scared of the world to show it your true face.’
Classic Jessica. So ‘real,’ she doesn’t know the difference between what’s funny and what’s not, between what she understands and what she really doesn’t.
Jessica coughed a few times, pretending she’d choked on her coffee. “Excuse me,” she quavered hoarsely. You rolled your eyes and flipped her off under the counter.
“Here you go, hon!” The shop lady grabbed a moderately-sized basket from behind her and placed it in front of you. Bagels galore sat atop a bed of checkered cloth within the basket, warmth wafting up from them like they’d just come out of the oven - which they likely had. Perfect. It’s perfect.
“There’s three plain, three cheese, three cinnamon raisin, three everything, and right here,” she held out a paper bag to you, “is one extra everything, toasted with cream cheese.” Your lips parted in surprise and hunger, and you took the bag, wanting to give this woman all the rest of your money for her sweetness.
“Oh, you really didn’t have to, ma’am. “
“Baker’s dozen!” She winked. “Had to get rid of it somehow. I also added some raspberry jam, cream cheese, and butter packets. Part of the package you purchased.”
“This is fantastic. Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure, dear. Have a wonderful rest of your day!”
Having already paid over the phone, you stuffed your complimentary bagel in your purse, slipped your latte-holding arm through the basket’s handle, and spun back to Jessica. Bored out of her mind, she had just finished counting all the loaves of bread on one of the display shelves and started examining them for mold.
“Come on,” you groaned, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket and dragging her out the door. She shook you off as the two of you strode back down the sidewalk.
“Why are you buying a basket of bagels for two random guys, anyway?”
“I work for the community, Jessica. They’ve started a new business in the community, and I want to be welcoming.”
“Alright, Special Agent O’Malley.” Jessica sounded like a playground bully with the way she teasingly lilted your title and your - legal - last name. “You throwing your body and your groceries at them sounded welcoming enough.”
“Alright, then consider it both a business-warming gift and an apology.”
That, and a second attempt at a decent first impression. You’d decided it was wise to keep a warm relationship with any lawyers you knew.
Just in case.
“Well, I guess it can’t hurt anything other than your bank account.” The crowd never filtered out, only changed as you moved through it, a mix of bright and muted clothing beneath the morning sunlight. “Either of them cute?”
“Jessica,” you groaned. The dark-haired lawyer flashed across your mind. Matt. His name is Matt. “This is not like that.”
“Well, you objected to a vibrator - maybe you won’t object to a man. And maybe he won’t object to you once you bring him free bagels.”
“Remember the line we talked about?”
Jessica laughed. “Nope.”
The two of you stood at the edge of the street corner from which you’d go your separate ways - Jessica, back to Alias Investigations, and you, off to Nelson and Murdock. Before Jessica could turn to depart, you grabbed her shoulder.
“One more thing,” you whispered. “I’ve got some more names for you.”
Jessica swore and muttered your name under her breath. “You know there’s only so much I can do with just names. If it’s dangerous, it has to be worth it.”
“I know, but I’ll be looking into it with my own resources, and it would really help to have a second set of eyes,” you pushed, searching that second set of eyes you were hoping would agree to continue offering their help. She steeled herself against your gaze, but when you didn’t let up, she softened, dipping her head so you could whisper in her ear.
“You already have Owlsley, Barrett, and Wesley, but I caught a solid connection to a Prohaszka. Kitchen mobster,” you paused. “And an Anatoly. Russian mob. They’re all linked.”
Jessica stood still for a second, her lips moving in silence as she committed the names to memory. “I’ve heard of Prohaszka. Don’t know an Anatoly, though.” She met your eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
You nodded at her with a small smile and turned to walk away.
“Hey, Selena! ”
You turned back, wincing in anticipation. Her using that name for you? Never a good thing.
“Try to stay away from bullets, okay?” She snickered, calling out to you louder than you were comfortable with. “And, if you’re not gonna give one of those guys a chance, at least consider the vibrator.”
Oh my God.
“You could use the stress relief!”
Jessica’s open yell of the word ‘vibrator’ earned both you and her some questionable stares, and you wanted to pull your blazer up and over your eyes to hide the hot blush that was, thanks to her, steadily exploding across your face. Really could use the mask right about now.
“You know what, Jessica? That’s just lovely,” you yelled back with narrowed eyes, the tight smile on your face dripping with sarcasm. “You have a lovely, lovely rest of your day!”
