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ALIAS Investigations has been weirdly quiet for the last three days. Jessica went to Florida to fulfill the promise she made to Karolina. Which, ended up being a fruitless trip. Mostly because she wasn't actually following a lead. She was leaving as per the obligation. Which is why the office had been quiet, especially with folks going out and investigating various leads.
Jessica Jones stomps down the hallway towards ALIAS. Her black leather jacket is somewhat askew as she moves, and her faded-wash blue jeans tucked into a pair of black combat boots seem just a little too normal. But for once, she doesn't wreak of booze. Instead, she seems to be keeping to her sobriety, and she even tosses a coin into the air. A chip. They told her she earned it. She snarked back about no one fucking earning anything by not doing something, but has taken to treasuring it anyways.
But as she trails down the hall, her expression turns. Is… her doorknob missing. Her expression deadens. That can't be a good thing.
Inside, ALIAS has entered a disaster zone. Purple, spray painted across the walls, lines the entire room. The desk. The floor. Papers are strewn about the room, and the boxes of files have been dumped across the area. The mind map behind the door is GONE. As are the notes Jessica had taken about the case.
*
David North had not gone to Florida with Jessica — he'd stayed behind to keep an eye on Charlotte Ferguson, to try and track down any new information that he could. But when the time came, he'd also driven out to the airport to pick Jessica up and give her a ride home.
Besides. It gave him some time to bring her up to speed, without distractions.
David follows her down the hallway with his hands tucked into his suit's pockets, his brow still furrowed. "…just feels strange," he's saying, mouth drawn into a thin line. "But maybe we should talk to that boy I mentioned. The bloodhound. He might be able… to…"
He trails off when he, too, notices the missing doorknob. Setting his jaw, David picks up some speed, his hands leaving his pockets.
*
Remy, meanwhile, has spent time in the lovely state of New Jersey. As a freedom fighter called Gambit. Where he helped liberate a military base of a ton of weapons which his friends, the Brotherhood, intend to use and perhaps against the American government.
But no one knows that. He was probably just whoring around.
In any event, he is just a few moments behind Maverick and Jessica, and holding a bag of sandwiches and a flower.
"Look like someone be home," he says quietly as he enters, pausing just a moment to take a look at the door knob. He looks up and sees Maverick and Jessica looking over the terror that is the office. He notices the purple. The flower goes in the paper bag very quickly.
*
Stepping out of her car, dressed rather more casually than she normally does, Trish double checks her purse. Yes, The envelope is in there. She slings the purse straps over her shoulder and closes the car door behind her. She approaches the familiar building, staring at it for a moment before entering.
Heels clack against the floor as she walks down the hall of the building. She takes the stairs up to the proper floor, and she takes a deep breath in as she opens the door at the landing. It's now or never. Hopefully Jess is actually there.
Click-clack, click-clack. The sound of her heels once more echos off the walls of the hall. She pauses as she comes to the door, frowning at the sight as she moves to enter Alias Investigations. "What in the frumple pumpkins…" She mutters as she looks around.
*
Alexander hasn't been around much of late. He packed up his stuff and moved out to Westchester, of all places, on his father's orders. Can't exactly argue with a command from dear old dad. But still, even though he's not exactly an employee, he wants to be involved, so when he was freed from his responsibilities elsewhere, he made his way back to Hell's Kitchen to check in with the Alias team. First stop is his apartment, empty but for a mattress these days. At least there's no squatters yet. Second stop, downstairs at the Alias Investigations office. Broken doorknob, not a good sign. But then, given the state of the building, not necessarily evidence of malfeasance. Alex is the last to come in, a full few minutes after everyone else has already seen the state of things, and when he does he lets out a quiet whistle, surveying the office. "Hey, what's with all the purple?"
*
The door creaks open ominously as Jessica Jones nears and her eyes darken. Wordlessly, she stares at the colour. Her eyes stare at the streaks where their work had once been. Her jaw tightens. Her legs buckle with the weight of the room. Purple. Her lips press into a thin line, and all words fail as the world seems to spin around her. She reaches out further, trying to find some semblance of stability. The significance of the colour may be missed on her cohorts, but for Jessica Jones, this is an obvious act of terrorism.
