darkest before the dawn

July 31st, 2016

6:32 PM

Jessica Jones didn’t do friends.

Not anymore.

Not after the last time she reached out, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen died under tons of concrete and metal. Not after her trust was so irrevocably broken by Malcom, who she had just told to trust her. Not after Trish walked in and murdered her mother, right in front of Jessica’s eyes, right after Alisa decided to turn herself in.

So, yeah.

No friends.

It was okay.

Alias Investigations was still up and running, and she had at least that going for her. Taking a page out of Murdock’s book and focusing on helping people who needed it. Fucking smug bastard would’ve teased the shit out of her for that.

Asshole.

She threw herself into her work, using it to distract from the world around her. Luke and Danny and Claire occasionally checked in on her, but she didn’t go out of her way to be buddy-buddy. She ignored everything and everyone, just focusing on one case at a time and moving to the next. She also used booze, which also worked great to make the world not real.

Trish would have called it a coping mechanism.

However, Trish couldn’t deal with the fact that, yeah, Jessica had everything under control, and didn’t her help, so she and her therapist could go fuck themselves.

Booze was an excellent therapist.

Apparently, being framed for your murderous mother’s death and being applauded for stopping her even though she was your long-lost mother and the only biological family you had left was actually really good for business. With the pro-bono cases piling up and a few lighthearted but pricey ones paying her bills, she wasn’t all that surprised when a nervous-looking man in glasses came wandering into her office.

“Ms. Jones, I presume?” The man said and Jessica instantly disliked him. Something was off about him. It just didn’t feel right.

Jessica observed him over her mug of coffee and whiskey, feet up on her desk. “That’s me.”

“May I sit?” The man said, glancing quickly at a ratty chair near her desk. 

Jessica waved her hand. “Sure.”

The man sat down and pushed up his glasses, pulling his briefcase to his chest. Jessica wondered what his deal was. His left arm was a prosthetic, and his graying brown hair was shaved in a way that reminded Jess of the military, Ex-military then, but probably a doctor, judging by the pristine suit and the general smell of hospital. 

Wife’s probably cheating on him.

Jessica took another sip of her coffee. 

“Ms. Jones, I am Curt Connors, here representing the wishes of my employer,” Connors began, his voice kind of scratchy and deep, “We have a case we’d like you to do.”

Jessica cocked her head, taking another sip of her coffee/whiskey. “I’m all ears.”

Connors took a deep breath. “I’m sure you are aware of the vigilante known as Spider-Man, correct?”

Ah.

Spider-Man.

The cryptid of Queens and J.J Jameson’s favorite metaphorical punching bag.

Yeah, she’s heard of him.

“Well,” Jessica drawled, “I’ve heard of him. Then again, who knows if he exists. He is called a cryptid for a reason, y’know.”

She knows he exists. Trish took a video. Small red and blue figure swinging out of nowhere and lifting up that exosketon and bringing to the asphalt like a fucking WWE wrestler. Tore that fursuit to literal shreds. Trish had stopped the video after the small bug-man had trounced him, but she had told Jessica that the vigilante had asked, extremely politely, to delete the video. Obviously, she hadn’t. Jessica had to talk her out of posting the video after J.J Jameson started berating the unknown vigilante on his talk show. 

Trish had been extremely fond of Spider-Man.

Connors adjusted his glasses. “I can assure you, Ms. Jones, that he is indeed real. It is for that reason that we are asking for your help.”

So this wasn’t about his wife.

Jessica eyed him. “And what could I do to help you?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of Spider-Man’s powers?” Connors inquired, Jessica nodding, “It is to our knowledge that Spider-Man gained his powers through illegal entry to our lab and theft of our research.”

Jessica’s heart leapt. 

Yay, labs.

“Right. And what do you people do?” Jessica asked, taking her feet off the desk.

Connors straightened. “Currently, we are working on ways to regrow human limbs via animal DNA. It’s a medical procedure-”

“Right, right,” Jessica interrupted him, immediately sorry she asked, “And how does that correlate to Spidey’s powers?”

Connors shrugged. “Our research was missing. Two weeks later, the first Spider-Man appearance was recorded.  It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be.”

“Uh-huh.” Jessica stared down at her empty mug, wishing it would magically refill itself, “And what you want me to do what about it?”

Connors took a deep breath. “We want you to find him.”

Jessica gave up on looking respectful and grabbed her flask, taking a swig. “No.”

Connors’ eyebrow rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not finding him,” Jessica stood up, cracking her knuckles,“Now get out.”

“I think you misunderstand our intentions, Ms. Jones,” Connors said quickly, standing up as well, “We are not here to harm him in any way.”

Jessica stared him down. “I never said anything about that. Funny how you immediately leapt to that conclusion.”

Connors paled. “Ms. Jones-”

“You choose. Either the elevator or the window.”

“Ms. Jones-”

“Get out.”

“Ms. Jones, Spider-Man is in danger of dying!”

Jessica paused, eyes full of frozen-cold-blue ice. “Explain.”

Connors is breathing hard, eyes wide. “The experimentation that we believe gave Spider-Man his powers had not been proved to be safe for humans. In fact, if we are right, it’s slowly killing him over the course of time.”

Is he telling the truth? 

Probably. But there’s a whole ton of shit he’s not saying.