She just laughed and turned to finish crossing the street, and you watched her go until she totally disappeared into that ever-churning sea of people.
The foam from your latte had totally melted, and you downed the now-lukewarm drink in a few gulps, dropping the cup into a nearby trashcan so you could free up your hands. You knew the street the firm was on, but you wanted to be sure - so you typed ‘Nelson and Murdock’ into your phone and searched for directions.
Your map app led you to a brick building with a white metal door and no signage. Although it seemed odd at first, you shrugged and headed inside. They’d just gotten the place, after all.
The staircase up to their office was steep but clean, and you ascended it quickly. The first door you noticed had a fading globe symbol on the glass, reading ‘Atlas Investments.’ You laughed at how similar it sounded to ‘Alias Investigations.’ Jessica would either love or hate it. Probably the latter. Might accuse them of plagiarism or something.
Across from Atlas Investments was another double doorway, behind which you could hear a few voices and some shuffling around. A piece of paper was taped to the frosted glass of one of the doors, semi-decent handwriting scrawled over it in black ink. The words’ Nelson and Murdock’ took up most of the page, with ‘Attorneys at Law’ squeezed underneath.
You didn’t know whether to laugh or offer to help them pay for signage - but it was a sweet makeshift sign.
At your knock, the shuffling stopped, and in the momentary silence that followed, you wondered whether this was a dumb idea. You shifted the basket from one hand to the other before deciding it best to clutch the handle with both hands. The bagels were still relatively warm, the spreads were cold, and the basket itself was very cute. Too cute.
Was it too much for some guys you didn’t know at all? Maybe Jessica was right. This was weird. And unnecessary.
Ugh.
Muted heels clacking along the floor on the other side of the door knocked you from your self-judging stupor. You pushed your shoulders back and tried to look more relaxed before the door opened. A tall blonde woman stood on the other side; she smiled at you warmly but nervously, and you wondered whether it was her first day on the job. Past the door was a messy desk - and in front of this desk stood the two men you were looking for. Nelson and Murdock, in the flesh.
“Hi,” you beamed, taking a few slow steps into the office. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Foggy squinted at you for a split second. The dark-haired one - Matt, of course - turned his head your way, seemed to think for a moment, then lifted his expression in apparent recognition, his mouth quirking up as he turned back to his partner.
Foggy’s squinty eyes grew wide, and he snapped his fingers with a grin. “Tuesday!”
You laughed, nodding, relief surging through you. “Tuesday.”
“Pretty sure the lady’s name is Selena,” Matt quipped, shifting his attention back to you with a lazy smile. Warmth pricked your chest. “Do I smell… baked goods?”
All eyes were now on the basket you carried. Foggy’s grew even wider than before. He took a step towards you, mouth open and hand lifting ever so slightly, as if he thought the bagels would grow wings and fly away.
“You brought us bagels?” Foggy asked in near disbelief. “And- and jam? and cream cheese?”
“Yeah. I- I wasn’t sure what you guys liked, so I got a bit of a variety. I hope it’s okay.”
“Oh, this is more than okay. I just- I did not think you were gonna do it,” Foggy admitted, in awe of you and in reverence of your basket of bagels. His eyes flipped up to yours, and he spoke with as much conviction as if he was cross-examining a witness. “But you did it. You are officially the best.”
“Hey, it’s the least I could do. Consider it an apology gift and a housewarming gift.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Matt laughed. “I actually don’t think you hit him hard enough.” Foggy rolled his eyes.
“Hit him?” The blonde woman gasped, the open circle of her mouth tilting upwards anyway, suspecting it was some sort of inside joke.
“Should have been there, Karen. Selena here almost knocked Foggy clean off his feet.”
“It’s true,” you turned to Karen, her blue eyes bright with amusement. “Let’s hope he doesn’t press charges.”
“Well, if he does,” Karen smiled, gesturing to Matt and Foggy, “at least you’ve got two great lawyers on your side.”
“Objection!” Foggy bellowed. “As the victim here, I will not be representing my own assailant in a case put forth by me. You’re alone with Murdock on that one.” He slapped one hand against Matt’s back.
Matt shrugged, that lazy smile shining its attention on you once more. “I wouldn’t mind that.” He turned to Foggy, and another spark flitted through your core. “We need clients, anyway. Might have to bite the bullet on this one, Fog.”