She wheezes as the spots begin to enter her vision. Breath won't seem to find its way to her lungs. Terror reigns here.
*
It's unfortunate but true that David does not know the significance of the color purple being splashed all over the office. All he knows is what he sees, and that is that it is making Jessica react. Badly. "…hell. Jones?"
David knows the others are her, but he's the one closest to Jessica. He takes two quick steps to put himself in front of her, trying to fill up her field of vision with himself. "Jones? Just breathe, boss, focus on me," he says gently, shooting a quick, confused look past her towards Remy. The hell is going on?
*
"Grab de gal some water, Trish?" Remy says sadly. All of the blood is gone from his face and his ruddy skin has gone to look more like a ghost than anything else. He kneels down towards Jessica and offers her a hand. "Could be coincidence," he says, perhaps even to himself. "Could be someone cruel joke. You okay, chere. You okay." It's not a question.
Motherfucker. Remy needs a smoke. If it wasn't clear that Jess was being fucked with, it is now. The Cajun does his best to keep everything in as he lights his smoke and prays she can't see any of the tears that threaten to well up in his eyes.
"Whoever dun dis gun pay sometin fierce. I gurontee dat."
*
"Jess? Jess…it's okay. It's all…" Trish looks around the room, frowning, glancing to each of the others who are now there. Whatever's going on, they'll deal with it. She nods to Remy. "Yes. Water. Water's good." She rushes to the kitchen. She turns on the tap as she grabs a glass from the cupboard. Soon, her heels are clacking back to the front room.
Placing a hand gently on Jessica's shoulder, she says, in what she hopes is a calm voice, "Jessica, hun, breath. And drink." Looking to Alexander, she says, "Would you mind grabbing her a chair? I think she needs to sit down for a moment…"
*
Alex catches up in time to see Jessica's reaction. He can sense her fear instinctively, even without actively looking for it. But then his eyes go white, and he focuses on the woman, looking into her mind to try to determine exactly what it is that has her so spooked. Visions and memories come to him from Jessica's mind, and then a moment later his eyes fade back to their normal blue hue, and he takes more delicate steps forward. He could have tried to calm her fear, but is trying this whole thing where he doesn't use his powers to manipulate every single person he comes across? Sometimes people need to deal with these things naturally. At Trish's request, he quickly moves to grab one of the chairs and slide it in front of Jessca so she can sit down before she falls over. "Who the fuck would want to bring all this up again," he says aloud, but it's not a question he really expects anyone to have an answer to. He does give a nod to Remy, though, in complete agreement. Bloody fucking payback.
*
Jessica can feel her knees buckle, and the chair appears just in time to have sitting in it. Her eyes don't easily hone in on any of those present. The assertion, the calling of her name echoes over her mind in a voice and tone that no one here is using.
Jessicaaaaah
She trembles, her hands ball into fists, and then loosen, and the hands near her create a strange bubble of alert as she mutters lowly, and strangely, in unison with David, "Don't touch me," albeit, David says her. It's a warning as much as anything. She bends forward in the chair and presses her face into her hands. She gasps for breath again, the panic is setting in. She can't seem to find her sea-legs.
*
And when David says it, he gives Trish an apologetic look afterwards. She means well, and he knows it.
Slowly, David settles down into a crouch in front of Jessica, loosely clasping his hands in front of himself. "You're okay, Jones," he repeats. He doesn't know any details about Kilgrave, but he knows just enough to feel confident about adding, "They aren't here. They can't touch you. It's just us."
Pursing his lips, David gives the others a questioning look. "…are any of the files still here?" he asks, and his tone of voice is resigned. He already suspects the answer. "Charlotte's chart? Any of it at all?"
*
Remy glares at Maverick out of the corner of his eye, gets to his feet and moves over to the window where he has takes long drags of his cigarette. "One o' you fuckers make y'self useful and grabba fingerprint kit and get try and find sometin." Mentally he tries to think of any of the items he might have touched when he had her. He could have touched one of the trinkets Belle was buried with. That's a hell of a thing to ask the Assassins of New Orleans. Clearly they're not big fans of Remy Le Beau. Never were, and have now lived long enough to point out that they were right.