And that’s dangerous.

“And let me guess,” Jessica’s voice is hard. Cold. Mean. “You want me to find and bring him to you, so you can reveal his identity to a bunch of knowledge-hungry people who would kill for a bit of his DNA and “fix him”. Meanwhile, he’s gone missing as he’s serving as your human guinea pig. Yeah, what a load of shit, asshole.”

“Ms. Jones-”

“I told you.”

Jessica doesn’t toss him out the window; she doesn’t want the police and while Hogarth is a decent lawyer, she preferred Devil Boy. Connors lands on his ass outside her apartment, protesting all the while. Before Jessica slams the door on him, she can see Malcolm peek his head out of his apartment, seconds before her door slams shut with a bang.

Connors’ gone by time Jessica finishes her flask. She’s starting another one when the thought that Connors might be telling a partial truth rolls across her mind. 

“No,” She snarls to herself, “The last time you fucking teamed up, someone fucking died. Don’t you fucking dare, Jones.”

Protect my city.

I made you.

Fucking guilt complexes.

Well, if she’s going to go search for another masked idiot, she might as well go straight to Queens. And bring her laptop. And her camera.

And some booze.

❁

August 1st, 2016

10:54 PM

For as much attention Spider-Man got on the news, he was very good at making it look like he didn’t exist.

Sure, there were photos, but they were blurry and not very good. Sure, there were eyewitness accounts of a red and blue figure knocking muggers into walls and bashing rapists into the ground, but they were scarce. Sure, there was the webbing that hopefully didn’t come out of the vigilante lashing criminals to walls and whatnot, but it dissolved quickly after and could never be brought in for testing.

And then there was the fact that Queens held a strange sort of loyalty to the dude.

And not the everyday kind of people. More of the kind of people that was often overlooked by everyone else. The ones who the police didn’t help. The kids that walked home scared and alone. The girls who had to watch their back every time they went down a dark street. The people that were just trying to get on in life, one day at a time.

The ones who would know where the vigilante was.

And they weren’t going to say shit.

As it was with the case of one Aaron Davis.

Aaron Davis, a convicted felon who was arrested and served his time in jail for eighteen months. He had a brother, one Detective Jefferson Davis, who was the husband of a nurse named Rio Morales and the father of Miles Morales. Currently on parole and working at a mechanic's shop in Brooklyn. Lived in Brooklyn as well, in an apartment just as shitty as Jessica’s, but less cluttered.

Why did she know this?

Well, after seeing the person she was looking for leap out of his apartment and swing out into the night, faster than Jessica could react, she did some investigating. And then, because she wasn’t a completely souless human being, she waited until ten in the morning to go banging on his door.

He was not happy to see her.

He was slightly terrified.

And when Jessica told him she was here for Spider-Man, he leaned against the door and went, “Who?”

+2 for loyalty. -2 for horrible lying skills.

He had not been pleased to find that she knew Spider-Man had been in his apartment. He wanted to know why she was looking for him. What she was going to do to him.

So Jessica told him people were looking for him. And they weren’t nice like her.

Aaron Davis swore. And then looked at his watch and swore again.

Jessica asked him if he knew who he was.

Aaron had hesitated. Opened his mouth. Then shut it again.

“Look, I spent my night looking all over for this guy,” Jessica told him, “Asshole wanted me to find him and I know that since I didn’t do it, they’ll send someone else. I’m just trying to give them a warning.”

Aaron thumped his head against the doorframe. “I don’t know his name. He said it was Frank, but he lied.”

“Frank?” Jessica repeated, “Okay, way to be original. Anything else?”

Aaron closed his eyes. “He was going after these arm dealers. The ones that sold the Rhino his suit. Saved my life from them last night, s’why he was in my apartment. Told him to go look for Turk Barrett, the guy from-”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” Jessica shoved her hands into her leather jacket. 

Aaron smiled. “Yeah. Anyway, he’s probably gonna go look for him tonight, he got pretty beat up last night.”

Jessica took a deep breath. This had been actually useful. For once. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Aaron groaned. “You’re welcome.”

Jessica started to walk down the hallway. Aaron called out to her, still inside his doorway. “Hey, uh, Jones?”

Jessica turned. “What?”

“When you find him,” Aaron began, “Can you help him? Just a little bit? He’s kind of an idiot. And his costume is a piece of crap.”

I’m your attorney.

Jessica waves a hand. “I’ll try.”

Aaron snorted and closed the door, leaving Jessica to her thoughts and the plan to find Turk Barrett and shake him up for information. And find Spider-Man. Jessica really hoped that he didn’t choose the name because it sounded awful. 

It’s really not hard to find Turk. You just hit up the usual spots and go from there. Or, if you have supernatural hearing and smell, track him down like a fucking bloodhound and scare the living shit out of him. Jessica had neither of those, which was why at eleven o’clock at night, she was tracking Turk down after an afternoon nap and a beer.

But usually, when you see a bright purple light flash and the sounds of arguing erupt by the docks, that’s also a really good sign that something's gone to shit.

Of course, that also attracts everyone else who may be in Hell’s Kitchen,

Of course, that’s when everything that hasn’t gone to shit, well. Explodes in your face and gives you a headache that’s going to suck.

Fucking guilt complexes.