“No bullet to bite, because the second she walked in with that basket of breakfast heaven, I personally unloaded the gun and threw it out the window.” You all laughed, and Foggy placed his hand over his heart, looking into your eyes with a joking sincerity. “Charges dropped, my friend.”
“Glad to hear it. Where do you want me to drop this?”
Foggy opened his mouth to speak, but Matt beat him to the punch. “We’ve got a little counter space - I’ll show you.” Matt waved you over to where he stood, and you swore you caught Foggy giving Karen a look out of the corner of your eye. They began their own private chat, and you followed Matt to a small enclave to your left. It had a shelf stacked with coffee cups and paper plates, a counter with a kettle and a microwave, and just enough space for your basket. He let you step into the enclave first, and you placed the basket down, conscious of the cream cheese and butter.
“There’s a mini fridge behind you,” Matt hummed. “For the spreads.”
You turned, and sure enough, a small mini fridge sat across from the cabinetry, tucked away against the wall.
“Perfect,” you smiled, kneeling down to move the spreads into the fridge. “Wouldn’t want these to go to waste.”
“Oh, they definitely won’t,” he assured you. “I’ll have to move quickly to ensure Foggy doesn’t devour all the bagels. I could feel his eyes popping out of his head at the sight of them.”
You looked up from where you knelt on the floor, jam in hand, at Matt. He leaned against the wall, his blazer and black tie draped smoothly down his body. He didn’t need to take them off for you to be able to tell he was built. There was something, though, in the way his head tilted towards you, his brows slightly furrowed in spite of his smile, that set you on edge. Or is he just so hot it makes me nervous?
“Believe me, they were,” you laughed, closing the fridge and getting to your feet. “Maybe you can offer some to clients if there are any extras.”
Matt snorted. “We’d need clients for that.”
“No luck yet?”
“Not much, however,” Matt began, his brow relaxing. “I’d say you’re as good an omen as any.” One of your brows quirked up. This guy did not quit. “I mean, you brought us bagels,” he continued emphatically. “Bagels are the lawyer symbol of good luck, you know.”
Your grin was a permanent fixture on your face at this point. “Are they really?”
“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “That, and those who so graciously take the time to deliver them.” A moment passed where, in another life, he’d be looking you up and down. Still, though, his focus on you was more than enough to make you blush. “I doubt that’s your full-time job, though.”
“‘Bagel-delivery-person’ does have a nice ring to it, but you’re right.” You paused. “My line of work is kind of similar to yours, actually. I’m a federal agent.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Foggy bellowed from the other side of the room, stepping slowly and quizzically towards you and Matt - whose eyebrows were raised, lips moving in a silent ‘wow.’ “Do you mean federal agent as in secret agent? Like you’re a spy?”
You laughed. “Can’t confirm nor deny that.”
“FBI, then?” Matt confirmed, interested.
“FBI. I specialize in cyber and organized crime, and I do a mix of desk research and field work.” The three of them let out enthusiastic ‘wow’s in a slightly-off chorus. It had taken you some time to appreciate the value and difficulty of what you did, to value and be proud of yourself, so them seeming notably impressed gave you a few happy butterflies.
“Well, if you happen to know any criminals who need some defending,” Foggy chirped, “send them our way.”
“Please do,” Matt added, his focus still trained intensely on you. It was hard for you to tell if he was flirting or, for whatever reason, trying to suss you out. You tried to shake off the feeling and chalked it up to the agent half of you, never fully able to turn itself off. That, and the fact that you could hardly remember the last time you’d gone out with a guy. Jessica’s laugh flashed in your mind, and your subconsciousness groaned.
Your laugh was light but twinged with apprehension. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The phone in Foggy’s office started ringing, and he ran back to get it, dragging Karen with him. Glancing their way, you couldn’t help but notice a dark red gash at the edge of Matt’s eyebrow, the apparent injury extending down and around his eye. You were shocked you hadn’t caught it earlier.
“Matt, I don’t mean to pry, but I-“ you stuttered, lowering your voice. “I just, are you alright?”
Matt’s brows knitted together. He hesitated. “Am I alright?”
“I mean,” you took a step towards him to get a better look, the overhead lights reflecting off his glasses. The scabbing was solid, but a slight knock to the head would get him bleeding again, you were sure. You would know. “I- your face.”