*
"No touching, Jess." Trish holds her free hand up, palm forward, with her other hand still holding the glass of water. Kneeling in front of her, looking up, she glances toward David. She gives him a little smile. They're all trying to help. It's not an easy situation. When she turns back to look at Jess, she says, "Hey…you remember when, you know, we were finally getting along and you came with me to the set of the show? Huh? You couldn't believe how many sandwiches the cast and crew gobbled down when there were perfect good doughnuts and other sweets sitting right next to the sandwiches!"
She glances at Remy. "You know, you've got hands too, right? All the better for, I don't know, grabbing fingerprint kits with? Something that maybe the pretty face of this group has no experience in using?" She may be getting sassy, and she knows he's been through a lot with this as well. But she doesn't like herself, or others, being called 'fuckers'. Use your profanity constructively, people!
*
Alex has never used a fingerprint kit. Doesn't plan to start. He's good at getting answers from people, not from surfaces. Rather than rail against the order by the cajun (hey, you're not the boss of me!), he just focuses on Jessica. First priority should be getting her back in working order, right? Deciding that time might be of the essence, maybe it'd okay to extend some influence over her? His eyes start to glow again, and he moves to within Jessica's line of sight, kneeling down to her level, but maintaining a fair distance. No need to crowd her more than she already is. "You're not afraid of this fucker, Jessica. You're not afraid of anything. Be angry. Be fucking furious. Don't let this thing control you," he says calmly, his voice pitched lower than normal, and directly to Jessica as though no-one else were around. While he speaks, he tries to calm the fear she might be feeling, push it down into a tiny ball within her, hoping that her strength of will is enough to contain that little ball, hold it and keep it from growing back. Could he eradicate it completely? Maybe, but that's a temporary fix. If he leaves it there, she can manage it on her own.. it's just a little bit of a helping hand.
*
Sandwiches. The memory of sandwiches. And doughnuts. But it seems so far away. Jessica tries to remember it. The smell. The sounds of the set. The way she'd glared knives at Trish's mom. All of it.
Alexander's influence, however, has incredible weight. Every muscle in Jessica Jones' body tightens. The chip still in her hand is thrown through the window with a loud CRASH and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. "Goddammit! What the fucking hell is even going on and who the fuck do these prison-bitch-assholes think they are?! I will fucking fight them — where the fuck is thew whiskey?!" And she's trampling into the kitchen. So much for dusting for fingerprints. "Where the hell are we on Charlotte Ferguson!" she calls from the kitchen as she, essentially pulls each of the cupboards off it's hinges. "THEY FUCKING TOOK THE WHISKEY! THOSE FUCKERS!" Maybe. Or someone was actually looking out for Jessica.
*
'Get angry'? Very slowly, David turns in place to give Alexander an almost plaintive look. Why? Why did he have to tell Jessica that, of all things?
To be fair, it is effective. David stumbles back and lands on his ass when she gets up and goes storming for the kitchen, and he just… quietly pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. This is fine. Everything is fine.
"I'll bring in copies of my notes," David says tiredly, glancing towards Trish to make sure she's survived Jessica relatively unscathed.
*
Remy gets up as Jessica walks past him, close enough where the breeze of her rampage sends a waft of air through his hair. He doesn't respond to Trish, but rather just exhales the smoke from a long drag in her general direction. He shrugs at Maverick and begins to look through Jessica's cabinets. Is he looking for booze? Or is he looking for the fingerprint kit. It's not clear, and Remy's not saying much.
*
Trish stumbles backwards a little bit, falling on her rear, as Jessica pushes her way forward. She rolls her eyes. At least she saved the water! The glass is still in her hand, and doesn't seem to have spilled. "Well, she's definitely angry now." She says to Alexander as she pushes herself up. "But in all fairness, 'angry' is a normal state of affairs for my dear sister." She mutters.
"You've been trying to quit your drinking, if I remember correctly." She calls out to Jessica. Granted, she still keeps the floor safe at her apartment stocked, just in case. Not that she wants to enable her sister drinking in excess. "I'll pay for getting this place fixed up…" Which was probably a given.
*
Hey, he fixed her! Alex lets the show of power fade from his eyes again, and stands up very calmly considering the warpath he seems to have set Jessica on. In fairness, he didn't /make/ her get angry. He just helped her control the fear that was holding her back. The anger was all her. Promise. Maybe he shouldn't have vocalized it, but hey, were you expecting warm milk and cookies? God of Fear here, folks. "And there it is," he mumbles, backing up a bit to give himself room from everyone else, and glancing around to the others as if to say, 'you're welcome'. Angry Jessica is better than Catatonic Jessica, right?
*
"Fuck that!" Jessica calls back towards Trish. "Sobriety is for boring assholes!" The banging in the kitchen continues. "Tell me about this bloodhound, North. We need to track these fuckers and make them pay for this mess." She storms back into the room and points at the purple on the walls, "Fucking purple! Those asshats. They messed with the wrong fucking people! Was this supposed to stop us?! Fuck that bullshit! What did they do to my files?! Where the fuck is my mind map!?"
*
At least this might be productive. "His name is Akihiro," David calls back towards Jessica, smoothly rising to his feet. Once he's steady, he offers both of his hands to Trish — one for the water, the other for her, to help her up. "He was one of my cellmates when the Project had me. He's dangerous, but he wants to do good. He'd help us if we asked him to. Especially, I suspect, if you told him he could help you punch whoever is responsible for all of this repeatedly about the neck and shoulders."
*
Remy finally finds the fingerprint kid and slides it in his pocket. He leans over, inspecting the door, interested in whether or not it was kicked, pushed, or just taken out. That'll give him some insight as to the power base, or lack thereof of the intruders. All this paint? Maybe there's a partial foot print here somewhere. He wanders around the apartment, looking like an aimless frat boy at a college party, drunk or high, and wandering around. And then he inspects the brush strokes of the paint. Quick, or took their time?
*
"Hey! Boring assholes are…" Oh, what's the use? Trish can't argue that point. She'd just lose no matter what she said. "First, we gotta figure out if there's finger prints, yeah? Prints that don't belong to any of us? And then maybe I can pay for someone to come around and fix this place up? Just…" She sighs and look in the direction of Jessica. "Promise me that whoever I hire, you won't punch them before they have time to explain that they're here to do repairs?"
*
His work here done, apparently, Alex just stands and listens to the others discuss where to go from here. However, his recent stint of domestic responsibilities seems to have inspired him to continue. "I can repaint," he offers quietly at the motnion of someone coming in to fix what has been broken. Besides that and apparently inspiring Jessica to overcome her fear with righteous fury, what exactly is it he's supposed to do around here?
*
"Oh, they're going to get more than punched," Jessica begins to leaf through the papers strewn around the room, almost as if she expects to find a stray bottle beneath them. "These damned people. We need to fucking figure out where the hell we got on their radar. Fucking bullshit," she murmurs as she moves some more papers.
"The kid in the river. The one that was in the paper — " she snap points at one of the people in the room, not exactly offering an exact location of her frustration " — did someone see if that kid was tied to all of this?! Pattern holds, right? Fuck that pattern holds. Kids go missing. No one cares. Ferguson shows up battered and broken. We don't let it deter us, and they fucking come here and — " no, she's not finishing the thought.
The notion of repainting has Jessica spewing, "NO! Fuck them. We'll fucking leave it this way!" and now she's ranting angry.
As far as the doorknob is considered, when Remy inspects it, he notices it appears as if it's been wrenched; literally ripped from its hinges, like Jessica Jones had done it herself. The mechanism has been utterly destroyed, battered by someone with impressive strength. The paint was undeniably put on the wall quickly, sloppily, perhaps under some duress. In fact, the paint is far from even. Whoever came in wanted in and out quickly.
The paint, upon further inspection, seems to have bubbled.