A beat passed, and he smiled again with a nod, his brows relaxing. “Ah, my face. Yeah. Wasn’t paying attention last night.”
“What happened?”
“Stairs aren’t always my friend,” he joked, angling his posture so he faced you directly. Chest, to abdomen, to legs, now on full, head-on display - save for his clothes, of course. A low flood of tension rose in your core, and you held yourself steady, working to push it down.
“Jeez,” you breathed. The red streaked out from Matt’s eye like it was reaching for the rest of him, pain and scarring on his skin like leeches out for his comfort. It wasn’t the worst it could be, but still. Been there. Sucks. “Must have been some brutal stairs. Must have hurt.”
The slightest hint of cologne hit your nose, notes of ashy cinnamon and vanilla interrupting your train of thought. You suddenly found yourself incredibly aware of how close Matt was to you. Your eyes traveled to the collar of his shirt, perfectly clean and a crisp white, then to his neck, following a trail of dark stubble up and over his chin and jaw. If he was aware of your distraction, he didn’t show it.
“Comes with the territory, unfortunately,” Matt shrugged with a half smile and a laugh, gesturing to his glasses. Your mouth opened slightly, eyebrows lifted, lips not knowing whether to tilt up or down.
Do I laugh or give him a hug?
“Don’t worry,” he laughed earnestly. He reached out as if to tell you, ‘It’s okay. I don’t think you’re an asshole for not knowing what to say.’ “It’s meant to be funny. You can laugh, too.” As Matt dropped his hand, his fingers brushed yours in a whisper of a touch. The split second of contact was excruciatingly nice.
Stop it. God, what are you, a teenage boy? Get your head out of your clit. Now.
The internal scolding set your head straight, un-frazzling your brain and ending the moment for you. Your odd look of unsure awkwardness melted back into a smile. “Well, as long as you’re well on track to healing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His grin and those two words kicked you right in the stomach.
And the butterflies are back.
“Hey, Matt!” Foggy called out, emerging from his office with Karen in tow and finally drawing Matt’s attention away from you. “You just missed my mom. Super excited for us, isn’t she, Karen?”
Karen beamed. “So excited.”
“So excited, she’s dropping off a pie later!” Foggy exclaimed. “Sorry to steal your thunder, Selena.”
“Hey, the more food, the merrier.”
Your phone buzzed. Drawing it out of your pocket, you saw it was Ray calling you - and that it was already eight-thirty. Shit.
“Well, it’s time for me to run, but it was nice to see you guys again - and to meet you, Karen!”
“You too, Selena!” She smiled.
“Back to your secret agent duties, I assume?” Foggy asked as you walked towards the door.
“Like I said,” you spun back to face him, “I can’t confirm nor deny that.”
“It was nice to see you too, Selena.” Matt smiled. Your body hummed with the energy your chat with him had riled up in you, energy that he was giving off in waves, and that you - against your better judgment - were soaking up. A sliver of this energy, though, still felt off to you, like you were missing something - like he wasn’t being as genuine as he seemed.
You internally told your trust issues to fuck off and smiled back at Matt.
“Almost forgot.” You fished through your purse and drew out your own business card, handing it to Karen. “Let me know when you run out of bagels.”
She giggled. “I’m sure they’ll get me on the phone with you by tomorrow.”
You turned back to the door and pulled it open to see a man standing in the hallway, his hand lifted as though he was just about to give the door a knock. The man stepped back to let you pass, and you were staring before you could stop yourself.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
His vibrant grin was so bright that you swore his teeth were glowing. Carefully coiffed hair and angular glasses gave him a sophisticated edge, and his eyes - a piercing blue - seemed to drive through your skull.
Giving one last wave to Matt, Foggy, and Karen, you stepped around the man and towards the staircase, trying to figure out where you’d seen him before. From behind you, he spoke again.
“Do you do walk-ins?”
The man’s voice itched at your memory, and with every step down the stairs, you grew more frustrated at his familiarity.
Wait.
A memory from weeks ago resurfaced in your mind, of you and Jessica in her apartment, going over files and comparing notes. She’d been sharing shots she got of certain people of interest, and you would match them with the case files you could ‘borrow’ from work to ensure the people she was following were the right ones. The two of you were satisfied, packing up for the night, because you’d finally been able to find matches for Turk Barrett, Leland Owlsley, and- and-
Oh my God.
The smile.
The hair.