*
Did anyone see if the kid was tied to all of this? "Same high school," David supplies, then falls quiet again to let Jessica continue to get her rant on. What? Thinking aloud has always helped him, and even if she's doing so angrily, that is basically what she's doing right now.
So. Ride it out.
"I can go talk to Charlotte's father again, see if anyone else has spoken to him," David offers, loosely folding his arms and frowning to himself. "Someone should really look into Fisk. I don't like the timing of his involvement with the school, it smells all wrong. And I don't like the state Charlotte was in," he says in a low voice.
*
"If y'could leave dis place as is for de interim, dat'd be swell," Remy says idly as he begins to brush by the door. He flicks his cigarette down the hall, hard enough to knock the cherry out against the tile. "Bubblin' paint strikes me as odd," he says really only to Jessica and really only if she's listening. "Y'get dat wit multiple coats, but why multiple coats? Specially if yer in a hurry. Dun make no sense."
He knows that to properly broach this topic he's going to have to have an earnest conversation with Jessica about who would have known about Killgrave and who they came across. He's not sure right now is the best time. But whoever it is knows something about them that very few people would know.
*
A heavy sigh emits from Trish. "You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna go buy some whiskey. It…" There's another roll of her eyes. "Maybe it'll help things along. I don't know. I'll help as much as I can when I get back." She glances around at each person there before nodding. Adjusting her purse over her shoulders, she clears her throat. "I guess I'll uh…I'll be back as soon as I can." And she turns to leave the apartment.
*
The outright refusal to repaint has Alex putting his hands up, as if to say, 'whoa there', and drops the subject with immediacy. His offer rebuffed completely, he doesn't offer any other opinions for the time being. When Trish pipes up with a suggestion that she runs out to get liquor, Alex perks up. "Hey, I'll go with you. Might need an extra hand," he says, moving to follow along as she leaves. Yep, that's right. Turn Jessica's Angry Mode on, and then flee the scene.
*
"So. They took kids," Jessica rattles off, "and now they're killing kids. But why? Why would they fucking do that? It doesn't make sense, it doesn't add up — " she begins to pace only to stop as Remy mentions the bubbled paint. "The fuck," she mutters as she tramples beside him. She leans closer to the paint that Remy inspects. "Un-fucking-believable. Good find," it's high praise from a woman who gives so little, especially when so angry. "Why?" An easy question.
She emits a long sigh followed by a frown as Trish treads out, she'll make it up to her sister later. Probably by letting her braid her hair. Or something. And Alex is going with her. Okay. Hmmm.
Angrily, Jessica shifts about the room. "All kids in the Kitchen. All teens. All presumed runaways." She paces more.
If Remy keeps looking at the floor, he will notice, just under Jessica's desk, a very small strip of tread imprinted by a weighty boot.
*
"Do either of you know anyone at the coroner's office?" David asks, his eyes flitting between Jessica and Remy. "The girl who washed up on the river — I have a hunch I'd like to check out, but without seeing her body or at least the coroner's report…" He trails off and makes a face, helplessly splaying his hands.
David isn't ignoring Remy's fruitful inspection of the room, or Trish and Alexander's departures. He's just focusing on something else, something he's better at than this specific kind of detective work.
*
"N'ah dun, but kin git y'in dere if need be," Remy says as he looks up at David. The glare is gone, and a sober look is what the other man gets now. "Found sometin, Jess." He clears his throat. "Wantin' to tink dat I got some thoughts, but you d'expert, chere." He shrugs his shoulders, nodding at the foot print. "S'a partial but, is sometin. More and more I tink of it, seem to me like it just a big dude, not someone pow'rd. Coul'be a hired thug. Dat points to someone wit money." He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but that's what the facts tell him.
*
Jessica glowers and her head shakes. "Ask Trish for some money. We can grease the wheels there," because Jones knows her sister, and someone has to bankroll the operation. Sorry, Trish. Her chin drops, "What's your hunch?" Her eyes narrow considerably.