The eyes of ice.
The voice you’d reviewed from your tape, over and over.
I just stood toe to toe with James Wesley.
You were knocking so hard on Jessica’s door that you thought your knuckles would bruise.
“Jessica! Open up!”
A clang, a thump, and a groan came, in that order, from inside her apartment. Her stomping to the door would have scared you if you didn’t know better. The door swung open, revealing a very-grouchy post-nap Jessica, her hair in a bird’s nest of a bun and mascara dust scattered under her eyes.
“Do you mind?” Her scowl was borderline homicidal, but you ignored it, treading around her and into her place.
“Do you? It’s nine o’clock. Sunday night. Time to discuss.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled, shutting the door. “Look, I did some digging, and-“
“No. Me first.” You got into her living room, considered the couch, and decided you had too much nervous energy to sit just yet. This was eating at you. You spent your workday reliving the moment in your head, over and over again. There were a couple points where Ray had to snap you out of your apparent daydream. Eating, sleeping, drinking water - everything felt less important. The same thing happened the next day, and your weekend was no better. With Nelson and Murdock potentially involved in your crusade, there was another connection for you to explore. It was insane.
“I met James Wesley. At Nelson and Murdock.”
“What? What do you mean you met James Wesley?”
“He walked in just as I was leaving.”
“Huh.” Jessica placed her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s a good thing you made friends with those lawyers after all.” You’d thought about that - and although you felt bad about potentially using Matt and Foggy for information, it was as good an in as any.
“Guess so.”
“Well, do you have a plan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, FBI agent,” Jessica muttered. You rolled your eyes, and she sighed, shaking off her shroud of sleep with a firmer tone. “Are you gonna become one of their clients? Go to them for legal advice? Jump their place for some made-up investigation?”
“I can’t fake a warrant, Jessica. I just thought I’d get closer with them and see where it goes, what I can find.”
Matt flashed across your mind.
See where it goes. Yeah.
“We both know you can’t afford to do that. Everyone has to have a purpose,” she huffed, almost spitting the last two words at you. “Don’t they?”
You didn’t quite understand what she was getting at. “I didn’t say they don’t have a purpose. I just want to do this in a way that invites as few legal complications as possible.”
“Right, right,” she nodded sharply, walking over to her kitchen. You followed, confused.
“Is there something wrong?”
Jessica’s open fridge door was between the two of you, and she popped up, two beers in hand - and the kind of relaxed, content expression that you seldom saw on her. “Nothing’s wrong.” She held out a drink for you, and you took it, still confused but sure you should stop prying. You twisted the drink open with a click and a satisfying fizz and took a gulp, the bitter bubbles exploding over your tongue.
“I know it hasn’t been very long, but did you happen to find anything else on those names I gave you?”
Jessica hesitated, glancing at the floor. “Anatoly, no, nothing yet. But Prohaszka…” She met your eyes and said your name blankly. “Prohaszka was murdered.”
“What?”
“Just last week,” she continued, closing the fridge and leading you back to the living room. “In a bowling alley.”
You were momentarily shaken, the alarming ease at which a life can be taken hitting you in the chest. But, the moment passed, and you settled yourself, finally sitting beside Jessica on the couch.
“Do they know who did it?”
“Funny you should ask. It was some nutjob who jumped in on Prohaszka’s private game. Ended up breaking his arm and beating him with a bowling ball.” She took a swig of her drink. “Claiming self-defense, though. Hilarious.”
“What the fuck?” Your stomach flipped at the mental image, and suddenly the beer in your hand was the last thing you were interested in. “Who cares that much about bowling, anyway?”
“And, the kicker is, drumroll, please,” Jessica proclaimed, leaning towards you. “He is being represented in court this week by none other than Nelson and Murdock.”
Holy shit.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. And the fact that you ran into Wesley at their office?” She pursed her lips. “Looks to me like it’s all connected.” Jessica paused. “You think they’re dirty?”
One flash through your mind of Foggy’s enthusiasm about his mother and your bagels was enough to send your head into a fervid shake ‘no.’ “I seriously doubt it. Given how small and new their firm is, I’d guess they’re being used. At the very least, they could be in it for the money.” You remembered their one piece of signage, made from printer paper and a Sharpie. “It’s probably both.”
“Well, I’d stay on that if I were you. Let me know if you need them tailed.”