But then Remy finds a clue that draws Jessica back to the matter at hand, "Some asshole with money who knows something about us." Pause. "About me." She frowns. "I need a drink." Because she can't even remember who would know. But then with a shake her head, she looks between the pair, "Did someone talk to the asshole who donated that money to High School? We ned someone to talk to him. He's got to have fucking money. And that sure as hell looks like a fucking buy-off…"
*
"'Bout us," Remy says, his black and red eyes meeting Jess'. "Trish be comin' sometin' soon." He inhales and shakes his head, "Haven' been privy." He has no idea what's going on, and he's already complained about that. He won't carry on about it. Now that there's a lull and he's relatively close to Jess, he nods to her. "Ain't gun pity you. Too much respec' for dat. Iffen you need me, you know I'm 'ere." Shrugs, "Might need de same assistance."
*
Jessica nods at the assertion. It is about them. Both of them. She frowns lightly at the not being privy part, but something in her eyes seems to find some traction at the last. "Could you.. stay tonight?" She swallows hard. "If you want." He moved out, after all.
She clears her throat and asks, "Can I get a cigarette?" because Remy most definitely has one, and maybe it'll take the edge off enough that she won't need that drink. Miracles are possible.
*
David rests both of his hands on the back of the chair that had been brought over for Jessica, his eyes studying a spot of purple on the floor. He's not paying attention to her quiet exchange with Remy. If he was, he might choose a better time to speak up.
"I am expecting to learn that she was a mutant," David says in a low, distracted voice, leaning against the back of the chair. His grip on the back tightens. "I am expecting to see the same signs of trauma as we found on Charlotte. The burns, the cuts, the track marks. And I am expecting her to be… missing something. Bone marrow, maybe. Nails, teeth."
*
Remy gives her a sober nod, "Course, I will." In fairness, he doesn't even really have a bed yet, so it's not much of a decision to be made. But that's not really the point. It's no coincidence that Remy stayed in the neighborhood he hates. Remy reaches into one of the pockets of his trench coat and hands her a cigarette. As soon as she takes it, he's got the lighter. When David is discussing his hunches, Remy looks over his shoulder and nods, "You tink it be some guy wit a fetish?"
*
The cigarette is held between Jessica's lips and she leans forward to let Remy light it. A small victory in Jessica Jones' world. She puffs on it as her eyes trail back to David. So…" her own speech slows, "… you're saying you don't think Ferguson was tortured?" Her eyes squint as she processes that information. "She looked like hell," but if it's more than that. "Mutant kids," she murmurs softly trying to fill in the blank. "We need someone who sciences."
"
*
David shakes his head at Remy, lips quirking into an unhappy frown. "No, if it was one guy with a fetish, he couldn't handle this many kids at once," he says lowly, and something in his tone suggests that this is a conclusion he's only now firmly settling on. "And if she was tortured, I think it was done with purpose."
He falls quiet for a moment, fingertips anxiously tapping the back of the chair. "…one of the things that Weapon X would do was put its captives under stress," David says slowly. "Test the limits of our abilities, trigger them deliberately. To see what we could do. But if the kids are missing things, it…" He trails off. How to phrase this, exactly.
"I think they're being harvested."
*
"Harvested?" Remy recoils for a moment, disgusted. He finds himself in a silent prayer, hoping that none of that is the case. He's never heard of Weapon X, but it doesn't sound good. "Could ask 'round mutant town for some science folk. People knowin' people." That sort of thing.
*
And that's when Jessica's expression turns grim. She takes a single step towards David. With a long puff on her cigarette, her gaze flits between the two men. And then, with a sharp nod, she states, "Alright. Alex and Ava can head to the soup kitchen. Remy, grab someone from mutant town." She looks towards David, "North, talk to Fisk. Take someone with you."
Her lips turn down into a frown. "I'm going to talk to Trish to see if we can get some palms greased in the coroner's office. And, while I'm at it, find a way to get these kids front and centre in the news. Whoever is doing this can't have everyone in their pocket." Can they?
"We have a plan of attack. We need to communicate better." Her lips purse, "We're going to catch these sons of bitches. We may not be the heroes, but we're equalizers. Let's take out these fuckers."