“I doubt I will, but thanks.” You took another sip of your beer, placing it on the coffee table. “You got the pictures you were gonna show me?”
Jessica nodded, pointing at the file folder next to where you’d set down your drink. “Knock yourself out. They’re at the top of the pile.”
You could often be a stickler for printed copies of sensitive information such as this; knowing cybersecurity the way you did, it felt safer to print things off and delete them as soon as possible than to let them collect dust on a computer, just waiting to be accessed and stolen. Jessica didn’t share your level of computer wariness, and you could admit it was more paranoia than anything else. Still, she got it, and you appreciated her creating paper copies of your case files so you wouldn’t have to worry about the potential risks of receiving them electronically.
The file folder had a piece of masking tape stretched across the cover, your name written on it in blue ink.
Better than Selena in this context, I guess. Less directly traceable.
You traced a finger under the folder’s cover, flipping it open. The words slipped out of your mouth without warning. “Oh my God.”
Jessica smirked. “Told you so. Still doubt he’s actually blind.”
Your eyes raked over the first photo, then the next, then one after the other until you’d gotten through the entire pile, and then you started again. Though the settings varied through each photo, the important details were the same.
The black glasses.
The sightless blue eyes, when the glasses were off.
More wrinkles than the last time you’d seen him, and gray hair nearing white.
And always a solemn expression on his sullen face, no happiness nor fear to hide.
After all these years, you were seeing him again - and there was no question in your mind that it was the man you were searching for.
“I haven’t seen him around in a bit, but some of those photos were taken a few weeks apart, so I’m sure he’s still in the Kitchen,” Jessica said, although her voice was background noise to you. “Either that, or he’ll be back.”
Memories came flooding back to you - of violence, of blood, of fear. Memories of mistakes in the moonlight, irreversible decisions made under the glare of shoddy lightbulbs shining through dust and dirt, grit and blood in the thick of the night that sent you tumbling toward your own new day - a life you took for yourself, grabbed and held tight with no regard for the price you might pay for it.
This man had been a starting point for some of your greatest inner struggles and was now one key to the battles you fought outside your mind and soul.
And you’d found him, more or less.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Jessica.”
She laughed. “Just make sure I get my check. That’s all the thanks I need.”
You placed the files back on the table and got up to leave, a million thoughts and considerations racing through your mind, going all different speeds and directions.
“Just out of curiosity,” Jessica called out from the couch, “what makes this guy so important? I know it relates to-”
“It’s complicated.” You huffed.
We are not doing this right now.
“Okay.” she paused, getting to her feet and making a concerted effort to soften her voice. “Fine. Okay. Just- you haven't told me much, but I know whatever you went through wasn't exactly pleasant.” Her eyes reflected a shadow of concern. You made an effort to avoid them. “What do you plan on doing?”
“Keeping that sort of information is way outside your pay grade, Jessica.” You walked towards the door, her following behind you. “I appreciate your work, but the less you know, the better.”
“I’m not gonna sit around and wait for something to happen to you once you turn down the wrong path-“
“No, you’re gonna respect my decisions and do what I pay you to do.”
Jessica stared at you, eyes glassy and yet hard as stone, and you opened the door with not so much as a glance in her direction. There were few moments when she didn’t respond to a remark - when someone else’s words rendered her silent. This was one of them.
“I’m guessing court starts tomorrow? For the Prohaszka case?”
“Yeah.” Jessica stared you down, the emotion drained from her face. You finally met her eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. The coldness in her gaze unsettled you. “As far as I can tell, yeah. Weird how soon it is, but sketchy people like that always seem to have strings to pull to get what they want.”
“Okay.” You considered mentioning that you could give Nelson and Murdock a call and do some light interrogating, but decided against sharing anything else.
“Okay.”
“Call me if you find anything?”
Jessica shifted her jaw. “Always do.”
No sooner than you stepped out of her apartment did her door slam behind you. Yes, sure, you could have been warmer, a little more open, but this wasn’t a friendly hangout. This was a business meeting. A strategic sharing of information. You had to keep her at arms’ length, and if anyone would understand that, it was her.
Still, you struggled to shake off the thought of the hurt that lay beneath her detached expression, beneath the wall you knew was nothing but a facade. You were still trying to shake it off in your bed that night, tossing and turning through a dreamless, restless sleep.
When your waking life is spent chasing nightmares, how can you still dream after dark?